Chapter 54
T he room groans at an onslaught of wind. And it doesn’t taste of Quin at all.
An energised shout outside has my stomach flipping. I hurry out to Bastion and his men joyfully welcoming Gappius, back from Pylaios.
I’m giddy as I move towards them. “Did you find—”
A broad smile crosses Bastion’s face, and Gappius lifts a satchel.
I lunge towards him, arms opening, an elated cry rising up my throat, and Bastion leaps in front of him as my arms close.
He snatches me tightly with a laugh.
I have enough magic for a shield to punch him back a few steps; he laughs harder as I slip free and grab the lifesaving sack. The weight is comforting. I hold it close to my chest and peer inside. Not only ignisleaf and dragonfire moss—he’s smuggled in oldeaf, moonbloom, and aetherleaf too.
I leave them in my dust as I race down the road, through the trees, and across the lively bonfire-lit field to the luminarium. Olyn is a swish of robes as she hurries to meet me and takes in my instructions for preparing the herbs.
I grab some ignisleaf and bite into it before I pass her the sack. Bitter juices run into my mouth and I swallow them down, working swiftly to channel its properties for the critical spell.
These are the people who’ve waited, watching others healed while wondering if their turn would ever come. People who’ve endured the acrid scent of sickness and sweat, unbearable pain, relentless itching, unshakable worry—now, at last, they’re being healed.
I can’t move fast enough. It’s taking so long.
I scald my tongue over and over as I hurry to down the teas Olyn’s prepared. I must heal them.
So I can heal him .
Olyn sags onto the emptying central platform, where the glowing tithiscar should have stood on a pedestal. She was the real protection here.
I channel the spell into the last patient, forcing it hurriedly into the young man’s body. “You are an excellent healer, Olyn.”
She watches the light glowing from me into him. “Sometimes I wish I had spiritual meridians.”
I sigh. I understand. Magic has an edge like nothing else.
“But then, if we relied only on vitalians, most people would succumb to their ailments.”
I suppose, in this case, she’s not wrong.
“I’m happy I’m skilled with needles,” she says. “Maybe more can learn this, as a crude skill.” She looks down at her male disguise. “Would also be great if anyone could be allowed to learn.”
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 . . .”
“Don’t be fooled by the hair. It’s not the effect of life-shortening tea.”
Nicostratus leans forward, whispering, “You mean . . .”
“I’m not dying.” Quin glances toward my hiding place. “Neither am I allowed to.”
“Your magic is blocked.”
“Mm.”
Nicostratus rises and comes to his brother’s side, hand glowing with rich magic. Potent enough to open a king’s spiritual meridians. He presses Quin’s shoulder; the glow sweeps over him and sinks inside.
I shuffle closer to the narrow gap, to better glimpse the brothers, and the screen wobbles—
I try to steady it but there’s nothing to grab without giving my presence away—
A gust whisks around the room, and Quin’s gaze darts in my direction as suddenly everything shifts and rattles and then is caressed until it’s still. The screen is back in its place.
“Looks like you’re free again,” Nicostratus murmurs. He returns to his seat, while Quin clears his throat and tells his brother—avoiding any mention of me—what happened during that time in the palace and up to this point.
Nicostratus lets out a shuddery breath. “I’ve worried, brother.”
“I kept much from you. Forgive me for that.”
Nicostratus bows his head. “You needed the act to look real. You’re well, that’s all that matters.”
“What also matters is that your position in the royal city is safe, with my son named heir. I’m relieved, knowing you are able to watch over my boy, and my queen.”
“They miss you. They mourn you. Uncle treats them with insincere kindness.”
Quin is quiet.
Nicostratus clears his throat. “I heard rumours you were sighted in this part of the country. When we got news of the outbreak, I had to check... I organised food relief and joined a newly established unit. They believe I’m a spiritless recruit.”
“You got past the redcloaks upholding the quarantine.”
“I wasn’t in a position where I had to interact with the captain. They checked the wagons, took some of the goods, and reluctantly sent us through. Then you spotted me and had me brought here.”
Absently, Nicostratus touches the end of his ribbon. “He would’ve wanted lives to be saved.”
My chest and my throat ache to call out.
Quin clears his throat. “Did the regent get the message about the wyverns?”
“He got it. He knew immediately you were the source. He didn’t seem pleased and he didn’t divulge his plans.”
Quin grimaces, and from my hiding spot, so do I. The regent had better take action, or... I shiver.
At a distant shout, Nicostratus tenses. “I shouldn’t be too long from my unit. They’ll wonder why.”
“Say you have family here. You were recognised by a cousin.” Quin’s straight back sinks against his chair and he smiles. “One day, we’ll be free to spend time without worries between us.”
“I’ll bring wine.”
“We’ll bring out the bows and arrows.”
