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

my surprise, this little shit gives full cooperation. Once secure, I pull on the root to ensure it’s fastened well enough. Jaymes stumbles, unable to keep her balance, and meets face-to-face with the jagged, stone-covered path.

“Astor, go! You have one click. Any longer and you’ll be lashed. Go.” She eagerly flees to the bush without hesitation.

Jaymes struggles back to her feet. Her once cute face, with her golden-amber eyes, petite nose, and full lips, just received a makeover. Her nose now has a stream of blood pulsing from it. Her lips are swollen and bloody, and there’s a small cut across her left eyebrow. Tears spill onto her cheeks and mix with the blood, making for a steady red stream down her chin and onto her chest. She glares at me with ignorance.

“If you don’t already know why you’re being disciplined, then you’re too simple and juvenile to understand. You wouldn’t learn anything even if I explained the provocation. And by the way, there are no cacti in this wood. I need you alive for now, so whatever bit your ass, let’s hope it doesn’t put you flat on your face again—long term.”

“Why are you so mean? Did your father beat you as a child and constantly tell you how ugly you are?”

Without hesitation, I lay the back of my hand across her face and she crumbles to her knees. Her primary scar rips open. With all the grotesque moments I’ve experienced in my time, I still find it disturbing. Astor’s healing techniques have petrified the veins and nerve endings, so even though her flesh tears open, no blood pours from it. Loose flaps of skin dangle from her leg. Almost corpse-like.

“No. My father constantly raped me while he told me I was ugly,” I reply coldly. It isn’t true. I don’t even know my real father. It shuts her up, though.

Astor returns. I wasn’t keeping time, but she is diligent enough to make haste, so I signal for us to continue without another word. She glances at Jaymes and instead drops to inspect her leg, unable to conceal the shock. Once she realizes her work is holding up, she rises back to her feet.

I bind Astor in the same manner and ensure the two are secured together. I step in front of Jaymes and eye her bloodied face with a callous glare. The ironroot ought to keep her in line. I can’t imagine she’d be stupid enough to try and get out, but if the thought does cross her mind, it will at least act as a deterrent.

“Jaymes, have you had much practice with degeneration?” I ask after a long silence. I don’t know what plans the Taoiseach has for this young Dihkai, but regardless, if she ends up an ally or foe, I would like to find out whether her escape many seasons ago was a fluke. I wonder if she remembers me from that day.

“Huh? De-jen-ray-shun?”

She’s absolutely clueless. Unless…it’s an act. I suppose simpletons, or those who haven’t experienced the curriculum of the Academy, might not refer to their talents the same. If she truly is clueless, why is the Taoiseach interested in her? She presents no threat.

“Your decaying talent. That thing you do when objects deteriorate beneath your fingertips.”

“My rot? It’s a useless survival skill. What do you care, anyhow? Are you afraid I’m going to sneak up behind you and…getchya?”

I admire her audacity. She would make a good ally if her immaturity were tamable.

“So, what you’re saying is, you can’t degenerate that ironroot binding your hands behind your back, if your simple mind had thought of it?”

She scowls at me. “What’s ironroot?”

I give the root a violent tug. Astor falls to her knees. Jaymes remains upright with her arms spread wide to balance herself. Her ironroot bindings are nowhere to be seen. The bitch deteriorated my strongest bindings. She steps backward, raising her hands as shields. “I didn’t mean… It just happens—”

My hand slaps her face. She falls to her knees next to Astor.

“Bitch,” she mutters and cowers preemptively. But I don’t attempt another strike.

I might bring her back to the Taoiseach in pieces if this wasn’t a sign of her value. I sneer at her before turning to the annoying bitch. “What about you, Astor? How long have you been suspending? You obviously know what you’re doing. Self-taught? Or did you have the privilege of the Academy?”

Her eyes meet mine, but she keeps her head down, still on her hands and knees. I can see what she wants to say, but she doesn’t. She rises to her feet, wiping her hands and brushing her knees—trying to keep her dignity. She doesn’t answer.

“Very well then. We’re losing time anyhow. No time for gossip.” I scowl at Astor and turn back to Jay. “Get up.” Jaymes obeys without sass. A subtle improvement.

Her face contorts when I grab a fist of her short, dark hair, but she submits. I yank it to a workable level, careless whether I tear it from her scalp. “What’d you do, cut your hair with sharp stones? It’s a mess. And too short to work with.” I enhance its length a bit to tie it to the ironroot leash, ensuring I’m not delicate. Jaymes takes the abuse without a fight. A quick learner. Or maybe she’s just weak.

Astor hides beneath her soiled, light-grey cloak. “Coward,” I taunt. I tear a sleeve from her cloak, nearly forcing her to the ground again. I use the fabric to fasten Jaymes’s arms behind her back.

“Ready?” I mount Persia and nudge the cat to a trotting pace. I don’t bother looking back to see if the bitches are keeping up or being dragged.

We continue with this steady pace for a short while before the novelty wears off and I lose interest in forcing them to jog. I bring it back