Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
It sounded so over-dramatic, but it really felt that way. It felt like there was an emptiness inside him that he couldn’t explain. A hollowness that nothing could fill.
An ache for something he couldn’t name but wanted just the same.
***
Eridan stared at the purple gemstone in his hand, frowning deeply. There was something about it that felt almost familiar, teasing a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. He had no idea where he had gotten the gemstone. It was immensely frustrating. He had no idea why he felt so attached to it, either. It made no sense. It was far from being the prettiest piece of jewelry he owned, but there was something about it… Something comforting. He felt a little bit better when he wore it, his mood inexplicably lifting and the unease under his skin lessening. It was just one more thing he didn’t understand about his own mind. His own past. He wanted to punch the person who had messed with his memories, except apparently that person had been him. It had been his own idea, according to Warrehn.
“Your Highness, you have a visitor,” the palace AI announced.
Eridan slipped the gemstone back under his shirt, letting it rest against his chest. “I’m not accepting callers, Rasul,” he said.
“That is what I told him, but he was quite insistent, Your Highness.”
Sighing, Eridan said, “Who is it?”
“The High Adept, Your Highness.”
Eridan frowned. He searched his memories, but he didn’t seem to even know who the new Grandmaster was after Tethru… had died.
Shoving the thought out of his mind—it didn’t matter, it happened years ago, he was fine—Eridan forced himself to focus on the present. Whoever the new Grandmaster was, he was unlikely to be paying him a social call. What if… what if the Chapter knew?
Swallowing, Eridan breathed deeply, in and out.
Everything would be fine.
They couldn’t possibly know, after all this time.
“I will see him, Rasul,” he forced out. Whether they knew about him killing Tethru or not, turning away the new Grandmaster would just piss him off.
Eridan wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
The sound of the door opening made him look up.
There was a man staring at him from the doorway.
To Eridan’s surprise, he was familiar. It was the very same man who had kissed him on the forehead and wished him happiness. The one with blue eyes. Eridan had thought of him more than once in the past month, wondering, but Warrehn had been very tight-lipped about his identity.
So this was the new Grandmaster.
Slowly, Eridan got to his feet, unsure.
He knew the customs. As a prince, he was supposed to give the High Adept of the High Hronthar a shallow bow, but for some reason, it felt wrong.
He was rooted to the spot as the man finally moved toward him.
“Your Grace,” he managed. The title felt strange on his tongue. He felt strange, too, his skin tight and his telepathy oddly restless.
Something flickered in those blue eyes. “Your Highness,” the Grandmaster said.
It sounded as unnatural as Your Grace did.
Eridan pursed his lips, feeling terribly off-balance, but also inexplicably comfortable at the same time. He knew this man.
“I know you,” he said. It was a statement, even though it felt like a question.
The Grandmaster’s nostrils flared, his eyes peering into Eridan’s face intently. “You remember me?” he said, his telepathic presence reaching out and brushing against Eridan’s in a way that was shockingly intimate and greedy.
Eridan stepped back, a little disconcerted both by this man’s shocking conduct and the fact that he didn’t feel disconcerted.
“No, I have no memories of you,” Eridan said. “Except for the time you…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the mind adept who messed with my mind.”
“I did it at your request,” the other man said. “My name is Castien Idhron. I am—was your Master.”
Eridan frowned. What was he talking about? “I never had a Master. I was never chosen.” He tried not to sound bitter. He wasn’t sure how successful he was.
Idhron’s expression became a little tight. “You were chosen, Eridan. You were my apprentice for nearly four years.”
Eridan pursed his lips, looking at him uncertainly. This man didn’t look like someone who would joke about such things—would joke about anything. But…
“Then why don’t I remember it?”
“You made me remove all your memories of me.”
“Why?” Eridan bit out in frustration, his heart speeding up. Warrehn had claimed that he didn’t know why he had done it, but Eridan could see in his brother’s eyes that he had a theory that he simply refused to share with him. This was his chance to finally solve the mystery. “Tell me. Please.”
Idhron gave him a long, intent look.
Eridan tried not to show how flustered that look made him feel. There was something almost… greedy about that look. Something almost indecent. One wasn’t supposed to look that way at a prince, especially when one was the High Adept of the High Hronthar.