Chapter 9
Abeam of unforgiving light knifes into my eyes, yanking me from cliffs and cold ash. Not dreams; Maskios.
A hollow ache throbs in my chest. Just as gnawing as the pain in my head—
I lurch into a sitting position. The market! Silvius!
I blink in my confusing surroundings. The light is coming from a tall window of pieced glass, the shutters having been thrown back to let in the morning.
My patch of shade is cast by long lengths of rich velvet hung around the bed—a very soft and comfortable bed, but simply dressed with pale linens.
It’s all very clean and very fine, and the outfit I had thought so distinguished the night before now seems gaudy.
I slump and take a deep breath, scents of lavender and sandalwood and . . . tea filling my nose.
I spot the tea and sip it.
“Your moustache is coming off.”
I slap my mouth, tea spilling onto my fingers and the spotless bedding, to press the moustache into shape and stop abruptly. Setting the tea down, belly flipping, I scan the room—
Standing in the light shafting through the window is Quin, still and pensive. “Our magics have interwoven before. I’ll always recognise yours, whether you fail to control it or not.”
Magic smokes at my fingertips. He recognised me from this. He recognised me right from the beginning. My heart skips a beat—Akilah!
“She is sleeping in the next room. Drink your tea; that should relieve the headache,” he says without turning his head.
A wave of relief washes over me. “Do you recall everyone you clash magic with?”
Quin turns, his lips twitching. “The ones worth remembering.”
A frisson of heat flares to my face. “Why mine?”
He crosses the room, voice lowering. “It’s as unguarded and passionate as your expressions. Neither can lie.”
My fingers seep magic; I shove my traitorous hands under the blanket.
His gaze drops to where my hands disappeared and his lips twitch.
I puff out a frustrated breath. “You were the one who said if it could save lives, I should deceive.”
He cocks his head, and after a moment, agrees.
“Once I’m qualified,” I say, “I’ll leave. Start over where no one will recognise me.”
Quin’s silence is heavy, almost oppressive, before he finally speaks, “I despise the rules stopping par-linea from wielding magic.”
“If only—”
“The king would do something?” A bitter laugh. “The majority of officials staunchly oppose such change. He’d have to fight.”
I slump against the wall. “I wish he would.”
“Even if he wanted to, he won’t get a chance. He’s still a damn puppet, under the control of his uncle.”
“A puppet who’s still king,” I mutter. “No matter his hardship, he owes it to his people to fight as hard as he possibly can.”
Quin’s eyes narrow on me sharply. “You think opposing corrupt power is easy?”
“I think the king lacks courage.”
Shadows layer Quin’s face, his power simmering with anger and frustration. “You speak so boldly for someone hiding behind a mask. Does courage come easier when you call yourself Calix Solin?”
My breath snags, heat thrumming in my chest as I fumble for a reply. “I’m just doing what I must to survive.”
“What makes you think he’s any different?”
My shoulders sag. I don’t know what to say.
Briefly, Quin shuts his eyes. Then he pulls a wooden badge from under his cloak. A familiar one.
I frantically check my belt for the soldad. Gone. My gaze whips to his. “That’s—”
“It fell when you were carried up here.” He steps closer, his presence filling the space as he reaches for my belt.
His fingers knot it tightly, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch.
“You’ll be up against the best—men who’ve spent thousands in gold to hone their craft. ”
“I don’t have to place first. I just have to pass.”
“No matter how skilled, only those ranked in the top ten pass. All others may try again the following year.”
Wait another year? But what if another of my family gets hurt? Or another roof needs repairing? I gave up the Temenos money . . . I need to earn . . .
Quin flips my soldad to the six empty squares. “Last year saw impressive talent turned away—talent that will be back this year, determined to place.”
“You’re saying I don’t have much hope.”
“I’m saying . . .” The space between us seems to be shrinking. I can feel the faint warmth radiating from him, and the shift of his fingers still on my soldad. He slowly lets go, looking into my eyes. “Fight for it.”
“You’re encouraging me?” I murmur.
“I believe your grandfather would say the same.”
I hold my breath against a sudden ache in my chest. Last night’s confession replays in my mind, the weight of it lingering between us and heating my cheeks.
“You were just a child,” he says quietly.
I shut my eyes. The air feels thick and painful as I haul in a breath.
I ball my shame inside before it leaks from me. “I want admission to the royal city.”
“Didn’t you want to start a career somewhere fresh?”
“The royal city is practically its own world, so few enter.”
“Even fewer exit.”
