So I think I mentioned in my last post that I'm at about the halfway point with Imperial Demons. So far the bulk of the book has focused on Lola, with one or two dips into Tristesse's point of view. As the book moves along, I'm finding I need to get into Tris's head more and more. She's...she's not having the best time.
Tristesse didn't wait a week. There was no sense in waiting. Sonneillon and her father grew no weaker while she languished here, but she grew no stronger. She gained no advantage, no knowledge, no leverage. Madness was safe. In some moments, it was even beautiful. But it was not the way to win this war. So, reluctantly, Tristesse began to emerge from it.
The day after her father's visit, she forced herself to her feet for the first time since her imprisonment. Her legs trembled as she staggered to the cell door, clinging to the wall for support. They nearly gave way beneath her as she gripped the bars on the cell door, and she bit through her lip as she struggled to hold herself up. The taste of blood was galvanising, sending a bolt of strength through her. She pressed her face to the bars, peering out into the dimly-lit corridor.
The hounds huffed and snorted smoke, pacing up and down past her door. They seemed to be the only guards she had, butof course they were the only ones Sonneillon really needed. Hatred simmered in her at the sight of the great beasts. Without them, Sonneillon could never have snatched her back. With them, there was nowhere she could go he couldn't reach.
One of them turned to stare at her, it's malevolent gaze sending shivers of pain through her. It would be a long time before her skin and bones forgot the sensation of burning to death over and over. She hissed at them, stamping weakly.
"Bring me your master," she said, voice rough. "I'm tired of his curs."