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)
I snap my hands back from the completed spell. “Trust in your king.”
“I wouldn’t have before. But now . . .”
I glance at her, swallowing. “I’ve got to—”
She rises and stuffs crystallised ginger in my mouth. “Go.”
I detoxify Quin’s blood of miasma poisoning first.
His pulse ticks steadily under mine. The effect of the healing herbs is strong, and his body is using all its energy to process my spells.
It’s the fortieth complex-medius spell I’ve performed today, and as the last of it channels into him, my knees give way and I collapse at his bedside. “Please wake up. I promise I’ll do whatever you say without ever talking back.”
Nothing.
“If you don’t,” I counter, “I will search to the ends of this kingdom for a way to force you. And once you wake, I’ll spank you in front of all for destroying my nerves.”
I keep my wrist slotted into his upturned hand, fingers at his pulse. If he stirs, I’ll know.
Like the nights before, I drift to sleep telling him made up stories about kings and their amazing, wonderful, magnificent vitalians who really deserve all the stamps on their soldad . . .
I wake abruptly to the pressure of fingers closing around my wrist—
I snap my head up.
Quin’s eyes are open, watching me.
My gaze zigzags over him, taking in the life in his cheeks; his steady, focused gaze; his curving mouth. I push against his pulse. Healthy.
I stand and he pulls me by the arm until I’m hovering close. His voice is crackly with disuse. “You’re so quiet.”
You . . . you’re awake.
“You spoke so much while I slept.”
I catch my breath.
“I’m full of bark? Bite?” Quin’s lips curve deeper. “Shameless.”
His eyebrow lifts. His grip tightens around me as I try to pull away. I swallow thickly.
He lets me go. “What have I missed?”
His swift turn to business has my mind sharpening. “Focus on getting better.”
“How are my people, Cael?”
“I treated you last.”
“The infection has been cured then,” he says. “But the town is still quarantined. What’s the food situation?”
Grim, from what I’ve heard. The rations doled out are smaller each day, with the vague promise of more soon. My shadowing face speaks volumes.
“I need to—” He tries to rise and I push him back down.
“You need to recover.”
He yanks me onto the bed and I sprawl beside him, catching myself with a hand against his chest. His heartbeat is steady and strong, distracting beneath my fingers. I curl them away, only to feel the same beat at my knuckles. He speaks low, voice a raw tease. “I recall you promised you’d do what I say if I woke.”
My mouth dries in the tightening air between us. “I was sleep deprived. Delirious. I didn’t know what I was saying.”
His curving lips hit me with a shiver. “You seemed very clear headed when you threatened to spank me. Again.”
I jolt upright and retrieve his cane to deflect this conversation. But his gaze doesn’t waver, and my stomach riots as he wraps a hand around his cane, overlapping mine.
I swallow. “You stopped me going into the caves.”
I glance up and he snags my gaze with a silent command for me to hold his.
“I-I thought you’d die.”
After a long moment searching my face, the air softens again. He shifts his hand and gently pries each of my fingers off the wood. “Come.”
It takes some time to get to the magistrate’s office, townspeople stopping us on our way with praises and thanks. Bastion crosses the courtyard to us, leading a laden horse. My horse. I rush to the packs and open them. Grandfather’s books. My clothes. And in its purse, the money Quin gave me.
I look sharply at Bastion, who’s having a stare-off with the king. “How did you get this?”
He reluctantly pulls away from the game and grins at me. “Woman in red—” His gaze snaps to the main gates. I peek under the neck of the horse, trying to see what stole his attention. Redcloaks, matching silk masks covering their noses and mouths, are pulling in carts of food.
One is familiar—the sweep of his shoulders, the grace with which he moves. I bolt upright.
Quin throws me an urgent command. “Inside, behind the screens in the office.”
I obey immediately.
To the rest of the world, I’m dead. I can’t be seen.
Please let me see him. Let me know he’s well.
I’m crouched behind the screens, peering through a thin gap, when Quin snaps his way inside. He seats himself in the head magistrate’s chair and calls for his brother to enter.
Nicostratus pulls off his mask and seats himself across from Quin. His eyes are heavy with the weight of the world—the spark he’d always had, despite so much hardship, lost. Tied around his head is a long, flowing silver ribbon.
He speaks first. “I was afraid . . .”