Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Captured you, you say.” He arches a gray brow. “I would love to hear how my son would capture anyone. Poor boy can’t even catch a fish.”
His uncle snickers at the end of the table. No one else laughs.
“First he made me an offer, which I refused.”
“And the offer was?”
“That I stop stealing eggs for House Dalgaard and steal them for House Kolbeck instead.”
“And why did you refuse?”
I glance at Andor, his eyes intently focused on me, much like everyone else around the table.
“Because I don’t know Andor. Because I don’t know House Kolbeck.”
“Because you’re part of House Dalgaard.”
“No. I am not part of their house,” I say, unable to keep the sharpness off my tongue. I know what he’s trying to get at. He wants to paint me as the enemy. He wants an excuse to kill me here and now. “My skills are for hire. Dalgaard happens to be the highest bidder. I have no connection to them otherwise, no allegiance.”
“And yet you said no to House Kolbeck.”
“As I said, I don’t know Andor. Better to trust the evil you know than the evil you don’t.”
Torsten’s smile is wry. “You’re taking a large risk trusting it either way.”
“Like I said,” I remind him, “I didn’t choose to come here. I was taken by force. I might be at your dining table, wearing your daughter’s clothes and drinking your estate’s wine, but I keep being reminded that I am a prisoner in this house and that as nicely as I’m treated, there is no escape for me.”
“Or your dog,” Kjell says snidely.
“Ah yes, my brother filled me in on our other guest,” Torsten says, leaning back in his chair slightly to eye Lemi by the fire. “Andor neglected to tell me you had a hound. I suppose it was his bleeding heart that let you take him.”
Andor clears his throat. “The dog is partly why Brynla is so successful.” Then his gaze narrows on me thoughtfully. “Perhaps the dog is the whole reason why Brynla is so good at what she does.”
I stiffen, the hairs rising at the back of my head. I manage to hold Andor’s gaze. “Lemi helps me. I help Lemi. He will never work without me, no matter how hard you try. He will shift to a place that you have never seen and he will never come back, not without me.”
In other words, Don’t you fucking dare try to take my dog away from me.
“So you take her dog away, and then what do you have?” Kjell says, putting his goblet down with a loud thunk. “Just a purple-haired whore, with a stink you’ll never be able to wash off, no matter how much soap you use.”
Andor erupts from his seat and moves fast, so fast that he’s a blur until he appears behind his uncle, a sharp knife in his hand, the shining blade pressed against Kjell’s throat.
“Andor!” Torsten chides him.
“Prisoner or not, you will treat Ms. Aihr with the respect a lady deserves,” Andor says into his uncle’s ear, his voice seething. “Do you understand?”
His uncle scoffs, seemingly not concerned, until Andor presses the knife in harder, enough to draw a thin drop of blood.
“Andor!” Torsten says, getting to his feet. “Control yourself, for the sake of the gods!”
“Andor,” I whisper to him. “Please.”
My nonexistent honor is not worth it.
Andor doesn’t move for a moment, just breathes heavily, his face frozen in a sneer. Then he grunts and straightens up, releasing Kjell. He walks around the table and back to his chair beside me, avoiding my gaze.
Bloody blazes, is this what dinner at the Kolbecks’ is usually like?
“All right, sorry for the delay.” Margarelle’s voice rings out, interrupting the silent tension in the room. She bustles inside with Belon, both of them holding platters of steaming-hot food. My stomach immediately growls but as the food is being dished out, I can’t stop thinking about what Andor did. He can’t care that much about how I’m treated—it must come down to his volatile relationship with his uncle.
Belon spoons a stew of chicken and beans onto my plate, and the urge to eat is overwhelming. It smells delightful, the chicken browned and crisped at the edges of the skin, the beans and tomatoes rich in color and seeming perfectly spiced, making my mouth water despite the current circumstances.
“Don’t be shy,” Torsten says to me in his dry tone. “We haven’t poisoned yours.”
Though he doesn’t say it, the word yet is implied.
And everyone at the table is staring at me, as if daring me to try it. Solla’s eyes are bright and inquisitive, Vidar’s cold and calculating, Steiner’s perplexed, Kjell’s angry as he presses a cloth to his neck, Torsten’s full of haughtiness and disdain, and Andor, well, I suppose he’s still trying not to look in my direction. Even Margarelle and Belon have paused by the door, watching me intently.