Chapter 43
I kick out a leg and open my eyes, still gripped by a terrifying dream. Falling. Into a cold abyss.
But the darkness around me is real, not imagined.
My breath immediately bounces back to me.
I shift my arms and feel something tightly woven—
Coffinweed.
Panic surges as I hit the lid; it bows inward under some external pressure, close to collapsing. I force myself to stay still. Soil. I’ve been buried. I fight the urge to flail—
Breathe in and out. Stay calm. Maximise the time I have.
Before I die.
Again.
My heart pounds and throbs in my throat. I croak out a desperate plea.
Maybe no one can come. Or maybe they just won’t.
Suddenly, a muffled voice, a sense of urgency so strong it leaks through the weave. “Hold on, Cael.” My ears tingle, searching for more, but there’s only the howl of wind.
The coffin lid bows deeper. Soil trickles over my face.
I cough violently, each convulsion sending more soil sifting in—
The winds quiet and a rhythmic scuffing follows. Quin’s familiar pain flows over me with the rich earthiness of soil. He must be close, bearing weight on his bad leg. For once, the scent of his pain brings me comfort. He’s here .
Darkness lightens a fraction; I glimpse the pattern of the weave enclosing me.
“Hold on.”
I slam my eyes shut. My throat is sore, my chest is on fire.
Brightness suddenly pours in around me, a stinging glare that makes my eyes water. I haul in fresh air, and cough roughly. Quin’s blurry figure looms above. Urgent hands snatch me against a warm, heaving chest.
As my vision settles, I find myself in the king’s lap, surrounded by towering shelves of soil. I blink at the blues of his cloak and his jewelled fastenings above, the mix of relief and distress in his expression. He smells of wind and earth; his chest rises and falls evenly against me. My own hectic breath tries to mimic his calmer one. His gaze scans my body, checking each hand, arm, knee, foot. I cough violently again, the soil irritating my lungs. I turn away from him but he pulls me back, drawing his cloak to my mouth. “Cough.”
The offer is too gentle from a king who ordered my ‘death,’ and my stomach knots. A part of me wants to shove him away, but another part... I claw his cloak closer and press the soft material to my mouth.
When my coughing subsides into a small hiccup, I’m still clutching him, trembling. “You—you—”
His golden aura envelops me, and he presses my forehead and chest as he unblocks my meridians.
Pain throbs from him sudden and sharp, and I immediately shift off his leg—
He steers me right back, eyes flashing with insistence. “That’s not the pain I feel right now.”
The life-shortening tea. My hands clench even tighter around him. “Did Florentius...” I choke on the rest of the words.
“Yes. I got your message.”
“But—”
“I hid the poison halting pill in my cloak and took it once the vitalians were gone.”
Quin’s fingers comb through my hair, steady and deliberate, removing every grain of dirt as if that might remove my ordeal from my mind. His hand lingers a moment too long before he pulls it back. “You hesitated.”
I glare at him. “There were so many ways this could have failed. I feared it had.”
“I had to make them believe they’d succeeded.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t all an act. Not your expression during my execution... Disgust, anger. Hurt.”
“Don’t forget hate.”
“Quin—”
“Not aimed at you.”
“You turned away from me.”
His jaw tightens. “I couldn’t . . .”
“I really thought I’d die. At least you’d have been with me at the end.”
“Is that my role?”
I open my mouth and snap it shut. Laugh at myself. “I have difficulty treating you with reverence.”
“Why?”
“Is this an inquisition?”
“Yes.”
I scoff, even as I tremble in his arms. “Should I feel reverence for the man who buried me alive? Even if he is the one to pull me out?” Quin’s lips twitch, but whether it’s irritation or amusement, I can’t tell.
I stir sharply. “Get us out of this pit.”
“You certainly don’t hesitate to claim authority with me.”
“You’ve had plenty of chances to get rid of me. You mustn’t mind it too much.”
Something in Quin’s expression shifts along with the swell of his chest. But he simply commands the air to lift us from the pit, setting us down on a log among a dozen dirt mounds.
Beyond, more grassy mounds stretch out, and I shiver.
I jerk my head to Quin, who is sweeping soil back into the grave with twisting winds. “You gave me a fake-death spell?”
He gives me a sideways glance.
“But Florentius’s things were confiscated.”
“I retrieved them.”
“Does everyone think I’m dead?”
“Except Florentius, myself, and—”
He gestures across the mounds to an approaching figure. Skriniaris Evander, in the heavy blacks of mourning, carrying his cat in a basket. I jump to my feet, wobbling for a few seconds. He braces for my hug, holding me tightly. “You’re not allowed to die for real, you hear this old man?”
I pull back and see the glimmer of my grandfather; the weight of his plea has me hugging him again, and nodding.
He pats my shoulder, his gaze on Quin. “There’s a boat in the canal outside the gate. Everything you asked for is inside.”
He gently shifts his cat and pulls out two mourning cloaks. One goes to me, the other to Quin, who dons it immediately. “Take the southern route out.”
I throw on the cloak, dizzy. Everyone thinks I’m dead. I can’t stay in the capital. Can’t be discovered.
Quin grabs a bundle hidden behind the log and slings it over his shoulder.
As I follow him, uncertainty about my future clouds my mind. I turn to Skriniaris Evander and ask, “Please, take care of Akilah? Florentius?”
He hides our discarded cloaks in the basket under his cat and speaks softly. “I’ll do my best.”
