"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.
Isla paused her exploration, crossing her arms at the room's threshold. "When will he kill me?"
"I don't know."
Not one, but two evasive men. Oh, how redundant. She sighed, scratching her forehead. When would someone give her answers?
Skye moved to leave, but Isla snatched his arm, halting his retreat. "Wait."
His blank face reared up, the light and snap returning to his gaze. "What?"
"Skye, send me back."
His brow wrinkled, the creases long and engrained. The emotion transformed his face from spiritless to conscious. Had her father restrained his soul earlier?
Her grip steeled. "Help me stop him."
He stared at her hold, his lips parting. His gaze traveled upwards, closer to hers, but still wayward.
She cleared her throat, wetting her lips. "Skye, please."
His eyes widened before he shifted his frame sideways. "I can't. The time is not right."
"He needs to be stopped! We can't keep waiting," she urged while searching for a sign.
But her words entered a void, their meaning lost as he remained fixed. His shoulders and back straightened, and any potential response fled unannounced.
"Fine. So be it," Isla said, her inflection even and voice calm. Yet inside, her guts twisted and broiled. She released his arm then walked into the room, slamming the door.
Isla slid down against the thick wooden door and listened to Skye's retreating footsteps. She untangled her snarled and fouled hair, yanking the slick strands apart. "Dammit Skye," she muttered, "I thought you might care."
She guessed and made a declaration. Sure, she exposed herself, but honestly, Skye knew her. At most, the risk was minor. Still, his reaction presented conflict and he hesitated.
He had saved Layla and Linda, defending their lives. Every instance they met, he confounded her. What was his purpose? What did he expect from her? Layla's explanation had grounded her, without lying, she knew Layla's words changed her viewpoint on Skye. Still, he was her murderer. But sometimes crazy and insane turned fate's wheel faster. Something she needed now.
She flicked a forward strand away and rocked her head against the door. Now, what?
Forget Skye, how would she materialize? Warning the witch took precedence, not ideal, but her deliverance of the information would be impossible without help. She smashed the carpeted floor, her fist aching. Again, weak and helpless, how stupid.
Isla crawled to her feet. Sit and wait? Hell no. If death awaited her, at least she would unleash a preemptive attack and face the beast.
She inched open the door and peeked out. The white marble blinked back, defaced by no fools. Listening and waiting delivered no response, but simple nothingness relaxed her. She withdrew from the room, closing the door without sound.
If only her aura capacity were larger, then she could materialize herself. Still, at least she sensed the barrier surrounding Elysium. Escape hinged on her returning to her starting point, the free domain outside the barrier. Chances reigned high on her father predicting and locating her flight, but why make this easy for him.
She hushed her concerns and concentrated. Each left and right turn, her body had memorized.
With lithe tip-toed steps, she advanced. Rounding an intersection, she face-planted a muscular flat chest and her cheeks kissed a silken gray vest, stunning her to stop. Her feet became rooted and she blinked at the unmovable wall.
"What do we have here?" a gruff, masculine voice inquired.
Isla crept back, her gaze traveling from body to head. Wavy chestnut brown hair to the shoulder with topaz speckled emerald green eyes. A short well-groomed beard covered his jaw and his mouth's corners curved upwards.
She wetted her lips. "Can you help me?" she replied in a delicate voice, raising the pitch. Her head tilted to the side, and she smiled.
He leaned forward his mouth hovering near her ear. "What can I help my Lady with?" he voiced as his arms wrapped around her back.
Isla winced as hot, lemon laced breath slammed her face. She recovered her bite and stared upwards into his gem studded irises.
"You see, I'm looking for a big strong God to help carry me away. Would you be the one?"
"Oh? I definitely could be that one. Why don't you tell me more?"
Isla stepped closer, her hand planted against his chest. "You definitely look the part. But are you sure, I don't want you to get in trouble."
He grinned. "Ah, that won't be a problem."
"Surely?"
"Of course. Why would I lie to you?"
"I'm actually trying to sneak out. My daddy won't let me leave."
"That's not nice of him. But you should know, all requests come with a cost."
"Then let's make a deal."
His lips parted, but his response fled as a familiar voice interrupted, "Meissier leave her alone."
Meissier faced the new arrival and his stance tensed. Isla leaned back, peeking around Meissier's large frame, right at Rein.
"Well, well, hello Rein. What can I do for you?" Meissier sneered.
"Find someone else to play with," Rein growled, stomping forward. His turbulent gaze shamed even the most chaotic storm, relentless and powerful.
Meissier chuckled and released his soft hold on her. "Fine. Have your Princess." He turned to leave, whispering, "If you wish to continue our conversation, come and find me."
She straightened her spine and glared at him. Her mouth set in a thin line.
He smirked and left, his boots clacking down the hall.
Isla glanced back, her eyes narrowing on Rein. Why was he here?
His berserker facade melted and he exposed a gloom burrowed deep with sadness. He raised his palm open, towards her, yearning to explain, but the hand closed as he ruffled his hair. "Isla," he murmured, his voice delicate.
"Stop."
"Isla, please. Just let me help you first, slap me later."
She looked away and crossed her arms. Why did he appear now?
"Use me. Let me get you out of here. I can help. I swear."
"Help?" she whispered the transfixing word. Her gaze returned, connecting with his. "You can't help me," Isla countered.
"Can we please not argue. There isn't much time. Do you think your father only started his plans now? You need to escape for us all," he explained with sharpness and hardness to his tone.
What did Rein know? Rather, how much did he know? And did it matter?
"What the hell are you trying to play? The hero?"
He rubbed his brow, laughing under his hand. "Not a chance. We both know that."
Rein knew. Did he know before he betrayed her? Had he been influenced into killing Rydin? Still, would knowing change her perspective on him, or rather, did she want an excuse to?
Forget condoning his crime, for now at least. Did she accept his bloodstained hand out? No matter the dirt caked upon her soul, one truth remained, she killed when needed. She killed with reason. But did that make Rein any different?
She debated the question and watched Rein fidget as he waited.
"Isla, Meissier is loyal to your father. Don't play him as a fool who didn't know you. Let me get you out of here, please."
"And you aren't loyal? Don't make me laugh. You killed for him and in his name."
"It's complicated," he said as his eyes darted to the corridor behind her.
His behavior mirrored a traitor, but to which side? Rein never struck her as manipulative and cunning. Sure, he bantered with words and compelled others, but a playful ploy.
She cursed under her breath. Tearing through Rein's layers of betrayal could wait, instead, other priorities demanded her attention. Leef's life was at stake. What better way to triumph over her father, than rescue the child, both for herself and for surmounting him.
"Fine, Rein. But only this once."
His shoulders relaxed. "That's fine," he voiced, "for now."