Descendant Read Online Free Page A

once—but his gold-and-green tunic, edged with a wide band of elaborate, knot-work embroidery, was torn and stained with ages of filth. His breeches were tattered, his feet bare and coated with blood, dried and fresh, from having fought against his cruel restraints. His dark-blond hair had grown long, and his beard was unkempt. And yet, somehow, he still looked princely.
    Mason edged toward him, between the rock pillars and across a narrow stone bridge that spanned the dark pool. Slowly, wearily, the man rolled his head in Mason’s direction, just enough so that she could see one of his eyes. Sky-blue and bright in the ashen gloom, it almost seemed to glow, as if lit from within. He stared at her, unblinking, and his gaze, beneath a sheen of excruciating pain, held warmth and wisdom and—Mason got the distinct impression—a wicked sense of humor.
    “Who are you?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.
    “Me?” the man answered. “Oh . . . no one of consequence . . .”
    “Wow,” Mason said, swallowing her fear. “You must have done something pretty shitty to merit this kind of punishment, in that case.”
    She waited for a moment, expecting to see anger or denial or bitterness fill the stranger’s expression at whatshe’d said. But he just continued to smile through the pain and shifted his shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. The one blue eye she could see remained fixed placidly upon her.
    “Looks can be terribly deceiving,” he said.
    The muscles of his cheek and jaw spasmed in pain.
    “Right. So . . . what did you do then?” she asked.
    “Something pretty shitty.” He chuckled. “Obviously. At least . . . there are those who clearly seem to think so.”
    “But you just said looks are deceiving.”
    “I said they can be—” His mirth collapsed into a racking coughing fit, the breath rattling in his lungs, and Mason winced in sympathy. He must have been terribly parched, lying there like that, chained in that smoky, dusty cavern for who knew how long.
    When the hacking subsided and he turned his head farther to look at her, Mason had to swallow hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat. Half of the man’s handsome face had been seared to a raw, blackened mess by the snake’s corrosive drool. His hair and beard were singed, and she thought she could see the pale gleam of his cheekbone through the ruined flesh.
    He shrugged again, seeing her reaction. “I’m sure it probably looks far worse than it feels. Looks , remember?”
    “Deceiving,” Mason said through clenched teeth. “Yeah. Right . . .”
    She swallowed hard again and forced her gaze not to shift, like it had every time she’d looked at Cal. This, after all, was much, much worse. Mason might have unintentionally shamed Cal by the way she’d reacted to him after the attack on the school gym, when his handsome face had been slashed open by the claws of a draugr, but she wouldn’t shame this man—whoever he was—by doing the same thing. She’d learned her lesson, and there would be no looking away this time. No matter how horrifying it was.
    But then he did her the favor of shifting again anyway, so Mason could no longer see the terrible wound. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, she saw that the rich blue orb of his undamaged eye was fastened on the iron medallion around her neck.
    “What’s your name, child?” he asked again, in that same gentle tone.
    “Mason. Mason Starling,” she said, even though he still hadn’t told her who he was.
    “Starling . . .” He smiled as if in recollection of apleasant memory. “Pretty birdie.”
    Mason snorted. “Most people think starlings are pests,” she said. “They’re considered an invasive species in some parts of the world.”
    “Ha!” The man laughed again. “I’ve had the very same accusations leveled at me. I prefer to think of such creatures as . . . adventurous. Survivors. Conquerors.”
    “Is that what you are?”