Stench, was more like it.
Both he and Conrahd stumbled back on a recoil, the other male taking out his handkerchief and pressing the folds into his nose. The vicious stink was as if old, spoiled meat had been doused in baby powder, the sickly sweet combination spearing into the nose and contaminating the sinuses.
Whestmorel even tasted it in his mouth, and then down the back of his throat as he swallowed. But what foe would he be for the great Blind King if he could not withstand this proximity to the enemy?
Gathering himself, he forced his arms down and his mind to regulate. That was when the physical details sank in. Thelesserwas restrained and suspended from a rack that was bolted into the roof of the back compartment. With a black hood over its head and those chains at the ankles and the wrists and across the chest, there were no complaints about the presentation, and yet he still hesitated.
“Take the hood off,” he commanded Conrahd.
There was a long pause. It wasn’t until he glanced over with a glare that the male put the kerchief back inside his breast pocket and proceeded to awkwardly duck into the rear of the vehicle. At Whestmorel’s request, they were alone, but now he was rethinking that, and not just because this historic moment perhaps should be witnessed by the others.
Clearing his throat, he rubbed his thumb over his alert button—
Eyes that gleamed with menace stared out at him. And the fact that there was no struggling, no cursing, no threats or even movement was somehow more threatening than any of the alternatives.
This was one deadly entity, Whestmorel concluded.
And then the physical details were a surprise: Dark hair that was long and unkempt. Irises were dark as well. Skin tone was Caucasian,but certainly not the pasty white he expected. Then again, a slayer who had been in the Lessening Society long enough for the paling to occur would probably be sufficiently trained and experienced not to get ambushed and kidnapped. On a side note, the clothes were stained and ratted, and not, he gathered, due to the abduction.
“Do you know what I am,” he said to the thing.
Thelessersneered. “Yeah.”
Whestmorel nodded. “I have a message to give your master. And you will be released as soon as I am confident it has been received.”
Thelesserfrowned, as if that was the last thing it expected.
“You heard me correctly.” Whestmorel glanced at Conrahd, who had expeditiously extracted himself out of the van. “You shall be but a messenger in my favor, nothing more—and once the communication has been delivered, you shall be freed unharmed. If the message is not received, and trust that we shall know, we will not hesitate to maim you such that you shall suffer in perpetuity, never being released by a stab through the heart.”
As the brows lifted in surprise, Whestmorel flashed his fangs, a shot of aggression spurring on his sense of utter superiority.
“Or did you think we do not know how it all works,” he drawled.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
we embrace who we truly are, and accept no other above ourselves.”
As thousands of voices repeated the words in the purple-draped ballroom, Lyric looked around. She and Dev were seated up in the front, and she had to admit that, however much she had written off this whole convention, when you were in the room with Valentina Disserte addressing this adoring crowd…
There was a sense that the woman was making a difference.
Up on the dais, Valentina strode with grace and confidence, long, shapely legs terminating in black stilettoes covering the distance easily. “We understand that any piece of ourselves that we receive from someone else’s praise can be taken from us.”
The crowd repeated the words, and a few of them got to their feet—which led to a rush of women standing and putting their hands up.
“We further understand that any piece of ourselves that might be removed from us by someone else’s criticism is rejected as unnecessary to our core being.”
The Marco Polo aping continued, the words that were spoken trailing across the screens mounted all around the room, as well as the topof the purple backdrop of the main stage, the chorus repeating what the choir leader laid out.
“We take up the space we claim, and we stand alone, for we are our own foundation, and therefore all we build is owned by ourselves and no one else.”
Even more people stood up. And more.
Until everyone in the event space was on their feet and leaning forward, eyes rapt on the stage, on the woman in purple.
Lyric glanced over at Dev. He was sitting back in his chair, having watched the whole thing with an absolute patience that impressed the hell out of her. She could only imagine what her brother or Shuli would be like in this situation, rolling their eyes or laughing under their breath in places.
Not Dev. He just stared at the woman and seemed to be listening to what she was saying.
