Vertus State (Vassal State Book 1) by K. M. Mayville

Author:K. M. Mayville [Mayville, K. M.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2021-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Roots in Blood

Angelos

Misha whistled a careless tune as he sauntered through his lord's halls. He was waiting for Sebara. He was always waiting for her, but of course today was different. Today, he was waiting for her to reach out to him in irritation. He had planned a little something for her days ago, but she had yet to find it. Now, growing restless with waiting, he deigned to entice her into his little trap.

The things I do for love, he thought to himself with a sigh.

It had been nearly two weeks since they'd taken in the whelp. He and Sebara had only briefly connected with each other in the private wing almost a week ago. Since then, she had consistently found other things to do or fret over to avoid him. He had seen her get like this before. He hoped to keep her from falling into one of her melancholies before it was too late, but he didn't have high hopes.

Mercenary had complicated things.

He psychically reached out to her again, and she seemed surprised to feel him at the edges of her senses. Then she warmed like oil in his hands and asked what he needed of her. He simply wondered where she was and then suggested that he might be down to check the control room, a place even below the heart of the Cairn. Then he amended his notion. “Oh, never mind. I forgot I've got to check on some things at Rozzier's.” He waited for her confusion, her suspicion, and then her acceptance. At that juncture, he thought to her, “I'll see you after, Dearheart.” He didn't disconnect their link, merely pocketed it like a worn, dog-eared paperback he intended to read later.

He took his time walking to the secret door and the secret elevator. He wanted to give her enough time to get down to the control room before he did. She was curious, of course. She couldn't help it.

Lord Deutran saw minds as houses. She once told him that his mind felt like a Mediterranean bungalow, a getaway. He didn't imagine minds as houses. He imagined them as books.

His own was lambskin-bound, oiled to perfection, its contents tailored and coded for a very specific readership and no one else. There were erotic images of course, to throw off any would-be peeping toms. But mostly, it was a mockery of a divine comedy—nine levels of hell, designed for him alone. Every time he gave in to torpor, he wrote in his grimoire. Sometimes he even overwrote, corrected, and injected memories into his Binding of Shadows. Maybe by making up his own history, he could make the tragedy of it all make sense. Maybe he could write reason into it.

Sebara, by contrast, was a collection of volumes on volumes; a chronicle of half-recollected poetry; a dizzy amount of semi-lucid, true-to-life illustrations; shelves and shelves of nothing and everything going back and back into obscurity. Expectedly, there were histories missing from her collection altogether. Stored in

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.