Chapter 13 #2
The father of the little girl I treated lurches to his feet, his daughter awake in his arms. His eyes are shining with gratitude. He limps forward. “I’ll take one.”
He thanks me again as I measure his pulse, and with a relieved smile, I hand him a mid-strength capsule.
The spell breaks open between his teeth, flooding through him with a glowing blue aura.
The light dims; he flexes his bad leg and jostles his daughter onto his hip.
Laughter crinkles his face. His daughter presses little kisses on his shoulder.
For three long beats, no one speaks, and then—
A ragged woman with a deep gash on her forearm steps forward, her eyes hooking on the capsules. She stretches out her blood-stained hand.
Whispers. Another two raised hands. Then another three.
The crowd’s shift in attitude is swift and unmistakable; I should feel relieved, but doubt gnaws. They’re desperate. They’ll take anything for now. If they had more choice, would they trust my spells?
Florentius’s scornful expression cuts over the patients’ cries of relief.
I keep my chin up, but there’s a niggling voice in my head that echoes the look on his face. “Are you an official vitalian?”
“I will be, after the examinations.”
“Aren’t they happening now?”
“They’ve been postponed. All masters and scholars have been sent to the worst hit regions.”
A giddy lurch fills my chest, slicing through my uncertainty. There’s still a chance?
River’s voice echoes in my head. Do you think I was good enough to be reborn linea? Do you think I’ll be able to learn in the schools? Become a scholar? Fill a soldad with stamps?
His biggest wish is mine. To learn. To become a great healer.
Why do we have to wait to be reborn linea?
“You can’t enter,” Florentius scoffs.
I stare, lips curving in a determined smile. As Calix Solin, I could.
“Even if,” he continues, “Your magic will be pitiful against pure linea. It’ll never be enough.”
I feel his words for a long time before I unclench my fist and shakily dust off my cloak. Maybe he’s right. Maybe one day my magic won’t be enough. But today . . . today, I was enough.
As for tomorrow? I’ll do my best.
Much later, shadows stretch across the courtyard, the scent of autumn dew clinging to the crisp air. Just as I near the corner, a strong arm pulls me back. I yelp, heart pounding.
“Shh,” Nicostratus murmurs, loosening his grip but not letting go. “It’s me.”
I swivel around, hands against his chest, my fingers twitching as I feel the warmth of him. He’s here. He’s real. “You’ve been watching me,” I murmur, my voice catching. “When did you arrive? Why?”
His gaze, sharp yet unreadable, searches my face. “The earthshake . . . I was worried. I had to make sure.”
I blink, the weight of his concern stealing my breath.
He pulls me into an embrace, his voice low and rough in my ear. “I wanted to haul you into my arms the moment I saw you. But you were busy. And Chiron was there.”
I pull back sharply. “Wait. That vitalian was Chiron? The Chiron?”
His lips twitch. “He didn’t introduce himself?”
“No,” I say, more to myself. Too much was happening—or maybe he didn’t think me worthy of an introduction.
“Was he critical?” Nicostratus asks, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. “Should I put him in line?”
I bite back a laugh. “He’s one of the best vitalians alive. He’s allowed to be critical.”
I tug his wrist. “Come on.”
“Are you abducting me?” he asks, his tone amused. “Should I be worried?”
“Only if you don’t like moths,” I reply. “I spotted one earlier. Rare. Its cocoons form near a fungus that sells for top coin to dance houses. But sometimes—once a century—they’re found on petrified violet oak roots.”
Nicostratus halts, his brows lifting. “Immortal Bone?”
I nod. “It can cure any poison.”
A shadow crosses his face and his step stalls. “If you find some . . . could I give part to my brother?”
I hesitate at the rich plea in his tone. The yearning. The care for a king who is the source of so many ills in my life.
My fingers tighten around his sleeve as the oath of a vitalian echoes in my mind: treat all equally. Even enemies.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say quietly.
The forest envelops us—towering trees, their silhouettes stretching darkly against the pale sky. Nicostratus conjures a soft flame, its light dancing off the gnarled trunks and mossy creek beds. I keep close; our sleeves brush as we walk.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I whisper, eager to distract from the prickling unease.
He exhales. “My mother poisoned my brother.”
The words land heavily, echoing against the rocks surrounding us as we step into a cave.
His voice rumbles, gravelly, weighted with memory.
