Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) by Jonathan Michael (ereader that reads to you txt) 📗

Stone stares at me like I’m out of my mind. “Yeah, right. I can’t revive the dead. That’s impossible. I’m a Lahyf, not some kind of divine being that chooses who lives or dies. I can only heal the damage. You know that. Plus, my talent isn’t developed enough to even mend a broken leg, let alone start an un-beating heart.”

“It’s just a tiny frog…” I say, forcing the challenge.

“Toad,” he corrects me.

“Whatever. It’s just a tiny toad. We’ll never know if we don’t try, right? Do you know what kind of breakthrough this would be? It would change everything. The talent of the Lahyf would be more powerful than the Dihkai.”

“You are a Dihkai. Why would you want that?”

“Change. The Dihkai have been leading this realm with fear for far too long. Plus, if we do bring it back to life, it’ll prove I actually did catch it alive. Please, Stone! Just try.”

“Alright. I guess it’s worth a try. How do you suppose we begin?”

The realm is on the verge of chaos with no visible recovery in sight. An Immortal slaughtered an entire village. It was insufferable. The darkness was hiding just under the man’s skin and he made a conscious choice to unleash it. The shadows are growing darker.

6 Harris

T he thunder lanterns are dim, and the window is cracked with the window coverings drawn, letting in a warm morning breeze. I haven’t pinpointed the tree diffusing that aroma, but it is sweet and is a fine complement to the warm air. The perfect summer fragrance.

I gather a moderate scoop from the ice pail and dump it into the empty tumbler sitting atop the dark walnut desk in front of me. I reach for the half-full decanter of well-aged scotch and fill my glass to the brim. This atmosphere is precisely what I need to contemplate how to deal with such heedless incompetence.

I purposefully neglect to offer refreshments to the company who anticipate an explanation for being summoned to my chamber. There are two reasons: one, because I have an image to maintain and it’s not a courteous one—well mannered, but not courteous—and two, because they are undeserving of such a fine scotch. It would be a waste of a declining supply.

Sasha dons the customary female handmaiden attire, a black, cotton dress hanging just below the knees with shoulder length sleeves and trimmed with pale-grey lace. She sits on her small wooden stool in the corner of the room, awaiting any requests I may have.

“Sasha, dear… While it’s fresh in my mind, will you please take note that I must discover what that wonderful smell in the air is. Tomorrow.”

Sasha nods her confirmation.

For a girl unable to speak, she’s developed resourceful methods for communicating with me. One being a language of her own, using only her hands accompanied by a few facial expressions to exaggerate her emotion. Nodding being one of the most overlooked yet most efficient methods of communication. The other, we’re working on. It’s not an easy gift to master, but she has the talent. I am rather fond of the girl. It won’t last, though. Not with how I acquired her services.

Ellia Rosewood, a woman of nineteen seasons with endless beauty, a scholarly mind, and fierce discipline—a rare find—stands tall in the back of the room near the closed ironwood doors. She will have to wait her turn and enjoy the show in the meantime.

I take a sip as I wallow in my poor decision of promoting the main attraction standing next to her. A complete list of all the Dihkai living on this red moon. That is all I requested. I gave him two dozen fireteams consisting of the best of the best to disperse across all regions of Azure. But she did not make it onto the list. Four seasons I have given him. My patience is at its end. I know Serene Halliday is a Dihkai of four seasons with dark-brown eyes, and she resides in Aspen Creek with a rope swing in the tree in front of her home. I know Hunter Longmire is a Dihkai of eighty-eight seasons who’s bald with a limp and resides in Silverleaf with eight children and nineteen grandchildren. But what I do not know is where Jaymes McLarin is.

“You know, General, I have already learned something new today, and the day remains young. Would you like to know what I learned?”

“Uh, sir… I would like to know why I have been summoned, if you don’t mind.”

General Greyson, my current Shadow and General of the Crimson Guard, a man of average height, build, and competency steps forward. He is the reason for our assemblage today and the primary reason I drink this morning.

“Ah, so you care not for knowledge?” I ask. “It seems someone of your status, someone wearing that grey armored-silk tunic should understand the importance of knowledge, no? And the crimson cloak. It’s emblematic of your significance.”

“Please, sir, what did you learn today?” he replies dutifully, tugging at the green metallic pin fastening his cloak. It’s a lone solar body embedded in a semicircle. The sigil of the Sprhowt race. The badge of the summer birthed.

“Ah, so you care, but only because I care. That’s okay. An immature mind, or perhaps a passionless one, will do such things. I will still tell you what I learned because I am excited to share my knowledge. A shadow is not the absence of light. No. That is what darkness is. A shadow is merely lesser light in contrast to more light, and more importantly, it gives definition to our world. I had never thought of it as such before. Isn’t that an interesting concept?”

“That is fascinating, sir,” the General replies without a smudge of interest.

“This list is not complete,” I reply without emotion, changing