Songbird of the Sorrows (MYTHS OF THE EMPYRIEOS #1) by Braidee Otto EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Braidee Otto
- Language: English
- Genre: Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 8.8 MB
- Price: Free
I WAS BORN DEAD.
Before the gods saw fit to grant me life. Before my mother surrendered
her soul to save mine.
Perhaps it was my first dance with death that made me so reckless.
Maybe it choreographed my perception of life itself. Propelling me toward
choices others—in their sanity—would avoid.
But even I had to admit, this was a terrible idea. It may be the worst idea
I’ve ever conjured up.
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My arms tremble from the strain of the aether trying to force my body
back toward solid ground, and my fingers ache as I dig them deeper into the
crevices between the stones and mortar. A trickle of sweat trails down my
spine, pooling at the base of my back, another tickling its way down my
heated forehead.
I ignore it all, straining as I pull myself higher.
One hand over the other.
One steadying breath after the last.
The wind caresses my body as I cling to the side of the tower. Not a threat
to make me fall, but a promise to catch me if I do. The sensation is
reassuring, but as the toe of my sandal slips from my newest foothold, my
heart still jumps to my throat.
I draw in a deep breath, tightening my grip on the wall. With every ounce
of determination, I bring my body closer, my foot frantically seeking
another dent in the surface. The rush of my blood thunders through my ears
with each drawn-out moment, until my sandal notches into place.
Cautiously, I lean into it, testing the crack with my weight to be sure it will
hold. When it does, I breathe a sigh of relief, leaning my forehead against
the sun-warmed stone.
It’s not the height that scares me. It’s not even the risk of falling. It’s the
fact I’m running out of time.
Do not be seen.
That was the order.
Scaling one of the tallest towers in the Sorrows may not be the most
effective strategy—unless you know its secrets as well as I do.
Every day as the sun sets and the afternoon light hits this same wall, its
white-painted bricks light up like a beacon. If you try looking at it too hard
—or too long—your eyes water, and your vision will blur. It’s almost
impossible to watch, and even more unlikely to see a lone figure clinging to
its side. The white linen clothing I wear only adds to my camouflage.
But neither of those things will prove to be helpful if this takes too long.
The sun will soon set, and with it, my opportunity.
With that sobering thought, I turn my gaze up toward the seventh-floor
window a short distance above me. The arched shutters are thrown open,
inviting the evening breeze inside. I fight the victorious smile attempting to
break free and assess the cracks that stand out like blackened scars against
stone, mapping the rest of my upward journey.
And then I move.
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