“She tricked my father into believing his first wife was unfaithful, and so he divorced her when she was still pregnant with my brother. Soon after, Father married my mother, who was also expecting. But when he discovered the truth, he could never forgive her, no matter what she did. His heart, it seemed, had never truly been hers.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “But you and your brother seem so close.”
“Father loved us both. We spent most of our time together, learning under the same tutor. Only in the evenings were we separated, back to our mothers’ wings.” Nicostratus’s smile fades. “I don’t remember much, but I’m told I fell into a pond and came close to drowning. Constantinos saved me.”
His sigh tugs at my chest. “But?”
He guides me carefully over a broken log bridge. “My mother feared that Constantinos’s heroism would influence Father’s choice of heir. He almost died, but fate was on his side, even if he never fully recovered.”
I grab his sleeve. “That’s awful.”
“She shifted most of the blame onto her aklas. She escaped the guillotine but lived with a life-shortening tea. Her health declined year by year until . . . she just passed.”
I struggle to find the right words. “It’s hard to fathom. Poisoning a child, especially one who saved your son . . .”
Nicostratus’s eyes are dark with pain.
I stop and place a hand on his arm. “Do you hate her?”
His jaw tightens and his gaze drops to the fading flicker of his flame. “Some days. Other days . . . I think of how she taught me to read and write, how she sang songs to me before bed. It’s hard to separate my feelings.” He sighs deeply. “Is it wrong to love someone despite what they’ve done?”
“No,” I say softly. “People are neither wholly good nor wholly bad. We’re complex. You can love and hate someone at the same time.”
The silence between us deepens as we move further into the caves. Nicostratus’s flame reveals glistening fungi and craggy walls. I spot the telltale glow of amorous fungi and warn him, “Cover your face. The spores—”
He cuts me off with a smirk, tying the cloth around my nose and mouth with gentle, ticklish precision. “Like this?”
I’m about to gulp when a low growl rumbles through the cave. My pulse spikes. Eyes glint in the shadows, and wolves step forward, their teeth bared. They pause, growls vibrating through the air, forming a wall of teeth and muscle.
Nicostratus mutters, fire blooming in his hands.
“Don’t hurt them!” I plead. “Just keep them back.”
As he raises a shield of flame, one lunges forward, claws scratching down the barrier. Nicostratus shifts his stance, fire blooming brighter in his palms. Another wolf leaps forward, and Nicostratus pushes out his fire shield. The wolf collapses mid-air, yelping as it falls to the ground.
“Careful!” I call as I kneel by the wounded wolf, murmuring soothing words as my magic flows. Its wounds close, the skin knitting cleanly. Behind me, Nicostratus is a series of swishes and the snapping of boots against stone.
Wolves growl, desperate, until they’re reduced to mournful whines.
In the corner of my eye, I notice a steaming crack and the cocoon husks nearby.
I reach for the blackened lump, but my stomach sinks—just fungi.
Not immortal bone. Still. Valuable. Useful.
As I pocket it, Nicostratus steps close, grabs me by the waist and soars us out of the cave.
Silhouetted trees blur beneath us, their branches scraping under my boots.
My stomach lurches, the ground dizzyingly far down.
“Was it worth the risk?” he asks softly.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to meet his gaze but being rather preoccupied by the long drop below. “It’s not Immortal Bone, but it’s rare enough. And I owe someone a debt.”
“Someone?” Nicostratus asks.
“He saved my life. Could we . . .” I point earthward, but Nicostratus doesn’t notice. Instead, he’s frowning.
“What’s the name of this hero?” he asks.
“Ground!”
“Name?”
“Quin!”
“Family name?”
I laugh and clutch him when my footing slips from the thin branch. “We’re not that close.”
“You’re giving him amorous fungi!”
I shake my head wildly. “He owns a dance house!”
Nicostratus relaxes and in a gliding rush he sweeps us from the treetops to the blessed ground. “I am, of course, grateful he saved you.”
I side-eye him. “Are you?”
“Yes. However . . .” His knuckles bump along mine with a lingering touch that sends my heart skittering. My breath catches, and the world tilts with a panic in my chest that I can’t explain.
Panic? Or excitement?
His lips find mine, and it’s distracting, but questions churn just under his touch. Is this what I’ve run away from my marriage to find? Is this a truth unmasking itself?
But the taste won’t settle.
And when I close my eyes, the face that surfaces . . . is it his?