Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“The true royal line of Eclipse has been deposed by a king chosen by the cardinal. It might seem that we are trying to avert disaster, but Darcy, disaster has already happened. The king you have been raised trying to protect does not sit on the throne.”
“Where is the real king?”
“Close at hand, and will reveal himself when the time is right.”
“When I’ve killed the king.” I shake my head. “We all know if I kill the king, the next thing that’s going to happen, 0.2 seconds later, is I’m going to catch a bullet. There’s no way I survive this plan. It’s insane for me.”
“We will protect you.”
“How? If you can get close enough to protect me, you can get close enough to kill the king yourself.”
“The details of the plan will be revealed closer to the time.”
“Right,” I say. “Sounds like some bullshit, Rafe.”
I don’t like this stupid ‘kill the king’ thing. Maybe these guys are all into being rebels and terrorists, but just because we’re mate bonded, it doesn’t mean I have to agree with their wild political views or their murderous plans.
“Just come and have breakfast,” he sighs.
“You don’t know what to do with me, do you,” I smirk, feeling like I’ve proved my point.
“No,” he says. “I don’t. You want to be taken care of…”
“No, I don’t. I want to be left to my own devices,” I tell him. “I want to live my fucking life. I made a decision for myself the other day. I decided to leave the academy and get a job. And all you three have done, well, two, because Kirin’s actually pretty chill, is try to force me to carry out some crazy fucking plan. I don’t want any part of it, get it? And watching me pee isn’t going to magically make me behave myself. You had it right in the first place. I’m uncontrollable. So stop trying to control me.”
Rafe nods thoughtfully.
“Alright,” he says.
“Alright?”
“Yes. You want to live your life as you see fit, do so. You’re right. We don’t have any real claim to control you. You might be ours, but that’s a mate thing. It should be about love. Not using you as a pawn.”
“Right. Tell that to Einar when you next see him. I’m going to work.”
“One problem,” Rafe says.
“What?”
“Einar hid your bike. He didn’t want you on it anymore. He’s afraid you’re going to kill yourself. So I don’t know where that is.”
“Okay, so can you add one thing to that message I asked you to give Einar before?”
“Sure.”
“Tell him to go fuck himself.”
I go to D2G, because there’s nowhere else in Eclipse I’d rather be. Clint is still behind the desk. I don’t think he ever leaves the office. I wonder if he can leave.
“You’re late. Days late,” he grunts.
I feel a little special that he noticed. That’s probably indicative of some deep-seated trauma, but I’ll take a pleasant interaction where I can find it.
“Sorry, boss, got kidnapped.”
He shrugs, pulls open a filing cabinet, which he reaches without getting up from his chair, rifles through some dog-eared manila folders, and hands me a form. It has the D2G logo at the top of it, and then a heading at the top:
In Case of Kidnapping
By whom were you kidnapped?
The first question blares at me from the paper. What’s interesting is that there isn’t a blank line or anything to fill out. Instead, there’s multiple choice.
A) Yes
B) No
C) IDK (I don’t know)
“There’s a form for being kidnapped?”
“There’s a form for everything,” he answers, turning his gaze back to his digital book.
“This form doesn’t really seem to make sense,” I note as I look at the second question.
Why were you kidnapped?
A) Ransom
B) Vengeance
C) IDK (I don’t know)
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “They just like to have things on file.”
“Okay,” I say, picking up the greasy pen that has been chained to his desk since before I was born. Having been raised in a military establishment, I know a thing or two about box ticking.
“Is there a form for a spare bike, because mine is being held by the kidnappers? I think they might be terrorists.”
Clint sighs and rifles through the same file drawer, before slapping another paper down in front of me. This one reads:
So You’ve Lost Your Bike to a Terrorist Syndicate
Is your bike gone?
1. Yes
2. Yup
3. Mhm
“Is this a joke?” I look at him incredulously.
“Delivery 2 Go has no sense of humor,” Clint grunts.
I turn my attention back to the form.
Estimate the chance of recovery:
Less than 5%
More than 5%
My bike has been spotted in one or more terrorist-related news broadcasts with the Delivery 2 Go stickers still on.
“You can do those later,” Clint says. “We need you on the road.”
I nod and fold them up, sticking them in one of the suit’s many pockets. That’s one of the other things I love about this job. The suit is so practical. There’s a place for everything. And it hides my identity, makes me one of a very big crowd. And I am always productive. Useful.