Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“You’d have passed your exam under fair conditions.”
I rub my thumb over the fourth stamp. “Why right now, Quin—”
His hands shoot out in quick succession, hitting my acupoints in a pattern.
He steers me lengthways over the bed and crouches in my frame of vision, one hand tight on his cane. He meets my eye squarely, with an intensity that would have pinned me in place without the paralysis-inducing magic.
“If I’m discovered, they won’t only kill me.” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but the words carry a commanding weight. “You will understand.”
My throat tightens. We’ve fought this fight before. But this time, there’s finality in his tone.
I can help!
He shakes his head, rising stiffly with the aid of his cane. He slings his things over his shoulder without looking back. “You will drag me down.”
My jaw aches with the will to yell at him.
“I’ve left money for you. Plenty to start a good life. When things have settled down, I’ll send word to your family to find you.”
He snicks his way to the door.
In my head, I roar at him, the trapped words bubbling up until a hot tear spills out the corner of my eye. Don’t you dare leave.
His hand hovers at the doorknob for a moment. But he doesn’t turn. Doesn’t look back.
He shifts out of view, the door shuts, and silence swallows the room, making the air feel colder, heavier. I glare at the wall, my chest aching on curses. I’m willing him back just so I might shout them at him.
But he doesn’t return. He’s gone.
And I’m alone.
Iwait, it feels like years, for the paralysis to fade. But when I finally roll off the bed, my body stiff and aching, and look out the window, only a few hours have passed. If Quin thinks I’ll give up easily, he’s sorely mistaken.
I brush my fingers over the funds he left behind and gasp. At least three years of a high salary. He truly meant it when he said he wanted me to live well.
I grumpily tuck the purse into the inner pocket of my robe and sling my belongings over my shoulder. The boat is gone, as I suspected, so I purchase a horse. The innkeeper informs me that travelling by water would require passing through the town of Kastoria. There’s a shortcut, a path used by locals to avoid the carriages that clog the main road.
I prepare my horse. I’m two hours behind Quin, but the river’s winding detours could give me an edge. If I push on at a brisk pace, I could reach Kastoria before he does. I’m buckling the girth as a unit of redcloaks halts across the town square. One unfurls a poster with Quin’s likeness, asking locals if they recognise him. No one seems sure.
“You there,” a redcloak calls out to me.
I lift my head and meet his gaze.
“Seen this man?” He thrusts the poster toward me.
I study Quin’s image—the depth of his eyes, the unmistakable handsomeness of his face. “Haven’t seen him, but I’m a traveller. May I keep this?”
He hands the poster over and moves on. I fold the paper and tuck it into my cloak, then mount my horse. At the junction of the trade path, a flash of red catches my eye, but when I turn, it’s gone. Too many redcloaks.
I pull up my hood and silently thank Veronica for teaching me all those horseriding tricks. I ride swiftly through the breezy, leaf-strewn air, the first golden leaves of autumn reminding me that the world is changing.
For the better, I hope. I urge my mare forward as the sun climbs, until I reach the end of the trade path and catch my first glimpse of Kastoria. Through a wide, gateless arch in the massive stone walls, I see the village huddled behind—the dome of its luminarium, the fields and farmlets stretching beyond. Forest presses in from the mountains on three sides, creeping over the walls in places, a slow but relentless advance. A few elegant carriages are departing, loaded with goods. I stop an elderly man on horseback, his cloak faintly glowing. Why would a luminist let his cloak fade? He would infuse it with magic, to proudly represent the Arcane Sovereign.
Shaking my head, I ask for directions to the river. He answers hurriedly and departs.
At a short, wooded trail away from the walls, I tie my horse, along with my things. “I’ll be right back.”
I make my way through dense trees toward the glimmering afternoon light reflecting off the narrow river.
It’s not long before I spot our boat. Quin is at the helm, using the wind. He’s dressed in black, his hood up, but his figure remains distinctive.
Light catches his profile, and my hands clench into fists. “Caught you,” I mutter.
A snap of twigs makes me turn. Downstream, black-clad figures are sneaking through the trees towards the river. My heart leaps into my throat as I see them unfurl their whips.