Chapter 45
I wait, it feels like years, for the paralysis to fade. But when I finally roll off the bed, my body stiff and aching, and look out the window, only a few hours have passed. If Quin thinks I’ll give up easily, he’s sorely mistaken.
I brush my fingers over the funds he left behind and gasp. At least three years of a high salary. He truly meant it when he said he wanted me to live well.
I grumpily tuck the purse into the inner pocket of my robe and sling my belongings over my shoulder. The boat is gone, as I suspected, so I purchase a horse. The innkeeper informs me that travelling by water would require passing through the town of Kastoria. There’s a shortcut, a path used by locals to avoid the carriages that clog the main road.
I prepare my horse. I’m two hours behind Quin, but the river’s winding detours could give me an edge. If I push on at a brisk pace, I could reach Kastoria before he does. I’m buckling the girth as a unit of redcloaks halts across the town square. One unfurls a poster with Quin’s likeness, asking locals if they recognise him. No one seems sure.
“You there,” a redcloak calls out to me.
I lift my head and meet his gaze.
“Seen this man?” He thrusts the poster toward me.
I study Quin’s image—the depth of his eyes, the unmistakable handsomeness of his face. “Haven’t seen him, but I’m a traveller. May I keep this?”
He hands the poster over and moves on. I fold the paper and tuck it into my cloak, then mount my horse. At the junction of the trade path, a flash of red catches my eye, but when I turn, it’s gone. Too many redcloaks.
I pull up my hood and silently thank Veronica for teaching me all those horseriding tricks. I ride swiftly through the breezy, leaf-strewn air, the first golden leaves of autumn reminding me that the world is changing.
For the better, I hope. I urge my mare forward as the sun climbs, until I reach the end of the trade path and catch my first glimpse of Kastoria. Through a wide, gateless arch in the massive stone walls, I see the village huddled behind—the dome of its luminarium, the fields and farmlets stretching beyond. Forest presses in from the mountains on three sides, creeping over the walls in places, a slow but relentless advance. A few elegant carriages are departing, loaded with goods. I stop an elderly man on horseback, his cloak faintly glowing. Why would a luminist let his cloak fade? He would infuse it with magic, to proudly represent the Arcane Sovereign.
Shaking my head, I ask for directions to the river. He answers hurriedly and departs.
At a short, wooded trail away from the walls, I tie my horse, along with my things. “I’ll be right back.”
I make my way through dense trees toward the glimmering afternoon light reflecting off the narrow river.
It’s not long before I spot our boat. Quin is at the helm, using the wind. He’s dressed in black, his hood up, but his figure remains distinctive.
Light catches his profile, and my hands clench into fists. “Caught you,” I mutter.
A snap of twigs makes me turn. Downstream, black-clad figures are sneaking through the trees towards the river. My heart leaps into my throat as I see them unfurl their whips.
I yell, but he doesn’t hear me. A dozen men spring from either side of the river, their crude weapons snapping as they rush Quin’s boat.
Quin sends out a cloud of razor-sharp leaves, but the vespertines are agile, slashing through the leaves with their whips and forcing Quin to manoeuvre sideways.
Figures erupt from the water in a spray of droplets, their black-clad forms cutting through the sunlight. Whips crack against the air, sharp as thunderclaps, and the metallic tang of magic scorches my nose. A storm of violence converges on Quin, and I’m too far away and too weak to help—to do anything but watch with a pounding pulse.
Quin’s magic flares in a blur of gold to fend off the attacks.
A child’s scream pierces the chaos, followed by a splash. My chest tightens as I drop my belongings and run, my legs trembling, towards the submerged child. Too far. I won’t make it in time.
Quin dives into the water, and the surface ripples. The vespertines close in, waiting; my anguished cry catches in my throat as Quin and the child emerge. The child is safely placed on the jetty, but Quin buckles in pain, a leg cramp seizing him, and at that moment—while he’s vulnerable, exposed—they advance, targeting the acupoints that will block his magic.
I bite back a scream, hiding behind an oak, my fist pressed to my mouth. He’s defenceless now. No longer a threat. They drag him, weakened by the fight and hindered by his leg, from the water; the leader approaches the child, thanking them and sending them home.
