Shattered Line

Chapter 35: Redemption

"No," Isla retorted.

"A quick answer. But perhaps too quick?" Osiris patted his hands together, his fingers encircling the sapphire studded ring adorning one. "Would a young Centurion boy change your mind? From the records, I recall he lost his endearing older brother recently. Quite sad, wouldn't you say?"

This scoundrel. He would harm Leef—an innocent. What a disgusting man.

She muzzled the threats her mouth would spew. Her barks would create minor noise, demeaning her, but nothing more. All arguments were lost on him.

"Tell me Isla, what are you thinking?"

His pokes and prods bounced against her metal crafted defenses. She had control. Her multitude of emotions settled beneath anger, basking in pure hatred. A heated glare fortified her shield.

"My patience wanes," Osiris drawled and glanced towards Skye. "But alas, kindness afflicts my heart. Rest for now, and we'll talk later. Skye, see to her needs." He waved his hand in dismissal, transferring his attention to the forgotten book.

Isla gripped the seat cushion. The force compressed the cotton fattened pillow. That was it? He demanded her presence for this? What about his murderous tendencies of both her and those close to her?

She scowled as her denial thrived under a childish desire for monopoly. She sat here, right before him, and he disregarded her existence. How laughable was this? Her yearning for retribution smacked her face. He neither accepted her challenge nor acknowledged her, instead, he flicked her like dust.

"Come," Skye commanded, grasping and pulling her arm.

She jerked her wrist and ignored him. How could she leave? She solved nothing, not a tick. He presented a flimsy, pitiful excuse and she had to bear the burn?

But her refusal prompted Skye, and he retaliated with more strength. His vice like grip shifted her balance, dragging her off the plush seating.

She gave up. What point was there? Did struggling matter?

The perfect opportunity for vengeance had been presented before her. A stuffed full platter with delicate garnish. Yet, a single taste evaded her. Her instincts screamed poison. An attempt would don failure.

Isla scrambled upwards, rectifying her slanted pose. She shook her arm, halting Skye's advance. His hollow and sunken eyes scanned her face and intent. She hesitated, his divergence from norm perturbed her. He lacked life. Even a condescending remark would have reversed her mindset, but none followed.

Instead, Skye released his grip, showing his back, and walked away.

Her brow crimped at his retreat and she chased. She glanced backwards, her father preoccupied by the blasted paper tome. If only she could kill him.

Still, her mind accepted defeat. One lost battle, but the war continued. Until her lungs ceased, her heart silenced and her conviction disappeared, she would persist.

Revenge would wait, now, a different path emerged. Leef faced danger.

Skye's hard but monotone voice cut the stillness. "Here." He stopped before a white door, the texture smooth and glossy, with no protrusion proclaiming enter. With a push, he threw the entrance open.

A narrow entryway established the room, leading into a wide, expansive bedroom. The rich blues and greens appeared dark beneath the curtain covered windows. Rugs blanketed the floor and tapestries coated the walls, their handcrafted forms sewed to life, bulking but elegant. Cut by her viewpoint was a premature fire, the embers crying for a consoling touch.