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

somebody else. Her skin, although ethereal, curdles into something ashy. Her eyes go white, and tattoos pen across her face. “Sweet Jay!” Her whisper escalates into something louder, causing me to stir in my seat.

“Is there something wrong?” the Taoiseach asks. “You’re acting rather odd.”

“Sweet Jay!” A terrorizing scream in a voice so piercing it sounds as if a falcon is getting its wings ripped off.

I jump in my seat and let the crab and crackers fall to my plate. “Yes,” I reply bluntly. “Of course there is. You appreciate honesty, do you not?”

He nods his head. “As should everybody.”

“Then why are we doing this? Why are we sharing this stale evening together? There is blood between us. You murdered my parents, and you’ve made threats toward my brother, and there is no easy way for me to let go of that.”

“What’s your point?” he interjects with anger brewing.

“You’ve seen my potential, and you fear it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.” I can see his temper darken even across the dim-lit table. “I am capable of remarkable things. However, I know not what I’m doing or the direction I should be heading. My ambition is nothing more than dark shadows, which is no ambition at all. I need the training and discipline to master my talents the way you have. Your Shadow can only take me so far. Her heart has been consumed by the blood of the innocent, and she can no longer function without that blood. Although extremely talented and skilled in many ways, she does not have the greatness you possess. If you take me under your wing, I give you my word I’ll let your inevitable death by my hand be seamless and forgiving. Teach me how to be great.” I retrieve my fork and crab then proceed to crack down on the exoskeleton where I left off. “Mm… This stuff is good.”

The morbid apparition that my mother changed into separates from her ethereal embodiment and forms into a second apparition. This is new. I’ve yet to see any ghosts other than my mother. The morbid figure, standing behind my once again beautiful mother, chokes her with gruesome flaking hands. It’s a bald, sickly looking man with ashen skin peeling away. He proceeds to strangle her with a disgusting smile on his face. It’s disturbing, but I know it’s not real and I refuse to take my eyes off her. The apparition fades away.

The Taoiseach picks up his napkin and dabs at his mouth before unseating himself. He approaches in silence and stands above me for a moment. My hands tremble. What have I done?

His hand grips my throat, and my cheeks are no longer placed in my chair. I hardly realize my lungs are no longer working with the amount of pain that has enveloped my body. I heedlessly struggle to free myself from his grip. His strength is incomprehensible.

“Agreed,” he starts, “however, if you ever talk to me in that manner again, don’t think I won’t end this deal, and your life early. Maybe your brother’s as well. And just so I clearly set the expectation, Ellia and I are similar in our tactics, except for one thing. My heart is not consumed by the blood of the innocent because they have already devoured it. I no longer have a heart.” He drops me, and I rake my back on the wooden chair as I fall to the ground, sucking in as much air as my lungs will accommodate.

So many have died. So much has been lost. The Taoiseach and the People’s War may have brought the realm to a place beyond repair. I am tempted to remove him. But it may be too soon. The knowledge of the ages is dissipating with each death. It will allow us to wipe away the old and start anew.

40 Stone

W atching. Waiting. I linger outside the Taoiseach’s grand estate, leaning up against a nearby structure that presumably is a storehouse for one of the mainstay traders in the city. Hoping to pass as a beggar, I’ve donned the tattered tunic and soiled trousers I arrived to the city with. It shames me my own wardrobe is capable of such a disguise. I wasn’t aware at the time how slovenly I appeared when I disembarked the Phish Skooler, and I can’t help but wonder what Ash thought of me. Not that it matters now, but she’s rather strong-willed to put on such an act and disregard the filth I brought through that door. The fishy smell alone should have caused some ribs to fly my way to afford a bathhouse, but somehow, she managed to take the lot of mine instead.

That isn’t important now. I should be concerned whether my location will bring more attention than my smell. The industrial district isn’t a common place for a beggar, but it’s the only place outside that immense wall of roots that has any visibility of the Taoiseach’s manor itself. Thankfully, the traffic is light.

There hasn’t been any sign of Jay. She’s so close, yet so far. I must find a way in. Climbing isn’t an option. The wall is much too high. And it would take seasons to burrow a tunnel, which I wouldn’t know how to go about making undetectable anyhow. It’s impenetrable. How did the Taoiseach construct such a thing?

I watch the wall closely, inspecting it from a distance in search of anything unusual, any point of weakness. The lack of Crimson Guard is unnerving. Either the Taoiseach is overly confident or there is absolutely no way through that wall except the one gate behind the Redwood Chamber where a handful of guardsmen patrol. There are four primary towers, one at each corner of the wall, with several abandoned keeps in between. Without any guards patrolling the wall, I’m not sure what the purpose is. Does