Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Finally, I reached the dungeon, and Daddy Dearest’s cell. Bloodstained stone walls barely contained him. As the primordial, he possessed attributes regular dragons did not. He sprayed flames that disintegrated matter in an instant. Obsidian bones etched with symbols we had never successfully deciphered. Scales that shifted like tectonic plates, revealing tiny spikes that expelled molten poison upon impact with a living being. Eyes capable of mesmerizing any who gazed upon him. Any but his daughters.
Since his arrival home, he’d slowly transformed into a semblance of his humanoid self. Currently, he reclined against the far wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, an arm covered in scales and tipped in onyx claws resting against it. He possessed thick red hair, wide shoulders and a barrel chest. While his irises had retained their silver sheen, they contained glowing emberrose rings around thin, slitted pupils.
Thick chains circled his wrists and ankles, the metal the same as the Chains of O. Thankfully, I hadn’t cried on these and bound myself to them.
For once, he waited predator-still, no longer straining for freedom. There’d be none.
“Here to command my silence, daughter?” The words boomed, bubbling with a terrible blend of menace and amusement.
I had, ja. Now? I flashed a too-sweet smile. “For all you know, I came to make sure your stay is the five-star experience of my dreams.” Oh, how I despised this man I used to adore. Every time I glanced at him, I recalled the savage way he’d torn my innocent mother to shreds with his teeth and claws. How he’d then turned on me and my sisters, intending to end us next.
“A glass of whiskey wouldn’t be amiss. Perhaps a warm towel.” He sniffed the air and frowned. Sniffed again and grinned. Somehow, he became even stiller. “Mmm mmm mmm. What is this? Is that a Yrnblade mark I see on you?” His attention zeroed in on my throat. “Ooooh. It is. Another problem for your queue, ja?”
Dread prickled my nape. The Yrnblade. The weapon the Locke had used on me. Cedric saw its mark, even though the wound had healed. He now knew each of my weaknesses. The Yrnblade, which bonded me to Taron. The chains that summoned me to whoever wore them, and the family curse lorded over both, demanding I burn and remake my soulmate.
Reveal nothing. I anchored my arms behind my back to hide my balling fists and tilted my head in the same unnerving way the professor had done when he’d looked me over. “I have no problems, prisoner. Only solutions.”
“Now, now. We both know that’s a lie. Though I’m happy to take one of those so-called solutions off your plate. A favor from father to daughter, no payment required. When I’m free, I’ll handle Lorik. How about that, hmm?”
A “favor” offered only because he intended to reclaim his crown. A way to prove to my people he could handle an enemy I could not.
I countered with a subtle quest for information. “And what of Nyla? Do you expect a dead woman to reign at your side?”
Would he admit he believed she still lived?
Judging by the slight jump of a muscle in his jaw, the questions bothered Cedric. Good. Like me, he tended to mask his inner emotions.
As a cover, he unveiled another grin. “You should be more concerned with the Yrnblade. Your doom is set, daughter.”
Dread punched me.
And he wasn’t done. “Desperation for the one who cut you will grow and grow and grow until you’re crazed.” His smile faded. His voice became a grumble. “I should know.”
The dread reproduced itself, doubling. I resisted, keeping my nonchalance on display. “Ah. This is the part you say I shouldn’t blame you for your actions because Nyla used the dagger on you.” Hackles sharpened inside me, further resistance against the trepidation he attempted to stoke. I gripped the bars, intending to…something. How dare he go there.
The throbbing erupted in my neck, as if attempting to offer proof of his assessment. Doomed…
My dragon engulfed my brain in heat and fury, fueling desperation to reach Taron.
The dagger wouldn’t make me like my father. It wouldn’t. It couldn’t.
But what if it did?
“Although,” Cedric said as though I hadn’t spoken, “what happens to its wielder is far worse.” A manic laugh boomed from him. “Your Locke is better off dead.”
Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of asking for an explanation, or how he’d known about Taron, I moved on to the next topic. “Are you the phoenix?” I asked as casually as I was able. “Is that how you rose from the dead? Or is the goddess responsible?”
“Maybe I am the phoenix.” He shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way. “Perhaps my desire for vengeance brought me back. Could be magic. Doesn’t matter, since we’re both destined for ruin.”