Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
My pulse pounds widely and I glare at the bastard. “I think I hate your face more than the other one.”
Creed chuckles as he steps back. “Remember that, brat. Because I can promise you this: If you’re toying with my brother in some way I’ve yet to discover, my face will be the last thing you ever see.”
And with that final anticlimactic threat, he snaps his fingers and reality bleeds into nothing.
…
My muscles shriek. Something pulses with agony. My head? My hands? My—I rocket to my feet.
The sleeping platform beneath me groans like tortured bones, and I’m caged within some sort of rectangular tomb with walls that stretch toward a ceiling painted like false galaxies.
A smaller sleeping platform crouches across from mine, occupied by a girl with golden hair who blinks at me in annoyance.
That son of a bitch!
“Who the hell are you and where the fuck am I?” I snarl, though I’m pretty sure I already know. Instantly hunting for weapons, exits, and anything useful in this pastel hellscape. “And did he just leave?”
“Welcome to Rathe U.” The girl huffs, hauling herself upright. Her head is a tangled nest of blond, cropped close to her chin, and there’re some strange cuffs around her wrist. “I’m Elena and I’m guessing you’re my housemate.”
Housemate?!
“Creed said nothing about a housemate. I don’t like people.”
“Yeah, well. We don’t exactly have a say here, now do we.” She drives her soft square cushion down over her head and rotates to her other side. “And I wouldn’t speak of our kings by name. Or get any delusional ideas about them. Royals don’t talk to us ordinaries.”
Ordinaries?
Ah, yes, now this I had heard of from whiny exiles. There’s a little power scale those born of Rathe live by, inadvertently pitting them all against one another based on the magic that runs through their blood.
Ordinaries are considered the lesser of them because of powers so, well, ordinary. An exiled Fae male once said that he was an ordinary. Weird, considering his power sucked the life out of those he murdered, which led to him being sent to the island in the first place. A power bank is no joke. They literally suck the energy out of you and into themselves. If that’s not a superior power, I don’t know what is.
Pathetic, the weight these people put into what our minds can do.
They forget their hands are just as much of a weapon.
Was Creed right, do I have dormant powers that the island has suppressed?
The thought makes me feel like a sheep. I allowed Creed to ship me here with the others with the promise of…what, exactly?
Knowledge I won’t even need once I go back home?
Powers I may or may not have that will just disappear all over again once I step foot off the island?
Damn, girl. You really are a fucking fool, so easily played.
I don’t belong here.
I belong on that island where no one can toy with me. Where no one can manipulate me to want. Or worse.
Hope.
There is no point in either.
I need to be careful here.
I need to remember that my life is one I’ll live on my own.
I need to remember to have nothing is to lose nothing.
I glare at my supposed new roommate, who’s clearly familiar with this place.
My eyes fall to the edge of her clothing chamber, where something revolting spins in small circles, a light purple glow swirling around it.
The crisp white blouse is embroidered with tiny silver runes down the sleeves; and the pleated skirt of black and gold looks like it’ll tear in three seconds flat.
“Yours is in there.” She points to another tall chamber, my name sparking through the center like flames every few moments.
“My what?”
She rolls her eyes, hands still half-buried under her pillow. “That’s the school uniform. You’ll need it to enter your classes.”
I nearly laugh. “I nearly gutted your king in a throne room two hours ago, and now I’m in a pastel coffin getting fitted for—what? Math?”
She sighs and pushes to her feet, tucking her hair behind one ear as she turns to her own uniform. “If you don’t show up, they’ll banish you to the mines and replace you with someone who actually wants to learn.”
Mines. Heh. Cute.
Also, I’m pretty sure that’s not true. I heard what the angry older brother said. Everyone has to come here.
So that means this girl is a liar.
And liars need to die.
I go to push toward her when I spot a black notebook on the edge of the bed. It’s carved from some kind of oak, and a sharp opal crystal protrudes from its center.
It stinks of witchery.
“That is your Pathway Codex,” Elana explains as she buttons her top. “It leads you where you’re required and will be your best friend while you’re here. Everything you need will be in there.”