The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

a scream building in his throat. “Slaíne. These Pulls feel like…me.”

Her eyes grew wide, and that is when the light in the sky ran out. “They can’t be you, sir. You’re here. You’re not dead.”

Aidan was only half-listening. “They’re both me. But they’re not me.” He shook his head, and then it dawned on him, and he sank to the ground in despair. “I think I’ve found my parents.”

There was no explaining it, no accounting for how it could be so. Yet the fact remained: he knew those Pulls and they were his parents’. But how?

The horses continued their frantic hoofing and snorting. The air grew cold. Aidan’s arms were all gooseflesh, and he could not stop shaking as tears of rage clouded his vision. “Dewhurst. Dewhurst killed my family.”

Slaíne, who had been silent for a moment, spoke the question he couldn’t find his voice for. “Are ya certain? I thought you said they disappeared when you was but a boy.”

“Their bodies are here,” Aidan snapped. “What more proof do I need?”

“I’m not sayin’ it weren’t Dewhurst,” she countered, her tone soothing. “But, if’n you don’t mind me saying, these bodies are newly dead from the looks of things.” She approached Aidan and stooped down next to him on the ground.

Blinking away the tears, Aidan let out a long sigh. “Maybe they’ve been alive all this time and he just now killed them?” Even to his own ears the words didn’t sound right. It was an enigma that he would perhaps never solve. Why had Dewhurst done this? The thought of Dewhurst nauseated him. Bile rose in his throat.

Slaíne rubbed his back in soothing circles, and he did not stop her. It didn’t matter now what he did or didn’t feel. Meraude had lied. There was nothing left for him. The Goblets Immortal held no answers about bringing his family back, and there was no point in tracking the magical vessels down.

“This isn’t over,” Aidan said after a moment, perhaps startling Slaíne, who let out a soft gasp. Wiping his mouth, he stumbled to his feet and stared into the darkness where his parents lay. They could not tarry here much longer. The fire brigade would have been called by now, and the yard would soon be packed with volunteers fighting the blaze. The rain had ceased falling, and a nasty wind had blown in from the north.

With a choked sob, Aidan latched on to the bodies’ Pulls and carefully Dismissed them into Nothingness. He could bury them later.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked him.

He did not respond, but Summoned the silver sword.

“Aidan, what are you doing?”

Jaw clenched, Aidan staggered out of the stables, paying no mind to whether Slaíne was following him or not. When he returned to the manor house, the yard was empty but for the dead bodies…and Dewhurst.

The hated man was crawling on all fours, making his way toward a puddle of water, perhaps to calm the heat blisters swelling on his face. He didn’t deserve the relief.

Traces of Aidan’s blood still remained in Dewhurst’s system. Aidan latched on to the familiar Pull and gave the man a good tug in two different directions.

Dewhurst screamed as his breastbone cracked, the sickening sound only just audible over the roar of the blazing house. Aidan was not through with him.

He could find no words for Dewhurst, and physically exhausted as he was, he had no energy to spare for the man’s much-deserved demise. He made Dewhurst aware of his intent through their peculiar mental connection a moment before forcing Dewhurst to raise his hand and Summon the silver sword from Aidan’s hand into his own chest.

Gurgling crimson, Lord Dewhurst toppled over onto his side, shuddered once, and breathed his last.

Exhaustion overwhelmed Aidan, and he heard a ringing in his ears. If not for Slaíne’s Pull, right at his elbow, he might have passed out.

“Sir,” she said, her voice watery and blurred. She then said something he couldn’t catch and handed him something cold and repulsive and yet Compelling: a Goblet, he realized. “Sir.”

Aidan shook his head like a dog getting rid of fleas.

“Didn’t deserve the mercy. But…blimey, what are we going to do now?”

Aidan did not answer for a moment, his thoughts in turmoil. His path was more muddled than before, and his mind could scarce form a coherent sentence. But there was one thing he would hold on to. Only one thing mattered now. “Sam isn’t with my parents’ remains. I think Meraude might have him.” Lies. He knew it. Slaíne knew it. But finally they were on the same page about things. Aidan cast a sideways glance at her, a slow, deadly smile stealing over his features. “Let’s kill the mage.”

Acknowledgments

Julene Louis – your sage advice and insights made this book stronger.

Victoria Vogel – your steadfast belief in my abilities has made me a more confident writer.

Ruth Johnson – your faithful encouragement has kept me from throwing in the towel more often than you will ever know.

About this book

This is a FLAME TREE PRESS BOOK

Text copyright © 2020 Beth Overmyer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

FLAME TREE PRESS, 6 Melbray Mews, London, SW6 3NS, UK, flametreepress.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Thanks to the Flame Tree Press team, including: Taylor Bentley, Frances Bodiam, Federica Ciaravella, Don D’Auria, Chris Herbert, Josie Karani, Molly Rosevear, Will Rough, Mike Spender, Cat Taylor, Maria Tissot, Nick Wells, Gillian Whitaker. The cover is created by Flame Tree Studio with thanks to Nik Keevil and Shutterstock.com.

FLAME TREE PRESS is an imprint of Flame Tree Publishing