Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Her voice fades, and total darkness consumes me. I hear nothing but my ragged breaths. Caz’s body is beneath me, cold, motionless.
We float in dark, deafening silence, and I close my eyes, thinking of that safe place—somewhere we will land together. Somewhere Mournwrath won’t be able to reach us.
I hold Caz tighter and my stomach drops when we plummet into the dark abyss.
Chapter 10
CAZ
There were many things I was afraid of when I was young, but nothing was worse than Magnus Harlow of Blackwater. I’d witnessed the relationship between fathers and sons before. The fathers would carry their sons on their shoulders, hold their hands as they ventured through their territories, or play games of mini Chetnee with smiles and laughter. Magnus was not like those men.
Magnus was cold with a temper from hell, and anytime I cried, Magnus would whip me with a steel whip. I learned early on to not cry around Magnus or his wife Lura (who couldn’t stand to see me weeping over my mother) but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t cry for her while locked away in my room.
I’d been robbed of everything—my life, my loving caretaker, even my name. No longer was I Caspian Bizzell, a drifter of all the lands. I was Caz Harlow, heir, and soon-to-be monarch of Blackwater.
I wasn’t loved in this new home. I was forced to use a sword and eventually a gun. I was trained to fight, to shoot, to kill. Every Saturday, I was sent out to ride with Magnus and Lura to the village so I could be paraded as the heir of Blackwater. They pretended to be proud, when truly, they hated me.
Every night, I had nightmares of my mother being taken, the horse’s blood, and the weapon that’d murdered the horse. I’m imagine her powers and wonder how she could do it. Soon, I learned that she was the daughter of a powerful mythic—that she carried that energy in her blood and had only learned to harness it when I was born. I’d dream of my mother’s eyes and how they were filled with helpless tears, her cries, and the way she screamed my name for the last time.
The nightmares were so gut-wrenching that I no longer wanted to sleep, and because I didn’t sleep, I’d venture to the castle’s dungeons to search for her, to no avail. She wasn’t in the castle…and after a few months, I assumed she wasn’t alive at all.
Everyone who surrounded me looked at me with expectations in their eyes, eager for the day I’d reign. All did, except Aunt Maeve and my cousins, who lived on the outskirts of the village. They were the highlight of my new life. I was only able to spend one weekend with them every summer, and Magnus made sure to hold back on the abuse and drown me in healing elixir whenever I visited his sister so there was no proof. It wasn’t until I was forced to fight in Ripple Hills that Maeve caught on.
Prior to that, there were plenty of times I wanted to tell Aunt Maeve what was being done to me, but Magnus used my mother as a threat. Mythics would reveal her in a mirror in the castle when I stepped out of line, and each time, chains would hang from her wrists and her head was bowed. She would take a breath, and that was when Magnus would threaten that if I said anything about it, or how I was brought to Blackwater, he would kill her.
I thought I could hold out. I figured once I was of age, I’d be monarch and would be able to free my mother. But I’d jumped the gun…and it was because of my mistake and impatience that I never saw her again.
Chapter 11
CAZ
It’s hard to imagine what my life would be like had I not been a procreation of Magnus. I ask myself often, would I have been happier? Would I have had a better childhood? A simpler one? One that wasn’t so bloody traumatic?
I often wonder why the universe punishes us. Does it feel there are some who deserve it more than others? Is it trying to create a balance on an unknown spectrum, or is it all determined by bloodlines? Perhaps if you’re bred into a certain family, there’s a possibility your life will be a living hell—a generational curse of sorts.
I don’t know the answers to these questions, but they’re all I can think right now as I lie in a haze. It feels as if I’m awake. My body hums with warmth and energy, and I feel the breaths expelling from my body. I’m no longer in that frozen wasteland Decius had me trapped in. I’m somewhere else.
“Caz.” That voice. It’s angelic—beautiful, really. “Caz, wake up. Please.”