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

voices talking, but I don’t recognize them as Stone or Jay’s. And I fear what will happen if I open my eyes to see.

“Goose, what do you think naive means?”

“It’s when you don’t know something, father. It’s an insult you would holler at a half-wit. Is there a reason you’re asking me this, father? Are you insinuating something?” he responds arrogantly.

“I respect your honesty, but correct your tone! Naivety is not a bad thing, Goose. Simply put, it is a person who doesn’t allow time to understand the world around them. They tend to let their emotions control their actions. And in rare cases, they even allow their instincts to control them. Now, I don’t know if they are even capable of improving their situation, but one thing I do know is they need protection. So, as I said, naivety is not a bad thing, Goose. It simply means you are the type who needs protecting, rather than the type who gives protection.”

“But, father—”

“Goose, it is what it is. And you are who you are. It is better to be self-aware than to live in a dream world about who you should be. It’s okay, Goose, the world needs people like you. Somebody must play the role of protectee. It keeps the rest of us sane. Others cannot make you great. Only you can determine your greatness by the choices you make. Now…” His voice pauses a moment and it’s apparent his son, Goose, has no intention of interrupting him. “…I’ve made a choice that involves some risk. Great risk, which ultimately translates to danger. You might not agree with my decision, but know I’m doing it for you and others like you. The majority of the citizens of this realm are ignorant to their potential, and… Ah, one of them is waking. Let’s postpone this conversation. I must summon Carib.”

I venture to open my eyes after I hear a clicking noise. Whoever was conversing has fled the room. I spy the chamber to see Jaymes isn’t with us anymore, but Stone is. He sits on the couch adjacent to me, awake but obviously dazed. The furniture Stone and I are seated on is pure white, arranged in a semi-circle around a glass table with a silver-metallic hue. On the opposite side of the room near the windows, there is an ebony-colored desk and a glass door to a balcony. The floor is dark hardwood, maybe wenge, and the walls are dressed in a dark wood paneling as well. The only bright contrast is the lounge furniture, the minimal artwork hanging on the walls, and the large windows, which bring in enough light to alter the black appearance of the wood into more of a chocolate brown.

After a short wait, the door swings open.

In walks the dreaded Harris Martelli, donning a black, sleeveless tunic and matching slacks. Most would wear lighter colors during this season, but it appears the Taoiseach’s color of choice is black. He must take pleasure in the dark, evil tyrant persona he portrays. The contrasting white of his eyes matches the décor of his chamber.

He sits across from me in the white armchair. His black eyes skim across me with a touch of wrinkle in his brow, then he addresses Stone.

“Hello, Stone. I believe you know who I am?” he says in a deep, monotone voice. Stone apparently didn’t see him come in because he startles at the sound of his voice. The reposeful alarm is enough to flare his emotions.

“A murderer!” he shouts. The tension in the room immediately climbs from serene to clamorous.

“That’s a bit harsh,” he replies. “And inaccurate. I didn’t murder anyone… You did.” He says it as though it’s a fact.

This dark man has a heart as dark as his skin. It’s revolting, yet captivating. How does a man who I always believed to be elegant, powerful, and charismatic have so much darkness inside him?

“You…you know I didn’t.” Stone stutters, heavy with rage and delirium from the deep sleep the Hiberneyts put us into. His hands are trembling. “You know the truth. Jaymes and I are only victims. Scapegoats to your criminal acts.”

“Yeah! You…you lousy, puss-eating night crawler.” I don’t know what else to say. It just felt right to vent my anger through curses. His arrogance and corruption would anger even the most innocent and naïve. The Taoiseach doesn’t acknowledge me in the slightest.

Harris stands and calmly walks between the two of us. “Regardless of what actually happened that day,” he places his hand on my right shoulder, faintly touching the skin. The hair on my neck stands upright as a shiver sweeps through me. He follows suit with Stone’s left shoulder. “You will go on trial. And you are fortunate, Stone, that you come from the line of The First Four. If your father weren’t as prestigious as he was, you would have been executed by now. I have no tolerance for filth.”

My neck throbs with excruciating pain, like he brands me with a hot iron. All the energy drains from my body, similar to when the white cloaks captured us. However, I am not falling asleep, I am feeling death creep under my flesh. Cold. Empty. Powerful.

“Filth is wiped from this realm,” he adds.

But I can hardly hear him beyond the searing pain boiling underneath my skin. It spreads down my spine and up to my head. Across my shoulders, into my arms and fingertips. I want to scream to relinquish it, but the intensity is so severe I cannot breathe.

He lets go and it quickly recedes, but not completely. It feels as if I’ve been stabbed in the neck with a dagger. I breathe relief. The pain of a dagger is nothing compared to what I just experienced.

The Taoiseach moves to exit and stops at the door. He looks over his shoulder. “I am utterly disappointed