The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4) by C.J. Aaron (graded readers txt) 📕

He slid easily across the sheets, resting his back against the wooden headboard.

“Ryl?” he whispered.

There was no answer.

In the hall outside, the growing sounds of commotion found their way to his ears.

The features of the room slowly came into view. The large bed dominated the center of the interior. To his left a pair of large windows looked out into the darkness. There were a few glimmers of lights. An ominous orange glow hung low, silhouetting the tops of the buildings of Cadsae Proper.

Past the foot of the bed, he could make out the shape of a large door. A stream of light worked its way in along the tile floor, stopping a few meters inside. He could see the outline of a chair and a small table to the side of the doorway.

Aelin swung his feet over the edge of the bed, surprised to find that they didn’t reach the floor below. The low cot he’d called his own had offered little height from the cold, creaky and rough wooden panels of the common house.

He slipped from the bed. The tiles beneath his feet were smooth and shockingly cold on his bare skin. Every step made a quiet sticking sound as his naked skin peeled up off the floor. At the foot of the chair by the door, he found his shoes. Though hardly more than crude deerskin coverings at this point, they muffled the sounds of his movement across the stone floor. He grabbed his small weathered pack, tossing it over his shoulder.

Aelin felt a chill pass through his body. It was as if a waft of frigid air travelled through the room. His puzzled expression fell to the door less than a meter in front of him. It was closed tightly. No air could have passed through its sturdy wooden panel, yet he had sensed the tingle of the chilling gust as it passed. His hands fumbled against the polished wood as he searched for the handle of the door.

A distant, sharp cracking sound roared through the air. Though it rumbled like a vicious peal of thunder splitting the sky, it was unlike any he’d heard before. He could feel the impact of the noise. It made his stomach lurch and his heart beat faster as if an unseen hand had punched him in the gut.

Shouting rose from beyond the door. The commotion swelled as heavy footsteps signaled the rapid movement of the occupants.

Aelin reached for the handle of the door. The rapid inswing of the wooden panel caught him off guard. His face rebounded off the wood, sending stars through his vision as he careened across the smooth floor.

There was a gasp.

A female’s comforting voice.

He felt gentle hands cradle his head as they pulled him into a warm embrace.

“My boy, are you alright?” Breila cooed as she gently stroked his hair. In the doorway the hulking shadow of her guard blocked out most of the light from the exterior hallway. Aelin could see the naked sword in his hand.

“Aye. I’m fine. What’s happening? Where’s Ryl?” he blurted out, not waiting for an answer.

“Shhh,” Breila coaxed the agitated young tribute. “I have no idea what caused that unearthly howl. My guess is that Ryl had something to do with the explosion though.”

Aelin leapt to his feet. His abrupt rise sent the madam skidding backward across the floor.

“He’s gone,” Aelin snapped accusingly at the madam.

The guard in the doorway growled as he turned his body and his blade in Aelin’s direction.

“It’s ok, Tarik,” Breila barked as she worked herself to her feet. Her voice was stern yet motherly. It compelled him to listen. “Young man, Ryl said he would return shortly. He’s done nothing to give me cause to doubt the seriousness of his word.”

The stern features of her face softened as she approached. She leaned forward, bringing her face close to his, placing her hands tenderly on his shoulders.

“Or to question the sincerity of his devotion,” she added.

Another haunting wail floated on the wind. Unlike the last, this was closer. It was a bloodcurdling scream, a wail of pure agony. It was the sound of a man’s voice.

It cut off with an alarming snap.

“Tarik, see that everyone is inside,” Breila ordered. “Have the archers ready on the roof. Bar the doors.”

With a grunt the massive guard hastened from the room. His terse commands echoed through the hallway moments later. The sound of footsteps grew as the unseen guards responded without question. There were sounds of doors slamming throughout the house.

“Come, Aelin,” Breila said as she placed her hand on his back, gently steering him to the door. “Let us move upstairs.”

Breila ushered Aelin from the darkened room into the hallway beyond. He had been asleep when they had first entered. His mouth fell agape as he looked upon the opulence of the corridor before him.

The ceiling was high. He reckoned it reached five meters from floor to ceiling. The walls were lined with all forms of paintings and tapestries. Some were bordered by ornately fashioned gold-colored frames. His mind wondered if they were in fact solid gold, or merely a gilding for show. Either way, he now walked among wealth he’d witnessed only in his wildest dreams.

Not unlike his room, smooth tiles, polished to a mirrored shine, paved the floor. Ahead, a large staircase ascended to the upper level of the mansion. A carpet of bright, vibrant red lined the center of the stairs. He felt his foot sink into the plush as he stepped upward.

He’d taken no more than a few steps when he stopped abruptly. He wrapped his hands around his stomach as the discomfort rushed through his body. He felt the cold sweat break across his forehead. His body felt engulfed by an inky blackness that chilled him to the core.

Breila’s eyes were panicked as they met his.

The sound of smashing glass ripped through the first floor.

Bedlam ensued.

Wicked curses of men roared through the halls. Screams of alarm and pain carried from the exterior.