Unspeakable Secrets The Alchemist Series (A Dark Medieval Progression Fantasy)

Chapter 4 Passages

Connor shook with rage. This day had been nothing but disappointment and pain. He was used to his uncle's never-ending criticism, but today was just too much.

He couldn't take it anymore.

"You're right," he said, "I shouldn't have shown up."

He spat more blood onto the sand and stepped off the platform.

"I'm sick of you. I'm sick of pretending I want this life. I'm sick of taking your orders," he said, glaring at his uncle before looking at Adelia, "and I'm sick of having the crap beaten out of me. But mostly, I'm sick of how you just gave up on my parents. On your own brother!"

"Boy, you have no idea what you're talking about! You think I gave up on my brother? I searched for him! I searched for years, and I found nothing!" Victor said.

"Then we should find the who or what did this and make them pay! Instead, you sit here hiding in this city. Protecting a bunch of senseless nobles! We should be out there! We should be hunting those bastards down! Not sitting here looking for traitors, or crooked guards!" Connor yelled and walked away.

"Get back here, we aren't through!" Victor shouted.

Connor ignored his uncle and kept walking.

"To the twelve hells with you then!" Victor said, "ignore your training. Get yourself killed in the streets! See if I care!"

Connor snorted and waved his hand negligently over his head without looking as he walked away, doing his best not to limp.

He tossed his quarterstaff across the room with his good hand.

It clattered against the wooden floorboards, but he ignored it and picked up a jar of turquoise gel on his way out of the room.

He limped through the long, elegant corridors of the manor as he fumbled with the jar.

His hand was a mess of black and blue bruises, and he gritted his teeth against the pain as he twisted off the lid.

He generously applied the gel to his bruised hand and heaved a relieved sigh as the pain subsided.

He tested his bruised fingers and was surprised to find that they weren't broken.

Maybe she had been taking it easy on him after all.

She always beat him, but not usually this badly.

He sighed and shook his head. This wasn't like him. He was distracted, upset, and off his game, but he just couldn't calm down.

He hated this day. He hated his life.

He stormed out of the manor toward a marble mausoleum as white as bleached bone on the palace grounds. Most people didn't like being around the dead, which is what made it such a perfect cover.

He checked over his shoulder, making sure he wasn't being followed, and stepped inside. His footsteps echoed in the tomb as he passed row after row of noble graves.

Most of them were for the royal family, but a few belonged to other nobles and even a select few that weren't strictly nobles but had done a great service for the royal family.

Each one had a statue depicting the owner of the grave resting atop the marble slabs as though they were merely sleeping.

He ventured down a long, winding staircase passing by more levels of the mausoleum, each much like the first.

He went down three floors and passed through a wide archway into another long room filled with rows of ornate tombs.

He walked to the far wall. It looked much like all the others, with a torch mounted on a metal bracket fixed to the smooth, white stone.