Chapter 20 #2
Movement at the window above me catches my eye, and I look up in time to see an elegant robe glide past in the shadows of the king’s bedchamber. I tense, steadying myself against Quin’s shoulder as a sudden swoop hits my stomach.
A long breath tickles the skin at the top of my glove. “What are you doing?” Quin drawls.
“The king is spying on me.”
“Undoubtedly. You think he’s judging his brother’s questionable taste?”
I flick a finger at him and he bats me away.
“He’s not judging his brother,” Quin says confidently. “He’s playing with you.”
“Playing with me? Why?”
“He wants to. He can.”
“How . . . unexpected.” I’ve hated him for the injustices I’ve seen on the streets, but . . .
“Why?” Quin murmurs.
“It’s nothing.” I flash him a weak smirk. “I have a spell for hair growth that should work on plants. Let’s see how long his play lasts.”
I jerk a finger to the pearl heart bed, ignoring the very obvious problem in front of me. Still, it’s worth a shot. “They’re thrice the size of yesterday.”
The gold-sash liaison does not seem amused. “Your . . . method has caused weeds to multiply here and through all the beds nearby. You must remove the weeds—without magic.”
Outrageous. “Why without magic?”
“The king fears you’ll ruin his beloved garden.”
How very vexing. And possibly very accurate. That hair growth spell is still the bane of my existence. Also not meant for gardens. I suspect I haven’t stacked the spell correctly. These internal scales are challenging to master.
I gaze at the sea of weeds engulfing this bed—and all the others—and grimace.
The pink-bow akla helps me locate tools from a shed tucked into the cliffs. I haven’t seen her since infusing her with warmth at the fountain a few days ago. She seems calm, though a bit quiet.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“The tea you saved for me helped this morning. Thank you.”
“You only had it this morning? It begins to lose potency after a day.”
“I couldn’t take it any earlier. I just got back.”
I look over at her, surprised. “You managed to leave?”
She nods suddenly, brightly, her bow bouncing. “I was allowed out yesterday, to give my brother a burial.”
As she hands me a box of trowels and forks, another akla interrupts, asking Pink-Bow to welcome the transferring aklas at the pier. They leave, and I head back to the mammoth mission of digging out every single weed in the flower beds, while also tending to my patients.
By the end of the day, I’m reduced to laughing and cursing the king in turns.
“How energetic you are,” Quin says, finding me at the back of the house.
I pass him a fork. “It’s easy to stay energised if you have the right motivation.”
“Is that right?”
I gesture to the weeds. “Imagine the faces of all who annoy you.”
I stab gleefully into the soil.
Quin sends his fork deep into the bed, close to mine. “Therapeutic.”
“Isn’t it.” I glance over at Quin, once more perfectly dressed for meeting with royalty. I pause my shovel at a fuzzy leaf. “What does he look like?”
Quin raises a questioning brow.
“The king.”
His gaze diverts across the canal toward the scholar courtyards. “Dark hair, dark eyes. Exceptionally handsome.”
I raise my brows and dig deep through the roots of a particularly persistent weed.
“Wait.” He looks suspiciously from the weed to me and back again. “Who exactly are you imagining?”
I yank up the severed root. “Thanks for the description.”
Quin’s eyes flash. “You—”
I drop the weed in his lap and slap a soil-laced hand over his mouth. “You and I, we have an unspoken understanding.”
I snatch my hand back, laughing as he fails to bite me. He looks away sharply and dusts vigorously at the dirt that’s fallen onto his lap. “I’ll leave you.”
“So soon?”
He looks at the carpet of weeds still to be removed. “You’ve plenty of company.”
I return to my maniacal digging as he disappears.
Darkness falls; the stars come out, glittering overhead.
I camp under the king’s chambers beside the pearl heart, determined not a single weed will burst from this soil before dawn.
I yawn and fold my cloak into a pillow to stare out at the stars.
The night is crisp and clear, and somewhere outside the royal city I know Akilah is staring up at them too.
A slinky shadow on the trellis under the gable catches my eye. An urgent scrabble and a distressed meow. I sit up and call to Generalus, but he only whines. “Stuck, are you?”
I hop through the gaps between fledgeling pearl heart plants, grab onto the trellis and give it a shake. Stable.
Another meow.
I pull myself up, foot by foot, the thorns from the roses scratching up my arms where the gloves end. Small, fleeting wounds; something to fix when I get down.
The General meows again. He’s in pain, hanging from a stuck paw.
I thrust myself up the last few feet and squeeze my knees around a thick branch of rose as I release my hands to untangle him.
He’s scared, lashing out with his claws, adding deeper slices to my arms. I bundle him up in my robe, tight.
His leg is broken—too dangerous to let him limp down the facade under his own power.
One arm curled around Generalus, I slide my foot down the trellis to find purchase and—
The trellis splinters beneath my foot, the crack echoing in my ears. I swing back wildly, clutching the General tighter as his claws rake my arm. My other hand scrambles for purchase, finding nothing but air.
Time slows as I fall, the wind rushing past me, the stars spinning overhead. The General yowls, and I brace myself for the inevitable impact. This is it. This is how I die. Not from a wyvern or a king’s wrath, but from trying to save a cat.