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)
“I haven’t seen him,” I say, stepping inside the room. “Sleeping, perhaps? Everything is so quiet out there.”
Steiner smiles knowingly. “More like hiding. My father is grouchy if he’s woken up before a certain time. He’s a night owl. We all take our breakfasts in our rooms so as not to disturb him.” He looks down at Lemi. “And how is your dog with cats?”
“It depends on the cat,” I admit, lightly scratching my nails over Lemi’s head in a comforting manner. “Do you want him to stay outside? I wouldn’t want him to run around your lab and knock stuff over. He’s not used to being in delicate spaces.” I can barely see the lab myself, it’s so dark inside this room, but I have a feeling everything that’s stocked on the shelves and laid along the tables is of high importance.
“It’s probably better for him to be in here, where you can watch him and where he’s safe,” he says pointedly, and I know he’s concerned about his uncle or father doing something. “Woo-woo is outside harassing the chickens in the yard anyway. Woo-woo is my cat.”
I nod and he strolls behind me and closes the door. For a moment I feel a flicker of fear about being shut in here in near darkness, but Steiner himself doesn’t seem like he could do me much harm.
“Do you always work in the dark?” I ask, nodding at the single small candle that’s halfway across the room.
“Sorry, I forget that not everyone can see in the dark,” he says, going over to a long, low desk and lighting a couple of candles that sit in a brass holder emblazoned with a stag. “So, while I’ve got you here, do you mind answering some questions for me? I’m fascinated by Eslanders, Freelanders even more so.”
“Sure,” I say, folding my arms. “But we aren’t that interesting.”
“Ha!” he says, sitting down at his desk and pulling out a bound book with blank pages. “I suppose we’re so used to ourselves that we don’t know what it’s like to view ourselves from the outside. You’re interesting. Your dog is interesting. And Andor’s plans for you are very, very interesting.”
“He’s told you about them?”
“Not particularly,” he says, opening a drawer and searching with delicate movements. “But it’s Andor, and he’s always thinking outside the box—even when the world outside the box can get you killed. Ah! I think purple ink would be best for this. Purple, like your hair.” He pulls out a vial of purple ink and a feather pen. “Might as well start with my first question. Your hair. Does it mean anything? Were you born with it?”
“I take it that my hair color isn’t very common here,” I say.
“Not really. The lighter hair colors, the brighter hair colors, those are more of a Sorland trait. It’s been a thousand years since the first clans left Sorland and came to this continent. Over many generations we grew taller, our skin grew paler, our hair darker. Occasionally you’ll see someone with blue hair, or green. But they tend to be dark in color. I’m just curious if your hair was like that at birth or if the suen gave it to you.”
I frown at that. “I’ve had it since birth. Suen can change people’s hair color?”
“Sometimes,” he says. “I’ve been studying suen since I was twelve, since the day I first took it, and I’m still discovering new things. No one is really sure how it works.”
“Because it’s magic…”
“Some say it’s magic,” he says with a shrug, writing in long elaborate strokes, his writing an art form in itself. “Some say it’s science. I say it’s both. Whichever one explains it is the one I will follow.”
“So it’s equal science and magic?” I ask, curious as anything since the subject of suen ingestion was considered blasphemy in Esland, and the Freelanders didn’t seem to talk about it often. Probably because no one could afford to buy it. I could have made a killing selling it myself instead of to House Dalgaard, but I would have ended up dead very quickly. The syndikats hate competition.
“Until my experiments prove otherwise. Why, what are your thoughts on it? How do your powers feel to you?”
“I don’t have any powers,” I tell him, hesitating to finally speak the truth. “Suen has no effect on me.”
“That’s not possible,” he says just as there’s a knock at the door. “Come in!” he yells.
The door opens and Andor steps in. He’s dressed in a dark, long-sleeved tunic with a V-neck that shows off a dusting of chest hair and his dragon-tooth necklace, half of the shirt casually tucked into his straight-leg pants, tall boots on his feet. His beard is groomed, his wavy hair pushed back off his forehead, and when he sees me, his eyes light up in a way that makes my stomach flip.