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)
Further down the canal, Quin waits silently, his figure a dark shadow against the faint glow of the luminarium dome in the distance. The sight is more comforting than I ever remember a luminarium dome being.
Olyn offloads the herbs from the boat but wraps a bundle for me. “Bathe, rest. Decoct these,” she instructs wearily. “Tomorrow, come to the luminarium.”
I nod, clutching the herbs. “The luminarium?” The words feel foreign. In the capital, the sick are left in their homes or on the streets, ignored by the powerful.
“It’s a good space,” Olyn says, her tone bitter. “The luminist is gone; it’s the only reason we have it.”
“Gone?” Quin’s voice cuts through the night, sharp with disbelief.
She shrugs, her expression tight. “Weeks ago. Took the tithiscar with him.”
Quin’s fists clench around the oars, his knuckles white. “The coffer belongs to the people.”
“Not the first time a luminist has been despicable,” I mutter. The local luminist had run away instead of helping the people in Castorvra, too.
Quin’s lips press into a thin line; I say goodbye to Olyn and slide alongside him in the boat. He’s still staring at me with a tightened expression.
“At least we got the herbs,” I say, but the weight of the night lingers between his furrowed brow and mine.
He pulls the oars hard through the water. “You were reckless tonight.”
I’ve been expecting this, but not the twinge of guilt I feel.
“Seeing spirits? They might’ve killed you.”
“Your plan needed a catalyst.”
He pushes one oar into my hand to palm his chest, over his flutette. “An eerie melody would’ve had them scrabbling for that pouch.”
“You didn’t . . . mention that part of the plan.”
“Did you fall asleep? Of course I did.”
I blink, and flush, and stare at the rippling, moonlit water around my oar. I had gotten caught in thoughts, back in the dispensary. “I . . .” I shut my mouth, and reflect. “This can be considered my fault.” I grip the oar tightly. “Is it my turn to get caned?”
Quin leans forward and flicks my forehead, and when I rock my head back towards the sea of stars again, he growls.
“Your life is mine. Remember that.”
We take a winding way back, not to pass our redcloaks, but the inn is still awake when we stumble in. I ask the keeper to send up teapots of hot water.
Damp and smelling of smoke, I whisk myself through the bath and return to our room, where Quin is frowning over a game of chess and my hot water awaits. I spend the next hour drinking teas while Quin shifts pieces on the chessboard, and as he checkmates the black king, I throw myself over the bed, spreading my arms and legs wide.
Quin laughs.
His cane snicks across the room and he drops weightily at my side.
I wriggle my limbs, making myself heavy on the mattress. Impossible for him to move. “I booked the room. You can’t always take the bed.”
“Must I remind you, you spanked me in front of a crowd of onlookers.”
I grin. “I wanted to beat you today. Turns out I really did.”
Quin barks another laugh and follows it with a hand on my chest that holds me down. His white hair sweeps around my head, shadowing his face, intensifying the darkness of his eyes.
Something like fright shoots through me.
“The floor, Cael.”
Yes.
I grab the blankets and deposit them quickly.
After a restless sleep and then consuming more than twenty types of herbs, I row through dawn with Quin. At the bend before the fields we robbed, the bark of military orders has us steering our boat under the cover of willow.
“It was an accident. There . . . there were angry spirits—”
“Enough. We have more pressing matters. Pack, get to the gates.”
I glance at Quin. More pressing matters?
Quin shakes his head, equally unsure.
We wait until we glimpse red moving towards the road, and row on. In any case, if the redcloaks think they know where Quin is, they’re headed in the wrong direction.
Olyn greets us at the luminarium door wearing a kerchief around her mouth and nose. “Thank Heavens. Something’s not right. We had another twenty come in with high fever this morning.”
She hands us kerchiefs and I hurriedly put mine on and glance at Quin. High fever is a sign of contagious disease. Nothing the king should be near. “Stay out here.”
Quin’s cane snaps and he presses the square of silky fabric into my hand. “Put it on me.”
“But this is—”
He stops me with a look.
I squeeze the fabric and slowly nod. My fingers still on the knot for a tight breath. I wish had the ribbon with me. That I could tie it into his hair to keep him safe from others this time.
My slowly released breath fans the back of his hair and at his small twitch, I step away quickly. “Done,” I murmur, and we follow Olyn inside.