Quin hurls curses, enraged by their use of a child, but his anger has no power without magic. The leader turns, and I finally see his face, the freckle under his eye. It’s the man from the inn, smirking at his hostage. “From all I’ve heard of you, I wasn’t sure you’d bother helping that brat. At least you’re not entirely heartless.”
He gestures to his men, and with a swift blow Quin is knocked unconscious.
My fists curl so tightly my nails bite into my palms. I should’ve acted faster. Done more. Instead, I crouch low, my breath coming in jagged bursts, my chest tight as I follow at a distance.
Each thud of Quin’s body on the cart feels like the vespertines’ whips are lashing me instead. Two cover Quin with sacks and take positions beside him. The cart creaks as the horses pull it down a narrow lane, leaving a trail in the softened dirt. I track it to a group of huts at the base of the mountains, shrouded in forest and fog.
Hiding behind a log pile, I watch as they drag Quin into a shed and post two guards outside. My fists clench as I argue with myself about Quin’s fate. I sigh. I’m not equipped to fight my way in and out. I need a plan; an escape route.
I convince myself that Quin will be fine. If they intended to kill him, they’d have done it already. They’re after the bounty.
As I head back down the road, I ask a local farmer about the frequency of travellers. Few use this route now, but every afternoon around four, farmer Georgos carts wood into the town with his donkey.
Reaching where I tied my horse, I find it gone, along with my clothes and my grandfather’s books. I strike a tree in frustration, splinters digging into my palm. At least my soldad is still tied to my belt. The money remains in my pocket.
Exhausted and frustrated, I return to Quin’s capsized boat and retrieve a few of his soaked belongings, including his chess set and cane. I enter Kastoria through an unguarded gateway. The town’s ancient walls are choked with ivy and young trees, crumbling away—a victor of past wars, now forgotten.
Halfway up a cobbled road, a keeper stands at the gate of a rustic inn. He rushes over when he sees me. “Stay at our inn. Two nights and get the third free.”
Assuming Quin will need to recover before we move south, I agree. The keeper’s desperation is palpable as he leads me into the empty inn.
“Don’t get many travellers since the earthshakes,” he explains. “We used to have many vitalians as long-term guests, but the miasma drove them away. The rooms are well maintained, though. And there’s a communal bath out back, heated by hot springs.”
That would aid Quin’s recovery. I pay for the stay and ask for directions to an apothecary.
The apothecary has a queue outside, but inside, it’s eerily bare. I gather supplies from the nearly empty baskets. “When will you get more?” I ask.
The dispenser avoids my gaze. “Soon, soon.”
The prices are high, but I need to be prepared. Back at the inn, I spend the evening brewing and drinking tea after tea and after a restless night, I head to the tailor for some final necessities and pilfer a governing official’s uniform from a washing line. I hurry out of town and, near a quiet lane by a bubbling creek, I change clothes—
A hard thump hits my back. Hands shove me against a weeping willow, and I let out a shriek as rough bark scratches my cheek.
“Well, well, well. The dead sure is lively.”
I’m yanked around to face Megaera, her red skirts and crimson cloak fluttering. I shrink against the trunk. “You were following me.”
“Since yesterday,” she says, her ground-rumbling magic rising to deliver a long stick, which she points at my chest like a sword. One magical shove could pierce me through.
I swallow hard. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want.”
“He took life-shortening tea. You saw it. The high duke saw it.”
“He’s a calculating one,” she muses. “It’s not enough to poison the king; he spreads news of a bounty. At court, he appears concerned. Two birds with one stone—winning the trust of a few on-the-fence officials and having a failsafe if the poison doesn’t work.” She scrutinises me closely, suspicion in her eyes. “I’ve volunteered to witness his lifeless body.”
She presses the stick harder against my chest, her words curling soft, determined. “And I will.” She cocks her head. “The question is, what will I do with you?”
“Have I not . . . paid enough?”
The stick pierces through my clothes, my skin.
I gasp.
“You’re right. You’ve suffered.” She pulls back her force.
I squint in the search for honesty. Does she mean it?
“I’ll let you go.” She lowers the stick to the official’s uniform and flings it into the creek. “But I won’t let you save him.”
