Chapter 16 #2
I tie the badge to my belt, alongside my soldad and various other pouches—really, I left home with far too many—
“How did you get those?” Quin stares tightly at the beads on my belt and lunges for them.
“Give them back. They were given to me.”
His face pales as he inspects them, and his voice comes out scratched. “By who?”
I’m quiet. I promised to keep Nicostratus’s identity secret. I’m afraid, though. If he works with officials in the palace, Quin must recognise the beads.
He’s gripping them now, his gaze dark and tight.
“Please give them back.”
A hollow, broken laugh and a furious whisper, “Prince Nicostratus? Are you out of your mind?”
I snatch the beads from him and tie them tightly to my belt.
“You’re . . . He’s . . .”
I snap, “Are you also against the prince?”
A blank stare. The slow, disbelieving shake of his head. A deep, confused frown.
“Are you?” I demand.
Quin’s jaw clenches, his frown deepening. “I’m one of the few looking out for him!”
“If you’re not against him, then is it me you have a problem with?”
“You . . .” His hands grip my arms, his face paling. “You’re the reason—” He shakes me, inspects me, face flashing with fury—”You were condemned? About to be executed?”
Is this important?
“I used some of Nicostratus’s beads to get to the cells—Akilah had been falsely accused. The redcloaks— It doesn’t matter. We’re safe, thanks to Nicostratus.”
Quin throws his head skyward. “This is—” He stops cold. Turns to me. “You said he was summoned home?”
“An aklo had his brother’s badge. Why are you looking like that? The king is one of the few people Nicostratus trusts!”
Quin’s hands are a blur of urgent movement. Wind surges around and under him instantly; he’s hoisted into the air and then dropped into his saddle below.
I’m left sprawled on roof tiles where I was tossed off his cloak. I pick myself up and clamber down from the roof, onto a tree, to the cobbled street. What is going on?
I swallow and touch Nicostratus’s beads. He promised to send word when he could. I have to believe everything’s fine. Quin was . . . he was surprised. He has to seek answers, possibly from the prince himself . . . Maybe my having his beads puts him in a difficult position?
I feel for the beads among the pouches on my belt again, and my stomach curdles.
I check all again, thoroughly, in case I missed it.
My Poison Halting Miracle.
Gone.
My first attempts to recreate my innovation are fraught with mental distractions. In a fit of frustration, I accidentally blow up a vase in Quin’s room. I groan at the thought of having to explain that.
I sink into a carved chair, drumming my fingers on the armrest. I need to clear my mind of Nicostratus, Quin, and all distractions. Tomorrow is crucial. If I don’t pass, my dream ends here.
The loss of my Poison Halting Miracle weighs heavily on me. I remember the last time I had it, back in this very academy. In the chaos of leaving, someone had bumped into me. Could that have . . .
I exhale sharply, shaking off the frustration. I can’t let this defeat me.
Straightening up, I resume my work. It’s a tedious process that involves consuming various teas, which fortunately the kitchens supply.
The spell usually burns hot in my hand, but my gloves protect me.
I gather the spell and, with practised precision, release it.
A swirling ball of mist forms in the air.
I manipulate it, condensing and capturing it.
Exhausted but relieved, I lean back in the chair and gaze up at the star-studded ceiling window. It’s as if my forefathers and River are cheering me on.
I must have dozed off, because when morning arrives, I’m still curled in the chair, my gloved hands cushioning my face. I scribble an apology for the vase, finish the teas from the scattered cups, and rush towards the scholar prefecture.
Outside the gates, Akilah paces in the fresh snow. Her face lights up with relief when she spots me, but she doesn’t hesitate to give me a sharp slap on the arm. “I was worried you’d been devoured by pompous pricks.”
I grin. “Have you no faith in me?”
She grumbles, “Just none in them.” She hands me a breakfast bundle and extra blankets.
I take ten minutes on a canal bench, wrapped in those blankets, to eat with her while she coos and claps at my recounting of the night’s events.
She asks about my new gloves, and I find myself skimming over that time with Quin, jumping to the end of the night.
“You think someone stole your innovation?” She pauses, her expression turning fierce. “You have to show them what you’re made of. Rise above everything they throw at you. Show them. Today.” I swallow, nodding.
She leaves me at the end of the line of scholars moving towards the second exam. It’s held in a smaller room today. We’re called in one by one while the others wait on benches in a wide marble corridor.
Florentius, dressed in red, exits with a flourish and heads to the courtyard.
Skriniaris Evander calls a name, and one of the pink-cloaked scholars rises. After ten, fifteen minutes, he exits, smirking.
“Caelus Amuletos,” Skriniaris Evander calls.
I jump to my feet and hurry towards him.
He guides me into the room, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Someone has used your innovation. His father is very influential; it will be nearly impossible to convince the judges he stole it. If I attempt to, it will seem like favouritism and affect your ranking. Can you come up with something new?”
Each word hits me like a blow. Anger flares, quickly followed by despair. I laugh hollowly to myself. How could I ever hope to compete against the kingdom’s elite when they use everything they can to trample me?
Skriniaris Evander returns to the judges, and I follow, frustration mounting with each step. I can’t give up now. I need to salvage this. But how?
I scan the panel of judges before me. Three look uncomfortable, shifting in their chairs, while the fourth stares at me intently. The scent of their discomfort mingles with the musty air of the room.
The Poison Halting Miracle hangs useless at my side. My mind races back to Quin in the pavilion and how surprised he’d been that I’d given him a painkilling spell through his feet . . .
I take a deep breath and observe the judges, noting their attempts to stretch their cramped legs.
I stand tall and summon ignisfern, tenebrathorn and serpentiswort to my palms. One judge frowns while the others watch impassively. “A simple pain reliever?”
“Sometimes simplicity is best,” I reply. I cast the capsulisation spell to encase the mist, but instead of forming a ball, I stretch and flatten it into two parts. I pull them from the air and hold them up. “May I use you to demonstrate?”
The most restless judge hesitantly agrees, placing the capsulised spell inside his boots. Relief instantly washes over his face. “Tell me more about this.”
“Magic is finite and fickle. Overuse or limited access can reduce its effectiveness. This capsulised spell ensures consistent relief throughout the day, even when other remedies aren’t available.”
Skriniaris Evander offers an encouraging smile, but three of the other judges remain sceptical. “Why design it for the feet?”
“With thousands of nerve endings connected to various body parts, it makes sense to target them directly. Stepping on these insoles allows the treatment to flow through the nerves, addressing pain at its source.”
“And what are the limitations of your innovation?”
“It’s not a cure, only a temporary relief. Users might mask their issues rather than address them fully.”
“And why should we support this despite that?”
“Many people lack the funds or time for comprehensive treatments. This provides a way to improve their quality of life.”
The judges exchange glances. “Can you make me a pair?” asks the most stubborn judge.