Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Not what I want to hear. “It’s not found anywhere in town?”
He shrugs. “Go check any other garden so long’s you scram outta mine.”
There’s something about the snap of the outpost gates closing behind us that jerks awareness into me as we walk down the hill. Quin and I are alone, no redcloak watching over us, no cook to buffer us from other thoughts.
I swallow as I recall the last time we were alone. Quin’s firm stare, that shattering truth, the swell of hurt, anger.
My step hitches.
He notices, and looks over at me with narrowed eyes. “Afraid?”
I glower.
“I see.”
What does he see? I don’t like the way he thinks he can read right through me. In three steps the distance between us disappears. I lift my chin and meet his eye. His cane is so close, I feel the ghost of its length down my hip, my leg. Something inside me is yelling at me to retreat, but I steel myself. Grit my teeth.
He sizes me up. “Still angry. Thought you’d be bargaining with the heavens.”
If this healer can fix me, I’ll give up five years of my life. Ten.
Blood drains from my face. “Nothing is impossible.”
Quin’s cane shifts, a brief stamp against my outer thigh. “False!”
Sickening fear lances up my throat. I shake my head. “Why are you so harsh? Why can’t you believe I’ll recover?”
He crouches, picks up a rock and smashes it. He lifts the pieces and throws some away. “It’s broken. Can’t be put back together.” He twists a remaining shard in his hand and scratches a petal reminiscent of my clasp into his wooden cane. “Doesn’t mean it can’t have a purpose.”
He leans in. “Do you understand?”
He’s breathing hard. So am I. I rip myself away, shaking my head. “There’s still one healer I haven’t seen.”
My nape prickles as he watches me race off down the hill. When I round out of sight, I sag and choke on a hiccuppy feeling rising from my belly.
Somehow, I force my feet forward and claw my way to the last apothecary on my list.
Maybe, just maybe . . .
The visit is short.
The snick of the door closing behind me is deafening.
I throw up in nearby shrubbery, roll onto the grass and stare vacantly at the greying skies. Rain splashes on my face, then the sky opens and it pours. I feel like I’m sinking into the soggy ground, fists at my sides, chest hollow. I close my eyes. I want to stay here, let rain wear me away . . .
I roll onto my side, splay my fingers in the mud and struggle to push myself up. I stumble back to Nicostratus’s, drenched and dirty. I ask an aklo to take me to my rooms by a route where I won’t be seen, and two aklas help prepare me a bath. When I undress, I hesitate at the clasp of my cloak. I rip it off and stuff it in with my gloves and Grandfather’s books.
Later, I drag myself to dinner; manage to keep my voice even. “Your brother will ensure your innocence is proven.”
A gentle hand lands on my shoulder; I drag my eyes off my plate and scrimmage up a smile. “I’m just tired.”
He smiles. “Go. Get some rest.”
I sleep early, wake late, try sleeping again. I dream of Nicostratus’s attack by the canal, my useless hands that could only hit acupoints . . . Those attackers had wanted to kill the prince, they’d—
I snap upright and throw my heavy legs out of bed. I skip breakfast, knot my cloak at my shoulder, and force myself to the constabulary.
I try to approach Constable Michealios, but he’s busy and orders me away.
Someone grabs my wrist and I’m whirled around to Quin in his well-fitted uniform, eyes piercingly observant under his hat. His jaw twitches and he tows me to where, yesterday, the bodies had rested. He faces me, gaze dropping to my naked hand before rising to the knot at my throat. His expression pinches. “Be as angry with me as you like, but in regards to this case, talk to me first.”
It’s true—seeing him has me feeling a sharp strike of gravity. Part of me wants to scream and lash out. Another part wishes I’d worn the gloves and the clasp, because the touch of his disappointed gaze at those points somehow lingers on my skin.
I swallow with a tight nod. He’s right. My personal feelings shouldn’t interfere with this. “I don’t know how relevant it is, but something feels off.”
“Explain.”
“When your brother was attacked at the canal, there were four assailants. Yet there were only three bodies . . . if we could find the fourth . . .”
We head to the outpost again. The commander is too busy to see us; there was an outbreak of food poisoning amongst the redcloaks last night. A deputy listens to our request. “Can you perhaps lead us to the friends of the deceased for questioning?”