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

to relieve some of the tension in the room. “He fled on his own free will. And he fled because of you. I had no part in that. Come closer, General.” I walk around to the other side of my desk and sit on the edge of it, hoping my informal posture will allow him to feel more at ease.

General Greyson walks closer with hesitance in his step. He fears me, as he should. That’s good, but it’s too late. This fool has failed me for the last time. Or rather, I have failed him for the last time.

“Closer.” I rise to my feet as he approaches. As soon as he’s within reach, I grab him by the throat with my left hand, leaving my right free in case his resistance is too much. But his strength fades immediately as I suppress him with a simple touch. He gives no struggle. How weak he is. “Unfortunately, General, a Shadow is only defined by its source of light. And with your actions, I’m feeling rather dim right now. Unlike you, however, I will learn from my mistakes. I will shine brighter for the next Shadow. You have officially been charged with treason for conspiring against Parliament.” I grip his neck tighter and watch as his eyes bulge. “Unofficially, you have put everything I have worked so hard to fortify at risk. Knowledge is precious. And you’re not worthy of it. But you already know too much. The only acceptable consequence is death.”

The dead cells spread over his body like a flesh-eating disease. The black rot envelops his face first, then his arms, then all of his visible flesh. It soon fades from black to a grayish-brown color. His body decays from the inside out. The smell is revolting but something I’ve become accustom to over the seasons. It reeks of a dead carcass yet has the bittersweet smell of rich soil. Something I despise and something I cherish.

His body falls to the ground as I let go. His bones have degenerated into a soft cartilage and are unable to keep him upright. His limbs separate from his abdomen with the impact of the fall—his flesh lacking any remaining strength and elasticity. His entrails spill out onto the floor, and all that remains is a pile of rotten mush and a few fragments of bone.

“Ahh.” I slump onto the edge of the desk feeling a bit nauseous and dizzy. The energy involved with taking a man’s life is significant compared to most other uses of the talents. Many Dihkai aren’t even capable of stopping the heart, let alone turning a body into a pile of gruel, but that is primarily due to their lack of knowledge and focus, not because their bodies cannot physically handle it. It would take them longer to recover from the aftermath, but they’re all capable. She is capable.

“Sasha.” She perks up in her corner, pretending to be oblivious to the murder she witnessed. Mute she may be, but she does a fine job of pretending to be deaf and blind as well. The perfect handmaid. “Please, fetch the supplies to clean this up. Quickly.” She scampers through the oversized ironwood doors and into the hall.

“Ellia Rosewood,” I quietly announce. She tightens her stance and doesn’t make direct eye contact but, instead, stares straight forward in a disciplined manner. She wears a modified Academy uniform. Not something I approve of, but technically not disgracing any of the rules. It is a mix between the Crimson Guard’s armored-silk cross-sash and the Academy’s more conservative greaves. The deep red cross-sash wraps tight around her chest, more than usual for any male or female, which reveals most of her flesh. The silk greaves are in line with her top, showing all the curves of her figure. Ellia complements it with a cloak of the same material. Not an ordinary cloak, though. Nothing ordinary for this woman. She has cut the fabric into fine strips, which I can only assume is to assist in her elusiveness on her evening extracurriculars. It would help obscure her character if she were to be seen.

And then there is her patch. More of a band, really. She conceals her right eye, and today it matches the evening red of her uniform. It serves no real purpose other than offering ambiguity. It’s more of an offensive strategy for her, masking her dominant skill set. And somehow the patch plays toward her provocativeness. She wears it well.

“Yes, Your Divineness?” She speaks confidently.

“As you are well aware, I have had a keen watch on your training at the Academy, and I admire how much you’ve grown over the seasons. I remember when you were nothing but innocence. A toddler with only the desire to please your immediate emotions, but you have come such a long way and have learned to control those emotions in a way most others are incapable of. You are respected. You are envied. You are reserved with logical decisions. And you will be able to lead your peers to success with ease one day. Except…” I take a moment to massage my brow as I recover from exploiting the rot. “…now it’s time to strip you of those peers. Now is the time for you to weigh a heavy decision. I know you are capable of exceeding my expectations.”

“Thank you, Your Divineness.”

“Please, call me Harris, or Taoiseach, or something other than ‘Your Divineness’. That title insinuates a tyrant and should be reserved for the weak citizens of this world who have imagined me a monstrosity. General Greyson was nothing more than that, which is why he was not awarded such privileges. He didn’t understand the depths of where his choices were leading him. Where they would have led our entire culture. You, on the other hand, will prove your worth immediately. I have no doubt of that. Ellia Rosewood, you are my new