I glare defiantly and she laughs.
“If you want your horse and books back...”
“You took them?”
“As I said, I followed you.”
“Why didn’t you attack me yesterday?”
“You’re not exactly a warrior. I was curious how you’d try to save the king from those vespertines.” She glances at the uniform sinking into the water. “Cunning, aren’t you? Impersonate an official and pay the bounty. It might’ve worked too.”
I grit my teeth. “Megaera—”
She rifles through my things, finds Quin’s lifesaving money and stashes it in her cloak.
She turns and strides confidently away. “When he’s dead, I’ll return your things.”
I slump to the base of the tree, breath shallow and quick, a few beats off panicked. I shut my eyes. Think, think. I have no money, and no one else will come to help. All I have is a box of herbs and this... parcel—my contingency plan. But the bounty had been the key.
I force myself up and, stomach churning, continue as if my plan is still in place. This will go wrong. This can only go wrong.
I must try anyway.
Outside the vespertine hideout, I crouch and peer through bushes, taking in the wide spaces, the hill sloping to the next farm, and the dozen bulky men making the earth shake with their every step. How do I get in there?
I squint and crush a leaf in my fist. Why are they preparing mourning fires?
Is Quin already—
No. Why would vespertines mourn a captive?
A cold hand lands on the back of my neck, yanking me out of my crouch.
A gap-toothed grimace and failure bear down on me.
Sweating, I raise my hands, attempting a sheepish smile. “Take me to your leader?”
“Leader? What you want with him?” Gap-tooth—Gappius—unhooks a whip from his side.
I scurry back, tripping over my medicinal box, and land with a squelching thunk, leaves scratching my cheek.
Gappius prowls forward.
What now? What do I do now? I inhale deeply, closing my eyes, and Quin’s face flashes in front of me—a reminder what’s at stake, but also a clue what to do. I start sniffing and wipe my eyes, blinking them open. “I came here for help getting revenge.”
Gappius squints.
I scramble onto my knees and clutch at his arm. “Please let me join your cause.”
“Ya know what our cause is?”
“You—you steal from linea and share it around.” Sometimes killing those linea in the process. I cry harder. “A very bad man is to blame for my loss. I want him to pay.” Keeping Quin alive is the first step.
Gappius’s suspicion softens into gruffness. “Pretty thing like you? Dunna seem strong. What use are ya?”
I jump to my feet and lift my box. “You must get hurt often. I’m a vitalian.”
“A vitalian, eh?” He inspects me with renewed curiosity and tugs me across the soggy grass. I trot to keep up as vespertines continue to stack logs into stone circles.
I stumble alongside him, recalling that moment in the inn. They’d mentioned money; a beloved sister that needed saving.
We enter an old barn, its wooden beams sagging with age, the air thick with the smell of damp straw and sweat. The man with the freckle under one eye paces, barking orders.
He snaps his head up at our entry and I’m shoved onto my knees. “Found him peeking from the bushes. Says he wants to join us—he’s a healer.”
He steps up to Gappius and fists his shirt. His words are low and lethal. “Does this seem like the time to recruit?” He shoves him back. “Get him out of here.”
A palm descends and hauls me up.
I yank my shoulder forward. Gappius isn’t expecting resistance—I get free and throw myself at the leader’s feet. “I can help your sister.”
He raises a booted foot and shoves it against my shoulder; I rock back, exposing my face to him. He pauses. It takes a moment before his eyes lighten. “The inn. You were spying there, too.”
Whips uncoil. A dozen eyes narrow on me. At any moment, they’ll unfurl those whips, tie me up in knots of leather, and hold a debate about whether to kill me or enslave me.
The freckled man’s lips curl tight. He removes his boot from my shoulder and waves for his men to put their weapons away. His gaze hits mine with a warning. “We can always get rid of him later.”
I’m hauled roughly into a large room full of rather uniquely frescoed walls. Like the vespertines had got bored and decided painting their triumphs over the wealthy was a grand idea. I don’t focus on the gore for long. Disease permeates the air. I find the source—a young woman, lying deathly still among rough woollen blankets.
