Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Yes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ve brought in a dozen traitors over the past few years. None of them went to their deaths as calmly as you.” Jason stopped abruptly. I was surprised to see we were at the jail. “Fighting for our lives is ingrained in us. It’s a basic human instinct that not even the god of death can steal.” He faced me head-on, trapping me in his gaze. “That can only mean you’re fighting for something you feel is more important. I will find out what it is.”
Jason’s words hung over me long after the key turned in the lock and I settled on the pile of damp hay that was to be my bed.
I am fighting for something more important. I laid my head down, eyes fluttering shut. I’m fighting for those friends laughing in the courtyard. They deserved one more night as children before they marched to war.
CLANG! CLANG!
“Wake up, traitor.”
Snapping up, I tipped over and smacked my head against my stone prison. Pain sang in my skull.
“Huh. Jason’s assassin theory is looking more and more unlikely. People in that profession tend to not sleep so soundly.”
My vision cleared on Alexander. He changed out of his travel-worn clothes for soft black pants, a tunic that clung too tightly to his hard chest, and silver-tipped boots. The effect of him freshly showered, relaxed, and catching stray droplets of apple juice as he bit into the fruit—served to make the impossible possible. He was even more gorgeous.
“Wipe your face. You’ve got hay sticking to your drool-covered cheek.”
I swiped the offending things off, body heating up. He was more handsome, and even more of a jackass’s dung hole. The last fact was doing a good job combating the effects of the first.
“Here.” Alexander held a bundled cloth through the bars. Opening it I found bread, olives, cheese, and—
“Honey cake,” I whispered. The memories of Mama hurt, so I pushed them away. “Why would you give me food?”
“Did you think we were going to starve you for the next week?”
“No. I meant why are you giving me food? You made it clear I wasn’t your problem.”
He shrugged, still biting into that too-juicy apple. “I lost a card game. Jason is brutal about prompt debt repayments.”
I grimaced at the insinuation that sharing my company was a step above worse than reneging on a bet.
“Are you going to eat that?” he demanded. “If not, give it back. We don’t waste food.”
“I’ll eat it,” I said, voice quiet. I may have even said thank you, but it was too low for him to prove it. It seemed weird to thank him, but even though he was a dung hole, deep down I knew these four could treat me a lot worse.
Deserters were as reviled as murderers. Sounds extreme, but we lived an extreme life in Olympia. For every monster we put down, twenty more sprung in their place. They bred so quickly and easily, we were overrun before the Deucalion Army formed hundreds of years ago.
There were no delusions. We were only slowing the tide, not pushing it back. The day would never come that Olympia was free of monsters, but if anyone was to have a chance at old age. If children were ever to laugh and play in the streets. If lovers were to marry. If young women were to giggle over handsome men, we needed the army fighting day in and day out to keep the typhons, lamias, gorgons, harpies, and giants away from peaceful towns like this.
Today, every able-bodied adult that wasn’t raising children or providing services that were vital to the community, was in the army. It wasn’t a choice or a question.
At eighteen, we were legally required to report to the academy for training. If we didn’t show up, we were tracked down and dragged to the academy in irons. If we ran, we finally did get a choice—enroll in the academy or swing from the traitor’s noose. In the old days, they hung those traitors in their hometowns, so their mothers’ screams were the last thing they heard.
Oh, yes. There was a deep-rooted hatred for the men and women who dared to live the carefree life the army gave them, and then turned around and spat in their face when it was time to do their turn.
These four could treat me much worse. They could deliver me to Trono City battered and bruised, and the officials would merely scoff at the traitor and deal me another blow.
I smiled mirthlessly around a mouthful of honey cake. The funny thing is if they did try to beat or bruise me, that would undoubtedly unlock the beast inside. I would change, do something horrible, and then the goddess would force me to flee and continue carrying out her plans.