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)
They’re a blur of movement and war cries as they charge over the crumbling fortress courtyard. Purple robes whisk around at the surprise attack. Blades clash against rock and iron sconces, and fiery torches. Quin spies a route out, but before he can whisk Nicostratus and me away, crusaders bear down on us, sharp spears glittering.
He blasts them away, but the bright flash of magic draws the attention and priority of the crusaders; they shove the gates closed on half the fighting redcloaks to focus on the magical threat—the thing they most want to get rid of in this world.
Nicostratus shudders in my arms and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach. There’s danger in showing my spiritual power. More crusaders will come, will turn their attention to us. But Nicostratus’s breaths are ragged. He’s losing consciousness. His internal injuries are worsening. He’ll pass away within minutes . . .
My hand glows with a gathering spell. I stack quickly to heal the worst tear inside of him.
“Amuletos,” Nicostratus warns on a grimace of pain.
“Keep still.”
The spell funnels into him, knitting his wound—
A glint of metal catches my spell-focused gaze. It’s coming from the purple-robed master from the cells, who must have felt something was off. He’s emerged from the underground with a cry of outrage, and his spear is aimed at Nicostratus’s heaving back.
“Quin!” I yell as I throw out a shield. The spear crashes against it and bounces off, but the force of his hit ricochets through my bones and my shield collapses.
The spear strikes again, my shield forms too slow—
Quin whirls on the wind and blasts the master; he skids across the courtyard back into the underground entrance.
More are crushing in, surrounding us.
Quin grabs his brother around the waist with one arm, and me with his other. A forceful twister lifts the three of us into the air. Such a surge of magic! It’ll drain him. Already our rise is not swift . . . Quin is close to exhaustion. He’s injured.
Through swirling air I spy the first ring of crusaders bracing against the wind, the second and third rings throwing their spears towards us. Most are blasted away, but the master is back and his spear hurtles toward Quin’s chest, breaking clean through the twisting air. It will hit Quin; it will pierce his middle. It will kill him.
Urgency, fear, and instinct rattle through me in a single breath, and I fling my outer arm around Quin’s neck, crushing myself into a hug against his body.
“Heal your people,” I croak into his neck just before the spear pierces between my shoulder blades, slicing though flesh and bone.
Searing agony lances through me, and my words turn into a cry.
My vision comes in and out of focus. I hear agonised yells from a distance—my name, over and over. I sag. Gravity and pain race through me, but I never hit ground. I’m held tightly. Green forest blurs under me. The sky is dark; speckles of stars coming out. Am I becoming one?
Blood tickles down my back and the metallic scent fills my nose. Pain turns to numbness.
My life is slipping away.
But Quin, Nicostratus . . . they are safe. We’re far from the ruins, and the crusaders.
More pressure surrounds me. My wispy breaths taste familiar, pleasant. A comforting scent to leave the world with.
“How many times do I have to say it?” Quin’s voice trembles, fierce and raw, and I try to hook onto it like it’ll anchor me to this world. But my hearing fades into a sharp ringing in my ears, and my body feels like it’s falling off a cliff awaiting the final crash.
His voice chases after me. “Your life is mine.”
I use the last of my energy to curl my lips.
The final crash, the final breath . . . it never comes.
Something soft cushions me. Someone prods me, demanding I wake. There’s pressure around me, something brushing against my ear; words I can’t decipher.
Then there’s warmth. A surge of warmth that blooms through me.
It unfurls with ticklish energy beyond any spell I’ve experienced before. I can feel my bones knit together, muscle and flesh repairing itself. Life trickles back into me. And with the life comes an overwhelming exhaustion. A privilege of the living. My breathing steadies and a deep, healing slumber steals me into a dark yet comfortable abyss.
I wake to jewelled fastenings brushing my arm; the king’s bowed head at my side. He’s murmuring stories. One about a healer overcoming every heartbreaking obstacle in his pursuit to heal the heart of the kingdom.
My fingers twitch under the warm weight of his hand clasping mine.
Quin snaps his head up, his fingers closing tightly. The even lull of his voice breaks into a rasp. “Cael.”
Shadowed skin rings his eyes, a sure sign of sleepless nights. How long?