Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 110079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“Is it almost autumn?” he whispered, not meaning to say the words aloud.
Jules glanced at him, his helmet shifting slightly. “The official end of summer is less than two weeks away. Did you not know?”
“I…I guess I lost track of time.” He stared at the orange leaf tucked in amongst a thick cluster of green on the oak tree. What would fall be like in Sirelis? Did they have any interesting festivals?
When this was over, he wanted to go straight back to Sirelis and force Shey to do every autumn harvest-y thing they could find. They would sip cider, eat things filled with apples or pumpkin. He wanted to smell hay and talk to people about the changing of the leaves. He dreamed of quiet, normal things.
Not killing.
“Are you okay?”
Jules’s question jerked Tyche from his wandering thoughts. He forced a smile onto his lips and pushed from the wall. “Yep. Just fine. You?”
His companion’s expression crumpled. “Terrified.”
Well, that seemed like a much more sensible response, but people like Adrian, Haru, and Shey had constantly accompanied Tyche. They were accustomed to jumping into situations with bullets and flashing swords, all aimed to kill or maim.
“Yeah, I’m scared too, but we’ve got this. Get me close to Feng, and I’ll handle everything. Afterward, we’ll be able to escape in all the chaos. People won’t even notice us. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be across the border in Uris-Oladul.”
Jules gave him a look that said he didn’t believe a word Tyche was saying, but it didn’t matter. Tyche was determined to make it all true, but he wanted to be in Shey’s arms by lunchtime and one step closer to making this entire encounter a memory.
“Ready?” Tyche asked, infusing as much enthusiasm and positivity into his tone as possible.
Jules nodded, and they took off at a jog, their armor rattling softly with every step. Three more blocks and they were at the eastern entrance to Founders Square. A few hundred protesters gathered behind barriers, shouting at the top of their lungs as if they could go on all day. Every person’s face was twisted in anger. They held up signs, some demanding New Rosanthe leave and some demanding Damardor independence. But the most heart-wrenching sight was the scores of people holding up pieces of paper with the word “MISSING” emblazoned above images of men, women, and children. Family members who had disappeared one day without a word. They didn’t seem to care about this government kerfuffle. They just wanted their sons and daughters back.
A knot threatened to block Tyche’s throat as he fought his way past these people. Would they ever know peace? Did they still believe that their loved ones were alive, even when common sense said that they had to be buried somewhere in an unmarked grave? Was it kinder to tell them to give up hope and move on? No, probably not. Tyche knew too well that hope was sometimes the only thing to get a person out of bed each day.
Tyche stuck close to Jules as he worked his way through the crowd. Occasionally he would catch a hint of him barking in a pseudo-deep voice that he normally didn’t speak in, trying to project a threatening air, but it was a hard sell considering his slender frame. The young man was barely an inch taller than Tyche’s pathetic height.
All around him, people crowded close, jostling him and shouting angry chants in his face. He felt heartbreaking sympathy for them, but his instincts to fight were triggered. Prickles danced across his skin, and dark whispers crowded his mind. The magic he’d avoided touching stirred in his chest, begging to lash out. The pain these people wallowed in begged to be twisted into nightmares that would hound them through their nights.
“Back off, or we’re taking you in!” an unfamiliar voice threatened. A massive hand grabbed Tyche’s arm and pulled him through the crowd.
He stumbled forward, breaking through the throng and past the closest barrier. Tyche looked up and blinked at the scowling mug of an older man with gray hair and scars.
“Where the fuck are you coming from?” the man demanded.
“Uh…”
“Little Stip,” Jules interjected. “Captain heard you needed more help. We’ve been sent to patrol the lower levels of the capitol building.” Jules edged closer to the commanding figure and added in a lower voice. “There’ve been rumors.”
“Fuck, what hasn’t been rumored? This entire ceremony is a goddamn fiasco, and there ain’t nearly enough men to keep these people under control. Get out of my hair if you’re not going to help me out here.”
They did not need to be told twice. Tyche and Jules scurried off through the ranks of soldiers and police who were fighting to keep the eastern exit closed to protestors. They rushed past another set of barriers after flashing their fake badges and stepped into Founders Square, where their steps slowed.