Chapter 57
T he 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?
I breathe in deeply, and out. There’s no pain. I’ve been well healed, and sleep has thickened my blood. I feel healthy, if a little stiff.
Dark eyes, usually ablaze with determination, are closing briefly with relief. He reopens them, gaze roaming my face, and I catch the shimmer in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he tries to control himself.
My throat is dry. “Quin.”
Fragile light flickers in his eyes and his fingers tremble. Maybe I’m not entirely healed because I suddenly ache. With my free hand, I touch my chest, and Quin’s posture stiffens, his gaze sharpening with a promise that whatever is ailing me, he’ll find a way to make it better.
I open my mouth to tell him I’ll be fine but my throat closes on an overwhelming feeling of... rawness. I squeeze his fingers and try to sit up. His arm comes around my back, and we’re a cocoon of uneven breaths as he steadies me.
“Thank you.”
His gaze holds mine, voice soft. “What were you thinking?”
“It was the only way.”
“Never do that again.”
I would do it again.
“If I hadn’t... Even if the spear didn’t kill you, your injuries would have been so severe, we’d have crashed to ground. We’d have been in their grasp and they’d have killed us only moments later. There was no question. It was my life for yours. For Nicostratus’s.”
“For . . .” He looks away.
My name on a nearby cry is followed by pounding footsteps. Quin removes his arm from my shoulder and slides his hand from mine. He shifts silently away as Nicostratus throws open the door and rushes to my side.
He grabs me into a desperate embrace, murmuring his thanks to the heavens; pulls back, hands rubbing my upper arms, and looks at me. His eyes are alight with relief, his dark hair tousled like he’d been constantly running worried hands through it. His smile is undeniably beautiful, and it’s easy to smile back at him. Then I recall the silver ribbon he gripped in his weak, bloodied hands, and I swallow.
Quin clears his throat. “You’re still recovering. You shouldn’t have rushed in here.”
Nicostratus ignores his brother. “It was hard enough not being able to stay by his side all night.” He smiles at me again. “You’ve no idea how happy I am to learn you’re alive.”
“The healer said if you overwork yourself, it’ll take longer to properly recover.”
Nicostratus scoffs. “This is hardly overexertion. In fact, seeing Amuletos does my soul a lot of good.”
Quin’s stare hits mine over his brother’s shoulder, then as Nicostratus kisses my temple, he twists sharply for the open door with the aid of a new wooden cane.
“Brother, wait.” Nicostratus pulls away from me, and fishes something from his inner cloak.
Quin pauses in the doorframe, keeping his back to us.
“The man beside me in that cell gave this to me before he died. Told me, if I could, to excuse his absence from the constabulary.”
“This is a letter of transfer.”
“He said he was demoted from the capital and sent to work there. He laughed about being worried he had no contacts.”
Quin’s head shifts, as if he’s about to look at his brother but reconsiders. His profile is pensive.
“You’d have come up with an alias anyway,” Nicostratus says, returning to my bedside. “Soterios may be practical for you. If you’re worried about what constabulary would hire you with your leg... tell them you had a tough encounter with crusaders.”
Quin leaves the room, and the snick of his cane echoes with little punches into my chest. I frown after him until Nicostratus shifts his face into my line of sight.
“Constantinos confessed to me last night. Once you’d fallen asleep, after the... healer left. He told me poisoning him was all part of a plan.”
“I wanted to tell you. I . . .”
“I’m not angry. My greatest wish came true. To have you back.”
I swallow and stare at his knee folded under him, where he’s perched beside me.
“Are you alright?” he murmurs.
“So much has happened,” I say. “You were captured by crusaders...” I shake my head. It feels surreal. Like it’s all been a nightmare. “How? Did they...”
“They ambushed us. The moment I saw we were outnumbered, I sealed my magic so it wouldn’t leak, so I couldn’t use it rashly. I couldn’t let them know. They would have smashed my spiritual meridians right away. Being new recruits kept us alive. As you saw, they used us as bait to lure more in.”
“They tortured you in there.”
“They tortured us all. They wanted to convert us. None yielded. The constable died for his unbending belief in the law.”
I sigh and take his hand, sliding two fingers up his wrist to read his pulse—
I frown, shake my hands. My spiritual power is dormant. Like... I look up at Nicostratus’s weak smile. Hiccuppy panic scratches deep in my throat, and I swallow it away. “The healer... did they block my magic?”
He stares at me. “You have to recover fully.”
“I’m healed.”
“Not the internal and external wounds. The shock.”