“I’ll be a whole new person there.”
Quin raises a brow. “And when they investigate the birth records in Hinsard? Will yours be there, Calix?”
“Yes. Calix Solin is actually real.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I hesitate. Maskios’s face was an illusion. His name always felt like a lie. Was anything he said real? I squeeze my soldad.
Quin watches. Can he taste my yearning, my frustration? He looks away and clears his throat. Before he can speak, though, there’s a knock at the door.
“Later,” Quin calls.
“There’s a message from your wife.”
My head snaps up.
“Leave it with my akla,” Quin says, meeting my gasp with a narrowing of his gaze. “What?”
“You’re married?” The words come out more gasp than question.
He hesitates, his jaw tightening before he speaks, voice edged with something raw, pained. “I have a son, too.”
“But you—”
“Have responsibilities.” His lip curls. “Not everyone can run away.”
I swallow thickly.
Is it so bad to want something more?
Quin looks out the windows at the street below. It’s bustling with . . .
The market!
I scramble off the bed, heart pounding as I scan the room for my boots. The sun is already high—Silvius could be waiting, or worse, already gone . . . “Can you . . . can you keep this between us, please?”
He doesn’t look at me, but he nods.
“Thank you for ensuring Akilah and I were taken care of last night.”
“Don’t thank me.” I see the corners of his lips curl. “I set it all up.”
I swat him on the way past, barking out a laugh.
His gaze follows me, his eyebrow arching. “Will you let me exploit you longer?”
“Not today. I have some romancing to do.”
“What?”
I toss a wave over my shoulder and rush out to find Akilah. The rough texture of her cloak brushes against me as I wrap her into a hug. “Let’s go.”
Outside, the clamour of the heaving market surrounds me. We hurry away from the academy, towards the bartering vendors and the scent of fresh bread. Akilah rubs her temples, whining that had she known, she’d never have drunk so much . . .
I slow down to spell her mind clear, the familiar surge of vitalian magic calming me too. As much as I can be calmed before meeting the man I keep dreaming about . . . “The masks will have to stay.”
“He won’t recognise you.”
“I’ll find him.”
She strokes her moustache, clears her throat, and swaggers off into the market, only turning back to throw me a giddy grin.
I turn sharply and a floral teacup drops to the ground, cracking down the middle. My forehead collides with that of the teacup’s owner as we both hurry to scoop it up.
“Fool. Look where you’re going. You’ve ruined—” He stops rubbing his head as he looks over at me.
His eyes widen. Mine too.
“You!” He snaps, clutching the shards of porcelain.
If the chicken bone incident wasn’t enough . . .
Florentius’s cloak is like soft, golden leaves today. He’s as pretty as he is annoyed. He rises elegantly to his feet while I dust dirt off of myself and apologise on my way up.
His eyes narrow as he jerks his head towards the stall. “Replace it,” he demands, his voice raw and strained.
I was at fault. I should compensate, but . . .
I pull my money pouch off my belt and peer into it. Not enough. “I can’t—”
Someone grips my elbow. Quin? I twist and my breath fizzles out.
Not him; another pair of dark eyes, without quite the same tense edge.
I shake off a shiver. Silvius’s smile is gentle, kind.
And he’s coming to my rescue. “Allow me. If I hadn’t caused the distraction, he’d never have bumped into you. I apologise.”
He smiles, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, as he pays for a replacement cup. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and luring.
We squeeze past stalls of paper and books, needlework and delicate, brightly coloured paintings, around a bustling corner, into an alleyway, and through the side door of an inn. How did he recognise me? The freckle on my hand? The scent of my magic?
The soldad at my belt?
I bite my lip on a smile and let him pull me into an airy room overlooking the market. The steadiness of his grip is different—not crude and commanding like Quin’s. Silvius’s calm is like a complex spell, superior in every way. Enough to soothe any storm inside.
Surely.
He lets me go, and his smile brightens in the dust-speckled light as he pushes his hood back.
“What in all the kingdoms . . .” He shakes his head at my disguise, amused, and flings a spell at me to reveal my true face.
I spare him a raised brow. “When it comes to disguise, aren’t you king?”
His smile fades, brow briefly creasing. He glances down at the colourful market, and I move to stand beside him.
“I’m currently Calix Solin, magical scholar, candidate in the upcoming examinations.” I eye the sharp lines of his profile, his fashionably knotted hair. My voice trips into a whisper. “Will you finally share who you are?”
He closes his eyes.
I step back from him. It’s like Maskios all over again. “You don’t want me to know?”