Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1) by Shawn Mackey Read Free Book Online

whole affair. Father always feared for his life, and now he has good reason to watch his back.
    This summary is vague enough to keep my head on my shoulders. It is not an understatement to dub my father “the world’s evilest man” or at the very least “the world’s most hated man.” Those two are interchangeable among the rabble. And who can blame their vehemence? A hero was killed by a cowardly man, in a disgraceful manner. His followers hunted the assassin all the way to his den, eager to inflict numerous torments.
    Yes, it is best to start with the first time someone was injured on behalf of my father.
    It had been a good day, as far as weather was concerned. Winter’s chill finally faded, the first signs of spring were in the air. I was enjoying a stroll through the backyard premises with my old dog, Argos, named after the faithful hound of Odysseus. The collie was partially blind, unable to see anything unless wagged in his face. Nonetheless, he knew the grounds well, the ideal companion for a short walk. At the house, he never did any more than lounge around his water bowl, but in the yard, he trotted around like a young pup.
    But until that day, he almost never barked. Whether from laziness in his waning years or the unwillingness to disturb others with his howl, Argo had been practically mute in the second half of his life. That day, he was in an uncontrollable stupor, yipping and yapping at the trees. I suspected an animal of some sort, something dangerous, and attempted to reel him in. Over his barking, I heard the clattering of horses.
    A rider leapt over the bushes like the apparition of a spectral huntsman, right out into the open. Another followed shortly, unchecking his speed, headed straight for Argos. The horse’s hooves smashed into the poor dog, hurtling the collie into the air with a high-pitched yelp. Argos slammed into the ground, and after a spasm, went completely still.
    I rushed to his side, quickly joined by the two horsemen, one of which offered an apology. In retrospect, it was utterly insincere. Argos’s eyes darted back in forth, his tail occasionally twitching. Blood poured from his wet nose, his tongue red as a raspberry. Without warning, one of the men aimed his rifle at my dog’s head. I managed to turn before he pulled the trigger. These men were clearly scoundrels, despite their fancy attire. However, they gave me no reason to flee. The head start may have changed the night’s outcome.
    The killer holstered his rifle and tipped his hat, apologizing for splattering blood on my dress. As I looked for the stain, the other rider let out an obnoxious chuckle. In a rush of anger, I had no idea how to harangue them. In truth, I was quite afraid. It was an unfortunate accident, and no amount of scolding would elicit sincerity. Instead, I chose to turn and head home. When the bastards weaved in front of me, insisting I stay and that they were friends of my father, I knew there was trouble. He was gone, I told them, attempting to walk past them. One grabbed my arm, and I instantly screamed.
    They found my shrieking and thrashing humorous until I clawed one’s face. With a blow to the head, I was sent to the ground, and within seconds, bound by the wrists. Their laughter renewed as they tied my ankles to the horse’s saddle. It was a short ride home, and I cannot fully recall being dragged through the grass, crying the whole way. My dress was thoroughly torn, the rest ripped to pieces before being untied. By the time one of the men heaved me over his shoulder, I lost every shred of clothing.
    The door was kicked in and I was tossed onto the floor like a heavy sack. The fall broke my arm, its pain partially blotting out the upcoming events. They called out for my father, but were greeted by my angry mother. She saw me, and before she could even speak, both rifle barrels were pointed at her head.
    We waited for my father to return. Through a few exchanged words, I discovered the man