I watch him, and his eyes soften. He says, “I’ll be right by your side. I’ll help you grow strong again, alright?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding and nod. “Where are we?”
“We’re at an inn a day from Hinsard. You’ll like this place. It’s nestled in the herb fields surrounding the city.”
I swing my legs out of the bed and rise on shaky legs. Immediately, I realise the view of these fields is not the first thing I want to experience. Rather a visit to a privy, and a bath. Nicostratus laughs at this, leads the way, and leaves me to take my time.
Fresh clothes are waiting for me after my bath, and I slide into the soft, luxurious material, fix my belongings—soldad and golden feather—to my belt and my clasp to a thicker cloak. The hood is lined with fox fur for a crisp autumn.
I find Nicostratus waiting outside in the garden, the pretty shrubbery fenced in with a low stone wall outside which fields of herbs stretch as far as the eye can see. There are lanes with trees separating chamomile from lavender and those lanes seem to lead to a distant pavilion. It’s in this direction Nicostratus and I casually walk.
I pluck upturned roots from the ground, wishing I could sense the pulse of their healing spirit, but my fingertips only feel coarse stalks, crumbling dirt, stringy ends, and sharp prickles.
It’ll come back. I just woke after serious injuries. Nicostratus—or Quin—will unlock my meridians soon.
I crush the root in my grip and sticky juice sluices down my fingers, leaving a bitter trail beside us.
Nicostratus eyes my hand and stares ahead at the approaching pavilion. “It’s been tough for you, since leaving the royal city.”
“The royal city was no picnic either.”
He side-eyes me. “You could have escaped after your ‘death’, made a new name for yourself. You could’ve had it easier.”
“Are you asking why I followed your brother?”
He lets out a breath with a weak chuckle, his gaze falling and narrowing on my clasp. “I thought you found him difficult. Frustrating.”
“Let me assure you, I still think that.” But I’ve also seen so much more to him. No matter how much I’ve wanted to avoid him in the past, fate has always thrown us back together, forced us to reveal deeper levels of ourselves. To like them, to hate them, to understand them.
My voice crackles. “He’s the hope the people of this kingdom are looking for. He needs to succeed in removing your uncle from power. I followed him as his personal healer. To aid him along the way.”
“If that’s why...” We reach the pavilion steps and he sweeps me up them in a twirl of magic that has me gasping. He smiles warmly. “I’m also on my brother’s side. If you want, help me help him.”
“Let’s . . . all work together.”
“He and I will be parting ways tomorrow. We’ll have to act the part of strangers in Hinsard. Will you come with me?”
I absently touch my knotting stomach, and Nicostratus steps closer, steers me to a bench and table and sits me down.
“Are you in pain? I’ll call for a healer—”
I shake my head, and exaggerate the rub at my stomach. “I’m just dizzy. Hungry.”
“I should have thought. Stay right here, I’ll get us something.”
He soars towards the inn, a graceful figure dancing across fields.
I drop my fingers from my knotted stomach to my golden feather, and breathe in perfumed air and inexplicable tension.
Stop being ridiculous.
Of course I want to spend more time with Nicostratus and be by his side. And if it helps Quin, there’s simply no question.
Maybe I won’t be easing Quin’s pain, but I could put my skills to good use. Take care of the soldiers and those who are on the king’s side. There’s bound to be retaliation from the high duke, bound to be bloodshed. I can be by Nicostratus’s side, healing the wounded in this pursuit of justice.
I stare at the verdant foliage in all directions around the pavilion, then at my root-sapped hand, and my chest grows heavy. My meridians will reopen soon.
The sound of hooves clapping over dirt in the distance has me looking up. I stand abruptly and watch as Quin, a few hundred yards off, moves his horse steadily down one of the lanes towards me. As he nears, I notice familiar bundles either side of the horse. The things we left at the last inn; one of them with the sharper outline of my grandfather’s books.
Quin pulls the horse to a stop at a nearby tree and comes off it onto his good leg, cane sliding out of its holder at his back. I’ve seen him do this countless times, but each time lights me with a strange sense of admiration. Despite his pain, despite his limitations, he always does what he wants.
He comes up into the pavilion with a rush of warm air. I suck in a sharp breath, recalling that potent healing spell. The heady, unfurling warmth that bloomed through me. Before he speaks, I step to him with an urgent grip on his cloak. “The healer you used. They must be powerful. A master.”
He freezes under my touch, and I loosen my hold. “Please unlock my meridians. I want to meet that healer. I want to ask about that spell; learn from them.”