“Best archer gets to make an outrageous request.”
“You’re not getting me to perform in the square again.”
Nicostratus laughs. “You played the flute so... uniquely.”
“Get out of here.”
Nicostratus stands. Pauses. “Uncle’s reach is growing,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing the ribbon tied around his head. “Hinsard is crawling with his men, and they’re not just watching—they’re preparing for something.”
Quin’s voice is clipped. “Then we’ll be ready.”
“My unit is moving south after this. I’ll break from them and head to Hinsard. Many of my people are there, too. I can send some to help you.”
“Too loud. When the gates reopen, I’ll slip out.”
“They have your image. There will be checkpoints everywhere.” Nicostratus laughs on a sigh. “Of course, you’ll have a way. What’s your plan from here?”
“The southern border—Commander Thalassios of the Wyvern division.”
Nicostratus’s eyes flicker as if in recognition. “You have dated information. Uncle has ordered half to retreat into Hinsard until further notice. Wyvern division is among them.”
“What is he up to?”
“Anything that saves him money.”
“He messes with our people’s lives and now he dares mess at the border?”
“That’s why I’m going. For more information; to find out what the situation is like.”
“Good. We’ll meet there in ten days. Wait—”
“If we cross paths publicly, I won’t know you.”
“That’s best.”
“One more thing,” Quin says.
Nicostratus hesitates at the door, glancing back. “Your mother?... Or his akla?”
I hold my breath. Quin waits for Nicostratus to continue, and he does. “Your mother wears a ribbon for you, too. His Akilah is saddened, but his vitalian friend visits her.”
I sag onto my haunches.
Nicostratus hesitates, then lifts his chin higher. “May I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“He tried to kill you under our uncle’s orders. Will you ever forgive him?”
“Brother—”
“No. What I really mean to ask is, will you ever forgive me?”
“What for?”
“For this.” He gestures to his silver ribbon. “For mourning him. Missing him, wishing he were still alive.”
Quin remains quiet for long beats, and my heart bangs so hard I wonder they can’t hear it.
“Was your love that deep?” Quin finally asks.
“I can’t explain it. He made me smile. I’d light up inside. I’d want time to pause so I could have him with me longer.”
“You’re saying you’ve forgiven him?”
“Do you forgive me for it?”
Quin speaks slowly, as if still deliberating. “If he could hear you, I’m sure he’d be relieved to know your feelings.”
“What about your feelings?”
Quin laughs hollowly.
“I used to think you...” Nicostratus shakes his head. “Then I thought you must resent him. Now you’re curious about his akla.... You’re not filled entirely with hate.”
“I’m not filled with hate.”
Nicostratus lets out a long breath. “It’s a weight off my chest. I can go on without feeling guilty.”
I shut my eyes.
Quin murmurs, “Travel safely.”
“If the day comes when you need me, brother... know I’ll be there.”
My chest tightens as I watch him leave, his red cloak disappearing through the doorway. Something about his words, his tone, sits uneasily in my chest. I glance at Quin, but his expression is unreadable.
When his footsteps have long faded, Quin says, “Come out.”
I slip onto the same chair Nicostratus had sat on. It’s still warm. A soft ache fills my chest. The silence between us is heavy, Nicostratus’s presence still palpable.
I open my mouth to speak and press my lips tight again.
“Say it,” Quin demands.
I point toward the screen where I’d been hiding. “Why don’t we tell him? He’s played out his natural reaction to my death. He’s made it look real to the royal city...”
Quin’s fingers curl around the arm of his chair. “I needed to gauge his situation. Need to make sure knowledge of your continued existence won’t hurt him, or you.”
“Did you gauge it?”
“I’m confident he’ll keep your secret and be safe doing so.”
“You can see how much he’s hurting; how much he’s missing me...” I choke on my words.
A pained expression flickers over Quin’s face and he quickly masks it. “I could have revealed you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Quin speaks simply, “I like having you to myself.”
“Quin . . .”
A sharp look. “You must have some idea how I feel about you.”
I expel air in a rush. I recall the royal city, asking him if he had feelings for me, his responding outrage. “You told me I was being arrogant.”
“That you were arrogant. Not that you were wrong.”
“Your brother—”
“Is he really the one you love?”
I swallow. His gaze is firm on mine, insistent. Tightness pulls at my chest. My breathing alters, uneven. “I...”
“ Is he ?”
“Yes!”
Quin sinks back with a huffed laugh before growing quiet. He doesn’t look at me, but it feels like all his awareness surrounds me, analysing my every shift.
“If you’re certain,” he says finally, sitting upright like he might be talking to any of his subordinates, “forget this conversation.”
I swallow, stomach uneasy with . . . with guilt.
Quin waves his hand, a clear dismissal. “I’ll tell him the truth about you in Hinsard.”
