Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
It felt strange to touch a man of my own accord, to stare at him so entirely. It was my choice to do this . . . and it was . . . freeing.
I knew it felt different because it was Rider. I . . . I trusted him. Impossible as that was for me to comprehend, it was true. I had not even realized it until that very moment. The fellow sinner had formed a bond with me that I had never had before. Two prisoners, finding solace in the other’s voice and the simple touch of a hand.
“Here.” I looked up to see Sister Ruth holding out a razor. I took it from her hand and brought it to Rider’s cheeks. His beard had risen too high, hiding much of his skin. Taking the blade, I delicately drew it downward. As his cheeks came into view, excitement grew inside me. I would soon see how he truly looked.
I would finally see his face.
As I cut and combed Rider’s beard, his hands began to twitch. My pulse began to race. My eyes darted to Sister Ruth. “He is waking.”
Sister Ruth’s eyes were bright as we watched him begin to stir. Wanting to finish the job I had started, I ran the comb quickly through the rest of his beard. Once the final stroke was made, I glanced down and let myself truly take him in. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing beautiful brown eyes, the pupils struggling to focus.
Rider’s long lashes brushed his cheeks. His eyes met mine. And my world stopped. But it did not stop for the reason I thought it would. My heart shattered apart and my breathing became too quick for me to find air.
I scrambled back in fear and panic, knocking his head from my lap. I crawled away on hands and knees until I reached his feet. Sister Ruth held out her hand to help me stand, but the sound of Rider’s voice stopped me dead.
“Harmony?” Rider’s voice was croaked and weak, but I caught the hint of panic in it. I took a deep breath and slowly turned to face him. I felt the blood drain from my cheeks when I saw his face. There was no mistaking what I was seeing.
Rider’s eyes filled with such guilt that it almost made me cry. But I held strong. “How . . . I do not understand?”
Sister Ruth crouched behind me, laying her hand on my shoulder for support. I glanced at her and saw the confusion on her face. She had no idea what was wrong. I faced Rider again, watching as he struggled to shift into a sitting position, his torso black and blue. The pain in his taut face made me want to go and help him, but I was paralyzed.
I could not move.
Rider fought to breathe as he moved his bruised limbs, only finding relief when his back hit the stone wall. Right then, I saw Rider in his true form. He was beautiful. But then again, I had thought that when I saw this exact face many days ago.
“How?” I repeated, forcing myself to hold Rider’s dark gaze.
“He . . . he is my . . . brother,” he confessed, pain racking his face. This time I knew it was not physical pain. It was emotional. I remembered what the sister had said earlier. The prophet ordered them to truly make him pay . . . “He is . . . my twin. The . . . prophet is my twin brother . . . and he has renounced me . . . He has thrown . . . me to the dogs.”
Sister Ruth froze behind me. I heard her breath catch in her throat. I glanced up and saw her eyes grow huge at Rider’s revelation. Before I could ask if she was alright, she dashed out of the room.
“Where are the guards?” he suddenly asked, a panicked edge to his raspy, low voice. I could not look his way. It hurt too much to look him in the face.
“They are away right now. The prophet called a meeting.”
When I made myself face Rider again, his eyes were steadfastly on me. “Harmony,” he whispered brokenly. He lifted his hand and held it out for me to take.
This time the tears did fall. Because although I was looking into the exact eyes and face of the prophet I despised, Rider’s trembling hand helplessly reaching for mine was the single most devastating moment of my life. Fear was written on his face, fear that I may reject him . . . the man with the face of the man I hated most.
My fingers twitched as I stared at his hand. I wanted to take it, but as I looked back to his face, I asked, “I . . . I do not understand. Why are you in here?”