Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

likely be kept clean and free of clutter, unlike my own quarters. I still don’t understand why she’s so eager to help me, though. She is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I’m not sure if she truly is as selfless as her acts prove or if she’s a mastermind with an underlying motive. I’m hesitant to trust her. Why am I so hesitant? Her story and willingness to help aren’t infallible, which gives me purpose to prove her dishonesty, I suppose. Is it me? Has my heart been tortured so much I can’t trust the kindest and most beautiful woman in the city? Or is it the strange grasp she has on me that I cannot resist?

“Okay.” I give her a curt nod and crooked smile.

“Wonderful! I’ll send to have your belongings delivered.”

Choice is a privilege plucked from the shadows. It is hardly recognized and often takes a trained eye to know when you’ve come across one. And even then, you don’t see it until it is behind you. Blame, on the other hand… It is everywhere for all to see. Blame is awarded to everyone and anything. It is this you must weed through to pluck from the shadows of choice.

34 Jaymes

W ill I ever taste anything again? Apple pie. Meat sticks. Creamy buttered potatoes. I sit with my legs curled underneath me at the bench in the window and stare out, imagining the smells and the flavors of too many wonderful foods I’ll never experience again. My stomach grumbles. It’s about time for supper, but I’ll get a large spoonful of slop dumped in my bowl.

My tongue, or lack of, has healed for the most part, but it’s a bit tender still. A useless little nub in the back of my mouth that gets in the way when I eat. Like an awkward friend who lingers after the party is over, but you’re too polite to tell them to get the fuck out. That’s what my tongue is now. A guest that’s overstayed its welcome.

I fucking hate her.

“Sulking in the window again, I see.”

I shrug my shoulders and don’t bother turning to look at Elder. “What else am I supposed to do. I’m a prisoner.” I say it, but all I hear is a garble of noises. No hard T’s, no soft D’s, no S’s whatsoever.

“Prisoner? Hardly. You have free range of the estate. And more if you put your training to good use.”

My brow curls inward as I peer over my shoulder at him. Is he suggesting I sneak out? Past the impenetrable wall that murders anyone who gets too close. Tigershit.

“They’re not villains, you know. The Taoiseach and Ellia. I mean, really, what is a villain? Someone who sees the world differently than you. That’s all. Even if they intentionally assassinate people, take lives when needed for the greater good, they’re doing what they believe is right. Just because someone, somewhere said ‘Here, these are all the virtues a man should have,’ doesn’t make those virtues right. They may be fantastic guidelines to follow, but are we not allowed to sacrifice our own self-worth to protect a higher purpose?”

I was merely in search of my freedom. I didn’t mean for it to take me here. But all I did was trade one master for another. An overprotective, caring master who confined me to what he approved of, to a careless, heartless master who only approves of using me as his own tool. And where is Ellia in all this? She trains me. She encourages me. Then, she belittles me and disciplines me. I’m not even sure if she follows the Taoiseach, heart and soul— Ah, who am I kidding? She doesn’t have a heart and soul. She swaggers through this world for herself. She may approve of the Taoiseach and believe he is a great man, but she would strike him down in a heartbeat if it bettered…what? I don’t know. She’s not self-indulged like most. What are her motivations?

“Did the Taoiseach do it?” Again, only mutterings.

“Pardon me?” Elder moves closer and sits beside me on the cushioned bench.

He’s a young man now. The last time I saw him prior to reacquainting, he was bleeding out in the Grand Atrium of the Redwood Chamber. He was a soft boy at the time. Now, he doesn’t appear so different. Taller, maybe a tad broader in the shoulders, but he remains soft in appearance. Sandy hair, gentle chocolate eyes, no scruff about his chin. A few blond hairs but none of that dark stubbly stuff boys his age try to grow out on their upper lip to state their manhood. I always want to hand them a razor. Somebody needs to teach them about patience. Just shave it off and wait for it to grow in true. A handful of stubble doesn’t make you a man. But Elder doesn’t have that issue.

“Harris.” I try to enunciate clearly all the letters I can. “Murder my parents?”

“Ah...”

He grabs my hand. I flinch at his touch. I’m not sure why. Just a person’s touch in general, I suppose. Ellia has done this to me.

“No. He didn’t.”

I raise my eyes to his. He’s always been honest. Even when we were children, he would speak only what he knew or felt. Is there honesty in those eyes now? He’s the same Elder. Soft, curious and…honest.

“He’s not the villain, Jay. And Ellia…I know there must be a lot of animosity there, but you must remember she is a product of her own experiences. Empty as she may seem, there is a sliver of good nature in her. There will be a day she lets it shine. Maybe not this season or the next, but she will shine.”

Or from Ellia’s perspective, she’ll cast one dark shadow. I don’t doubt it. The question is, how far will it reach? Suddenly