Sympathy lurks in his eyes and my sap-covered hand tightens into a ball, nails cutting moons into my palms.
“He hasn’t told you.”
Quin’s words are ice along my spine; I vigorously shake the shivers away. “Sure he told me. I have to wait until I’m recovered. I am recovered. No shock.” I open my arms wide. “Unlock me. Please.”
We stand, face to face, in the pavilion surrounded by healing herbs. Quin’s hair and cloak shift in the breeze, but the rest of him is still. His eyes are heavy and dark on mine.
I raise my opened arms and cut the small distance between us by half, so that I have to bend my neck to hold his gaze. “Give me my magic back.”
The heaviness in those dark eyes . . .
I shake my head. “Please.”
“Cael...” His voice cracks, the single word heavy with something deeper than regret.
I turn away, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Fine. If you won’t, I’ll ask Nicostratus—”
He catches me by the shoulders and spins me back, his grip trembling. For a moment, it feels like desperation more than anger, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away entirely. But his voice is a growl. “Stop fooling yourself.”
I stare stubbornly at him.
“You must have felt it,” Quin says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “From the moment you woke.”
I stagger back, my knees threatening to give way under the weight of his words. Tears prickle behind my eyes, and I blink them back.
“Your meridians are gone, Cael. Severed.” His words are quiet, like he’s trying to soften the blow, but they hit harder for it. “There’s nothing left to repair. Not even the kingdom’s greatest healer could bring them back. Not magic. Not immortal bone. Not me.”
I burst into a laugh that goes on and on. It’s bubbling inside of me. It’s hollow. It hurts. “You’re teasing me.” I stop laughing and nod. “Fine. You’ve made your point. I’ll take more care in the future. I won’t throw myself in front of a spear again.”
His grip tightens.
I continue, “There are more lives to save. Unlock me.”
“Stop this,” Quin growls, his nose grazing mine.
“Stop what?”
“You’ll never use magic again!”
It punches my gut but I refuse to reel back. A tear escapes my eye and I let it trail boldly down my cheek.
He watches it. “Nicostratus should have told you.”
“He wanted me to recover.” Before this hurt me again . Deep down, I’d known something was off. I’d ignored it. I’d let myself be lulled by Nicostratus’s words.
And... I’d felt too tired to fight with him for the truth. I shut my eyes.
Quin’s breath is hard against my nose, my lips, my chin. He’s upset, frustrated. At his brother. At me.
“You no longer have magic. But you’re alive .”
I open my eyes and stare vacantly at him. “Are you still alive if your dream has died?”
“This hurts, I understand—”
“Understand? If you did, if you had any idea, you’d have been afraid to tell me too.”
“Not afraid to tell—” he cuts himself off with a dark laugh, and then snaps quietly, “You need the truth.”
His gaze spears through mine, sharper than the spear that pierced my body. Pain lances through me, and I fight it with a boiling temper. I shove Quin against the chest. His cane shifts, but he holds firm.
I stare hard into his eyes, until I have not just his sole focus, but his soul. “I should never have saved you.”
He says nothing. Not a flicker of reaction.
My throat tightens, my voice rises. “Tomorrow, I’m following Nicostratus.”
His adjusts his cane. “If he makes you feel better—”
“He always has.”
I turn my back on him, storm out of the pavilion, and choke on the sweet scent of herbs I’ll never stack into spells again.
On a heavy ache, I rush to Nicostratus and grab hold of his arm, clutching it to keep myself upright and almost sending the basket of food he carries to the ground. With a gentle frown, he steers me to a bench. We can eat in the garden. I sit with my back turned to Quin in the far distance.
“You seem upset,” Nicostratus murmurs.
I rip into some bread and shake my head.
We eat, me cramming things into my mouth without tasting them, Nicostratus kindly telling me stories about his residence in Hinsard. How many things he could show me. Enjoy with me. “Before long it’ll be the lovelight festival.”
I swallow my mouthful and look over at him. “I’ll come with you.”
His smile is wide and lingers through the rest of our meal, until the innkeeper approaches with a written message. “The young man asked me to pass this to you,” he says to Nicostratus, and to me: “Your things have been delivered to your room.”
Nicostratus thanks him, and when he’s gone, reads the message.
He lurches to his feet and searches the vast vista; I follow his gaze until it lands on a solitary figure on his mount amidst vibrant fields.
“He’s leaving without saying goodbye?” Nicostratus shakes his head.
I spin away.
“He’ll have his reasons,” Nicostratus murmurs.
I stuff more bread into my mouth and smother the angry sob punching at my throat.