Quin lifts me into the air and into the treetops. He settles us behind a branch thick with leaves. Below, I see Nicostratus rushing through the gate to the burial grounds, his cloak a dark shadow of grief.
He lets out a pained wail.
My stomach tightens. I pull the golden feather from my belt and squeeze it tight as he cries my name again. I snag Quin’s cloak, pleading.
“The fewer who know the better,” he says, his gaze dropping to the feather in my hand.
I let out a shuddery breath and bow my head. Everyone’s reactions must be believable. Only that will keep Quin safe from the duke.
Nicostratus weeps, and Quin’s fingers twitch at his side, his knuckles white against the fabric of his cloak. He pulls us sharply away, gliding to the gate, where we, our mourning hoods raised, board a traveller’s boat.
Quin sits at the helm, calling gusts to immediately send us on our way. Watching him command the wind is like witnessing a force of nature. His movements are deliberate, precise; impossibly graceful for a man so stiff with pain. I hate how much I want to ask him how he remains so steadfast.
Inside the rustic cabin is a bench and baskets filled with clothing, money, food. His wooden cane. I touch it, and then scramble to the curtained door. “Are you running away with me?”
Though, thinking of it, how presumptuous—to assume the king would accompany me, when Skriniaris Evander might have done so.
He glances at me. “Keep yourself hidden.”
I drop the curtains and peek out between them. “I thought you’d just drop me somewhere safe.”
“I’m meant to appear as though I’m rapidly ageing and dying. I left a letter for my family, explaining I would use my last months to quietly slip away.”
“But your son—”
He stiffens and I lower my gaze. “This is the only way to help him. Veronica will take good care of him. My brother, too.”
We’re quiet for a few bends of the water. I glance at the clothes, the cane, and, as we pass by my home manor, I inch the curtain open and send a quiet wish for their wellbeing. Will I ever see my family again?
“You’ll come back,” Quin murmurs.
I swallow the lump in my throat and I stare outside until the canal bends and my home blinks out of sight behind the luminarium.
“The parcel in there...” Quin says, and I find the fabric-wrapped bundle he had with him at the burial mounds.
I pull it onto my lap and rummage inside to the cool touch of leather and paper. Grandfather’s research. My lips wobble into a soft smile. I hug them against my chest and breathe in their musty scent. “Thank you.”
“You helped Mother.”
“That was Mikros and Makarios—”
“She has a chance because of you . Thank you.”
There’s an ache in my chest. I attempt a smile. “His majesty is most effusive in his praise.”
Quin laughs low, but it’s short lived.
A few quiet beats pass. “What happened, after I ‘died’?”
“My uncle watched while Apex-vitalian Chiron examined you. A second vitalian confirmed. Then an angry official charged in with a crude knife to stab you in the heart for your treason.”
“I know how it ends... but,” I gulp, “what happened next?”
“Chiron stopped him with a shield. Said I’d given orders for an intact body and asked if he intended to betray me too.”
“Vitalian Chiron said that?”
I poke my head out and Quin reaches without looking to tug the curtain back in place. My sigh billows the fabric.
“I’m used to faking, but...” His voice is hollow. “Those minutes were the toughest act of my life.”
I sense a certain gravity to his tone. I sigh again. “So far.”
“What do you mean, so far ?”
“Let’s see what other parts you’ll need to play on our journey.”
Quin opens the curtain this time, his focus sharp and unwavering. “Once you’re safely away from the capital, our paths will part.”
“You’ll travel alone ?”
“It could take months to gather proof and support. It’ll be dangerous.”
“Then you better take me with you. As your vitalian.”
“I just saved your life. Live. Love. Leave . Do what makes you happy.”
“ You make me happy.”
Quin glances away, his shoulders tightening as though he’s debating whether to hold back his words. “Unbelievable.”
“Learn to live with it,” I reply breezily. “Helping you is helping our kingdom.”
I’ll show him. I’ll make him see that keeping me close isn’t a burden—it’s necessary.
There’s a longer pause followed by his quiet sigh. “What about your personal happiness?”
I touch the golden feather.
Quin shifts his hands and a gust hurtles our boat downstream.
I grab hold of the cabin frame. “He loves you, and I hurt you. I disappointed him deeply.”
I’ll have to make it up to him. He’s not the only one. A pang sears through my chest as I recall Casimiria. Veronica, as she shielded Prince Alexios. I have a lot to make up for.
I clear my throat. “When things are peaceful, I’ll... I’ll show him I care.”
“Care about advancing your knowledge in healing. Developing your skills. Sharing your knowledge to shape a better world. Care about achieving your dreams.”
“He can be my dream too.”
Quin throws me an exhausted grimace over his shoulder.
An idea sparks in my mind. “Could you teach me sentinian sparring on our way? I promise not to make you pick up bow and arrow.”
Without warning, a gust of wind sends me crashing onto my back in the cabin. “Hey!”
“Attack comes when you least expect,” he says, moving inside to me. He extends a hand to help me up. His grip is firm around mine, but it feels like he’s teasing me. “You need to be ready.”
I glare up at him. “Why are you smiling right now?”
“I have to,” he says, “or your obstinacy will be the death of me.”
“Is this a first lesson? Are you agreeing to take me with you?”
“Keep hidden.”
“Much obliged for your acquiescence.”
“Of course you’d go for the last word,” he says under his tongue.
“Feels good.”
“Unbelievable.”
I smirk. “I do try.”