Read Online The Destroyer Book 4 by Michael-Scott Earle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael-Scott Earle
Tags: General Fiction
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oats!” He nodded again and crouched low in a painful-looking bow.
I missed the scent of wood, hay, and horses as soon as I left the stables, though it was pleasant to walk after being in the saddle for so long. A bath, a large meal, and a fermented beverage would be the perfect way to relax after the long journey and unexpected attack.
The manor house was larger than I expected, but crafted in the country style of rough log timbers and river rock just as I had envisioned. I supposed it had a rugged beauty, but I preferred the clean, sweeping desert towers and vibrantly painted adobe dwellings of my mother’s land that managed to blend artistry with stylized, efficient functionality. The massive structure before me lacked grace and it looked as if the builders had haphazardly stacked a pile of logs and stones simply to keep out the elements, with absolutely zero regard for aesthetics.
“Welcome, Mistress. We have prepared a bath for you.” The woman was dressed in the clothes of a servant, but her jewelry indicated a higher rank, I guessed she was the house manager or perhaps my father’s mistress. Perhaps both. Her eyes shone as deep as blue sapphires, her otherwise black hair reflected the same jewel tones as it caught the light. Behind her stood four humans, normally the scent of their race repulsed me, particularly in such close quarters, but I could smell nothing but the smooth sweetness of vanilla spiked with cinnamon. I followed the group up a stout staircase and back into the west wing of the home.
“Your father had this space prepared for your stay with us. This is the foyer.” She gestured to the wide entryway, it held a long couch, a bar, and a table with seating for six. The furniture was crafted in some sort of dark wood. I could not discern the type of tree under the scent of the lemon oil and beeswax with which it was polished. The walls were decorated with uninspired but adequately done paintings of horses in various stages of movement.
“I doubt my father personally prepared this room.” I traced my fingertips across the table.
“He delegated the task to me actually, Mistress.” She laughed slightly. “I am glad that you like it.”
“I didn’t say I liked it.” I set my eyes on her and waited for the woman to squirm.
“But you do of course. You are a woman of taste and this represents your interests and style. I know much about you already.” Her scent betrayed very little fear beneath her boldness.
“We’ll see,” I said without emotion. I walked through the door into the next room and tried to stifle a gasp, lest this haughty servant know that she had impressed me.
My eyes fixated on the bed. It was massive. It could have held my horse had I been inclined toward such deviant sexual activities. The sheets and covers were beautifully crafted in satin so smooth and fine it looked like silvery liquid pooled on the bed. Four dark wood posts ascended from each corner to support a mesh canopy, which I assumed, rather bitterly, was not there for decoration, but necessary for keeping away the bugs that must swarm this miserable wilderness in the summer. Each post was decorated with finely carved horses mounted by female archers. The artwork here was far superior to the paintings in the foyer and my fingers ran over each delicate and perfectly carved form on the nearest post. The artist had captured the beauty of the horse in movement, accurately depicting each curve of muscle and turn of bone while simultaneously wrapping the image artfully around the natural shape and curve of the wooden post.
There were a few green wool couches gathered around a low meeting table crafted in the same style as the bed. In the back of the room, large wrought iron doors framed stained glass window panes. The afternoon light slanted through at the perfect angle, throwing a beautiful floral pattern of blue, green, and yellow across the floor of the room.
“Your private balcony waits through those doors.
I missed the scent of wood, hay, and horses as soon as I left the stables, though it was pleasant to walk after being in the saddle for so long. A bath, a large meal, and a fermented beverage would be the perfect way to relax after the long journey and unexpected attack.
The manor house was larger than I expected, but crafted in the country style of rough log timbers and river rock just as I had envisioned. I supposed it had a rugged beauty, but I preferred the clean, sweeping desert towers and vibrantly painted adobe dwellings of my mother’s land that managed to blend artistry with stylized, efficient functionality. The massive structure before me lacked grace and it looked as if the builders had haphazardly stacked a pile of logs and stones simply to keep out the elements, with absolutely zero regard for aesthetics.
“Welcome, Mistress. We have prepared a bath for you.” The woman was dressed in the clothes of a servant, but her jewelry indicated a higher rank, I guessed she was the house manager or perhaps my father’s mistress. Perhaps both. Her eyes shone as deep as blue sapphires, her otherwise black hair reflected the same jewel tones as it caught the light. Behind her stood four humans, normally the scent of their race repulsed me, particularly in such close quarters, but I could smell nothing but the smooth sweetness of vanilla spiked with cinnamon. I followed the group up a stout staircase and back into the west wing of the home.
“Your father had this space prepared for your stay with us. This is the foyer.” She gestured to the wide entryway, it held a long couch, a bar, and a table with seating for six. The furniture was crafted in some sort of dark wood. I could not discern the type of tree under the scent of the lemon oil and beeswax with which it was polished. The walls were decorated with uninspired but adequately done paintings of horses in various stages of movement.
“I doubt my father personally prepared this room.” I traced my fingertips across the table.
“He delegated the task to me actually, Mistress.” She laughed slightly. “I am glad that you like it.”
“I didn’t say I liked it.” I set my eyes on her and waited for the woman to squirm.
“But you do of course. You are a woman of taste and this represents your interests and style. I know much about you already.” Her scent betrayed very little fear beneath her boldness.
“We’ll see,” I said without emotion. I walked through the door into the next room and tried to stifle a gasp, lest this haughty servant know that she had impressed me.
My eyes fixated on the bed. It was massive. It could have held my horse had I been inclined toward such deviant sexual activities. The sheets and covers were beautifully crafted in satin so smooth and fine it looked like silvery liquid pooled on the bed. Four dark wood posts ascended from each corner to support a mesh canopy, which I assumed, rather bitterly, was not there for decoration, but necessary for keeping away the bugs that must swarm this miserable wilderness in the summer. Each post was decorated with finely carved horses mounted by female archers. The artwork here was far superior to the paintings in the foyer and my fingers ran over each delicate and perfectly carved form on the nearest post. The artist had captured the beauty of the horse in movement, accurately depicting each curve of muscle and turn of bone while simultaneously wrapping the image artfully around the natural shape and curve of the wooden post.
There were a few green wool couches gathered around a low meeting table crafted in the same style as the bed. In the back of the room, large wrought iron doors framed stained glass window panes. The afternoon light slanted through at the perfect angle, throwing a beautiful floral pattern of blue, green, and yellow across the floor of the room.
“Your private balcony waits through those doors.
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