“You are my friend.”
His snaps his gaze to mine. “Don’t console me. These feelings came unwanted; they’ll go easily enough.”
“I don’t want things to be awkward.”
“Lean in!”
I buckle over the desk before him.
He flicks my forehead. “I’m past it already.”
It’s to this scene that Bastion and his men enter the office. Quin swiftly shifts his attention to them, while I slump back to my stool with clammy palms and butterflies. Ticklish... relief.
“... calculations. As long as we’re careful, the food should last.” Bastion is a whir of movement as he draws out a short sword and points it at the king. His men unhook their whips and they unfurl to the floor at the ready.
I leap to my feet, knocking over my stool, and snatch Bastion’s sword-wielding arm.
“Let go,” he snaps at me.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
He answers, staring hard at the king, who hasn’t so much as flickered. Almost like he expected this. “Now that everything is under control, we have scores to settle.”
“Is it not enough your men have been saved?”
He tries to shake me off, but I wrap myself around his arm. He looks at me and jerks his arm so I fall inwards, face to his face. He bares a toothy grin. “Feisty too. You’ll be fun.”
I don’t let his schmoozing shake me off. I grit my teeth and hold on. “Do you have no honour?”
“He has the good will of the townspeople. It’s not enough to pay for decades of neglect.” He looks over at the king. “If the gates open and you get away, they’ll be relieved for a few weeks, but then they’ll see nothing else has changed. Our stores will keep being taken for the benefit of the royal city, leaving us scraping by for food, for herbal supplies, for medicinal help. The magistrates who abandoned us will return to their costly homes and their wasteful consumption. All on the backs of us.”
Quin keeps his gaze evenly on Bastion, lets him continue, “You see this sword as a threat. I see it as our fight for salvation.”
“What will killing him help?” I cry.
Bastion laughs tightly. “The bounty for handing him over will keep the entire town afloat for at least a year.”
“Money? Money’s all you want?” I release him and step back. “If you get the same amount, will you let him go?”
Bastion lowers his sword, looking at me.
“I can give you that money.”
He prowls closer, the tip of his sword dragging along the floor.
My stomach knots, but I force a calm smile. “Enough to make sure you won’t need to touch him.”
His fingers lift my chin, and my pulse races with a mix of fury and unease. “You’re a pretty face. I’ll have more fun taking it from you.”
I grab his wrist, my grip firm despite my shaking fingers. “You won’t. Not because I’m pretty, or a healer, but because you’re better than this.”
For a moment, his grin falters, something genuine flickering in his eyes. He steps back with a bark of laughter, and I exhale sharply, my shoulders dropping. Quin’s gaze lingers on me, unreadable, but my chest tightens under its weight.
“When I give you the bounty money, you will let him go.”
Quin quietly observes this scene, his gaze shifting from me to Bastion, awaiting his response.
Bastion huffs out a laugh. “You really are his man. Fine. I agree. Give me the money, and I won’t waste any more time with him.”
From my cloak, I pull out the purse Megaera returned to me.
Quin leans forward to take it, his gaze pinning Bastion in place. “You raised a sword against me, and I let you. Because I know the weight you carry for your people.”
Bastion opens his mouth, but Quin cuts him off. “Don’t mistake my leniency for weakness. I could leave this town tomorrow, but I choose to stay because I understand the people here need support. Accept my offer, and ensure your people are cared for.”
Silence stretches between them, heavy and charged, before Bastion sheathes his sword. “What offer?”
Quin picks up a few sheets of paper from his desk. Magic leaks from his hand, pulling blood from his finger and staining it into a pattern at the bottom of each sheet. When he’s done, he hands them over.
Bastion reads the first sheet, his brow furrowing. As he flips to the next, his movements slow, his expression shifting from suspicion to disbelief.
“Do you mean it?” he asks, voice rough.
Quin’s tone is steady. “I certainly won’t allow the previous magistrates to return to their posts. You’ve proven your sincerity.”
Bastion clutches the papers like they’re a lifeline, his eyes darting between Quin and me. “You’re either a fool or braver than I thought.”
Quin inclines his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“This document is enough?”
“It has the royal seal. Anyone looking upon it will know its validity. Those magistrates are as good as exiled from this town, and you and your men are rightfully instated as the governing members.”
“We have authority?”
“And a quarterly budget to manage. Alongside fair wages.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll defy you?”
“If I ever fail my people, I expect you to defy me.”
Bastion rocks back. He gestures and his men roll their whips to their belts. Then he rests a foot on the upturned stool and leans forward against his knee. To the king, he says, “After all the meritorious deeds I do for you, you’ll want to reward me.” He glances pointedly at me and bestows a wolfish grin upon Quin. “I’ll ask for him.”