Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
"Crulden has been a challenge since he arrived," the scientist says. "How does he feel about his training? Is he being pushed enough?"
Even though I want to keep a calm expression, I can feel my brows furrowing. Is he being pushed enough? They beat the man within an inch of his life every damn day. He does mock battle after mock battle, endurance training that would exhaust Olympians on Earth, and they're asking me if he's being pushed enough? I think he's being pushed too much. "I don't know anything about gladiators," I confess, and it's the truth. "So I wouldn't know what to tell you."
"Has he communicated to you about how he feels?" Lord Sir leans forward, his expression avid.
Just that he hates you and everyone here. That he'd rip all your throats out if given half a chance. "We don't talk about fighting."
They exchange looks. "That is very disappointing," Lord Sir says, his tone full of disapproval. "One of your tasks is to help us assess his readiness. Consider this your primary objective, as of today."
Readiness? "Readiness for what?"
"He's not ready," the scientist says, a frown on his face. "He's still too unstable."
Lord Sir dismisses him with a flick of his blue hand. He turns his gaze on me, his horns gleaming in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows. "There is an underground championship coming up in a month. Nothing legal, of course, but that's a small matter easily remedied with the appropriate greasing of hands. I want Crulden to participate in it. I think he can win me a great deal of credits, but I can't put him in the arena if he's not ready. It'd do no good for my investment if he's torn apart in his first round."
A hard knot forms in my throat. Torn…apart?
Crulden could die. It's a stark reminder that Crulden's job is to fight to the death.
"He's not ready," the scientist states again. "He's still too disoriented from stasis. It'll take him months to shake off the vestigial effects. We need to think of this as a long-term investment."
"I am tired of you throwing around the whole 'long-term investment' phrase," Lord Sir snaps, the first time I've ever seen him lose his temper. He's always cool and regal, but today he's frowning fiercely at the scientist. "He's costing me a small fortune in clones, so he needs to make me a larger fortune. The sooner the better. Word is already spreading that I have my hands on Crulden the Ruiner. Think of the credits. Think of the honor for my stable."
"I am thinking of the gladiator, my lord, as I am paid to do so," the scientist says stiffly. "I know you wish to impress your friends—"
"Impress!" Lord Sir scoffs, offended.
"—but you will lose a hearty investment if you put Crulden the Ruiner back into the arenas too quickly."
"Unless I were to bet on him losing," Lord Sir muses. "Truly, it is a winning situation any way we look at it."
I want to run away. Not only is this fight between them uncomfortable and something a slave shouldn't view if she wants to keep her head, but I can't process the fact that Crulden is supposed to get into the arena and he might not come back out. The thought fills me with terror. Crulden could die.
And Lord Sir might deliberately engineer it to win credits by betting against him.
They both turn to look at me. "Well? Is he ready?" Lord Sir states, impatience in his tone. "Do I bet for or against him?"
I open my mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a wordless little bleat of terror. I hold Crulden's life in my hands and…I don't want to. "I need more time," I say desperately. "Time to assess how he's doing."
"You have a week," Lord Sir says. "After that, I need to know which way to place my bets. If you think to lead me astray, you'll both die, and I'll make sure it won't be quick."
Terror floods through me. All I can do is nod. I've seen what happens to slaves that are “punished to death.” It involves the gladiators being allowed to do whatever they like to her, and the gleeful violence I've seen in their faces whenever I pass by with the guards frightens the hell out of me. "I need time," I say again.
"One week." Lord Sir flicks a hand in my direction, indicating that I'm dismissed.
The scientist gets to his feet. "I'll escort her back to Crulden." He takes me by the elbow and drags/leads me out of the room. I let him, dazed, and I'm only half aware of the clone guards that file into place after us. We head outside in silence, and I'm not entirely surprised when the scientist leads me around to the far side of the building instead of directly back to Crulden. He pauses and gazes at the edges of the forest, just beyond the high, protected walls of the compound. Somewhere in the distance, there's the sound of rushing water and on the horizon, I see the waterfall. It's all very pretty, I guess, if one has the time to look around.