She’s so young . Fourteen or fifteen at most. Innocent. Flashes of River’s youthful, smiling face have me curling a hand, reining in wisps of leaking magic.
I sink to the side of the bed, take her pulse. Frown. This is unusual, and yet... familiar—
I shift my gaze over her sharply. “Does she have an unusual outbreak?”
Eyes narrow on me. “You know what it is?”
“Show me.”
He pulls the fabric back from her shoulder. Where smooth skin should be, there’s a line of blue scales.
I check her blood. Indeed, this is what I encountered in the Crucible. Need to act fast .
But also . . .
I get to my feet.
“Can you save her?”
“I want something in return.”
The air tightens with hostility. Men hiss and start forwards.
Their leader raises a hand, stopping them. He steps forward and his shadow looms over me. “You want our captive.” His eyes narrow and his voice is a warning growl.
I force myself not to flinch and stare right back into his grey eyes. “Bring him here.”
His jaw twitches.
He takes in his poor sister.
“Also five teapots of boiling water, a grinder, and my medicinal box.”
He laughs, the sound ringing ominously in the confined space. “You’re quite bossy. Not afraid of us at all.”
I speak carefully. “I am afraid. But lives are at stake.”
He sweeps his gaze over me, deliberating. A tense moment, and he orders men to bring what I asked for.
The box, grinder, and water arrive first; I bow over them to prepare the teas I need to complete the intricate spell.
A few minutes later, Quin is shoved into the room, bound hand and foot. His knees thud against the floor and his loosened hair curtains his face. He slowly lifts a stubborn chin and freezes. Wild anger surges out of him, blasting through the room. And it’s aimed at me .
“What in the Arcane Sovereign’s name are you doing here?”
Unbelievable. If anyone should be upset—“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe rescuing the fool who left me behind!”
Heads swing from Quin to me and back again.
Quin glances at the vespertines in turn and smiles grimly. “We’re both in trouble now.”
All the curses I’ve hurled at him in my head the last day are pushing at my lips to come out. “You abandoned me.”
“Not very well.”
I knock back a tea without taking my eyes off him. “Sit there, and let me save you.”
Quin sinks stiffly onto his haunches.
He measures the men in the room and the lengths of their whips, and lingers on me, pouring more tea from the pot. “This is saving me?”
“Are you seriously critiquing the way I’m saving you?”
“Why not pay the bounty? I gave you enough money.”
I scald my tongue and try to hide behind all my pots. Quin’s eyes find mine.
Gah. “That was my first plan, but...” Between bitter gulps, I fill him in.
The vespertine leader doesn’t care about my incident with the high duke’s spy—he starts tapping his foot, gruffly telling me to get on with it.
“I need an assistant.”
He volunteers. I shake my head and point. “Him. He currently has no magic,” I say. “I’m par-linea, I can’t unseal him. Unless you think he’ll beat three of you with his bare hands?”
“Don’t underestimate me,” Quin mutters.
“Not helping,” I mutter back.
The leader peers down his nose at Quin. “Without magic, I could take down a dozen of him. Untie him.”
When the ropes loosen, Quin shakes them free and masks his pain as he stands.
I jerk a finger to a stool next to me and once he’s seated hand him my box of herbs. “Prepare a powdered concoction.” I meet his eyes quietly. “A back-up spell if this doesn’t work. One part noxbramble, three parts lunabloom, a dash of—”
Quin’s eyes jump to mine. “I know it. It’ll be ready. In case.”
He plucks herbs from the box and begins grinding as I methodically stack the necessary spell. Sweat dribbles down my temples as I steer it into the young woman. Her brother grabs my arm, his grip choking as he steadies me. His desperation will bruise my skin, and it echoes the weight of my own when I couldn’t save River.
The spell’s energy burns through me in a relentless surge that eventually has my knees buckling.
She’s too young to die. Please work. Please be in time.
Heat scorches through my spine. My fingers cramp. The scent of scorched lunabloom floods my nose. Her pulse stills. My own skips to match.
The last of the spell comes out in a quick thrust, and blue and gold hues shimmer through her skin. I hold my breath as the scales flake and disintegrate—yet her chest remains still, each second dragging out like an eternity.