Chapter 26
I’m lying on something soft.
My eyelids are heavy.
A wooden ceiling above; I turn my head. Dozens of emptied teacups and upturned books.
The Crucible.
I blink, and freeze. Across the room on a stool, a white robe chased with gold, dark head bowed over . . . my case notes.
Quin.
He stirs and I slam my eyes shut.
“You’re finally awake,” he drawls.
I say nothing. I’ve died, and he’s brought me back from the dead to make good on his promise.
Snick, snick, snick towards me, accompanied by a cloud of pain.
Quin settles onto the edge of my bed.
I keep my eyes closed, don’t twitch so much as a finger.
A shadow shifts over me. “Stop pretending.”
“I’m not pretending,” I murmur.
A low laugh. “Then what are you doing?”
“Indulging in vanity.” I open my eyes a fraction to peek at him. “My head looks good where it is.”
“Whether it looks good is up for debate, what’s not up for debate is how. Good. It. Functions.” He emphasises each word with a sharp tap of his finger against my temple.
I rise up onto my elbows, glaring, and he raises a brow.
The source of the earlier snicking comes into focus: his wyvern cane, now propped at the end of the bed. The pain emanating from him is fiercer than usual.
But apparently he’ll swallow that pain to climb the stairs and personally behead me.
On second thoughts, glaring might not be my best tactic. I smile at him, the most charming smile I have.
Dark eyes grow darker, and I seal my lips tight. I see flashes of floating bodies in the canal; hear Chiron’s voice in the back of my mind. No living thing can enter.
After a few false starts, and a strange hop in my stomach, I try again. “Your uncle took all the gold and silver-sashed mages.”
Quin looks away, jaw twitching.
“You told me if I could help, I should. No matter what. Why are you so angry?”
He swings his gaze back to mine. Air catches in my chest at the profound frustration in his eyes.
He draws away from me and stares across the room. “Nicostratus watched you fade in my arms. He was poisoned getting you to a mage before it was too late.”
Quin and me, plummeting to the courtyard. Nicostratus cradling me against a frantic heartbeat as he raced to Florentius. Quin exhausting the last of his strength to command the wyverns from the palace and away from his people.
My heart hammers.
“You’ve been asleep for hours,” Quin says. “In that time, we’ve made my uncle furious and recovered most of our mages.”
“Is Nicostratus—”
“He’s been called back to the barracks.”
“But he needs rest—”
“If he doesn’t obey, my uncle won’t spare him. He already suspects he helped me fight.”
Nicostratus’s bruises flash to my mind and my stomach twists. “They’re abusing him there.”
Quin says nothing.
“You know it. How could you let your brother—”
“He has to keep up a show of weakness, vulnerability. It’s better than death.”
“You should be there for him.”
“I’m exactly where I need to be.” Quin stops me when I open my mouth to speak.
“My brother has been hunted for years, always moving to stay safe, never able to form friendships beyond his aklos. He recently lost his mother, and he’s stuck in the palace where to stay alive he has to let redcloaks openly hurt him.
” He looks towards me, eyes glazed in deeper musing.
“You are the one bit of light he’s begged me to protect. ”
I swallow. That’s why Quin is here. Not to behead me (just yet). To watch over me on his brother’s behalf.
He shakes himself and delivers an admonishing glance. “You don’t make it easy.”
“You’d have died out there,” I say stubbornly. “I’d do it again.”
He rubs at his frown, displeased but resigned. “Stay in here a few more days.”
I scramble onto my knees. “What? Why?”
“Because I need you to.”
I frown questioningly.
Quin grimaces. “Our uncle is on the hunt for who dared transfuse my blood. He’ll question all the mages regarding their whereabouts. The queen and Florentius will keep your secret.”
“What about—”
“Everyone else saw only a blond man in a mask. There are many blond men about.” He pulls my mask from his cloak and studies it. “I’ll have this discovered outside the royal city. Florentius will reseal the archway. Spell your way out in front of Chiron after three days.”
He shifts and another wave of agony punches out of him.
I hiss sharply, reach under his collar, and pull out the flute.
He slaps a hand over it, crushing it against his chest. At my insistent fingers under his palm, he jerks his away. I lift the flute and shove it between his parting lips. Whatever barking words he has for me become squealed, random notes and immediately, his pain ebbs.
The same can’t be said of his glare.
“Health comes first,” I say. Then, at a lethal spark in his eye, add, “Your Majesty.”
The flute drops from Quin’s mouth and swings at his chest. He looks from it to the mask he’s still holding. “You’re shameless. But you have some clever ideas.”
“All from this priceless head.”
He flicks my priceless head. “You saved many today. Name your reward.”
I straighten eagerly. “Really?”
“Anything within my means.”
I gnaw on my lips a moment. Anything within his means . . . “About transferring me,” I begin. “I was strangely upset about that prospect.”
His gaze flies to mine. “You want to stay assigned to my quarters?”
“But upon reflection,” I continue, “if I never have to see pearl heart again, I’ll die happy.” I raise my hands. “Not that I’m planning to die anytime soon.”
He stares at me, blinking, then tiredly shuts his eyes.
I lean in. “Can the queen transfer me to her palace?”
“Transfers are trivial. Name another.”
Did that mean he accepted this, and would grace me another gift? “Can Nicostratus teach me some basic shielding skills?”
His eyes flash. “Is there anything you want from me?”
I blink. A reward from him . . .
Quin heaves himself up with his cane and turns his back on me. I bolt off the bed and he pauses before he goes. “Take me with you the next time you sneak out.”
Florentius has streaks of red on one cheek that possibly fit the shape of my hand. I wince and throw him a smile. “I heard you brought me back from the brink of extinction.”
His hands pause, pulsing with magic. “You were lucky the king’s aklas banded together and donated blood.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Both cheeks flush. “You, ah, saved me too.”
I rock back on my chair, fingers linked behind my head, and look at him. “This counts as bonding.”
A shimmery layer races up the arch, and I suspect its speed is purposeful. I laugh, but deeper inside is a tender pang. How valiantly Florentius fought for those children.
He whisks around but his dramatic exit is blocked by Makarios and Mikros, racing along the balcony side by side.
“Sorry!” they cry.
Makarios says, “We were detained. But we checked the body like you asked.”
Mikros nods. “There’s a burn mark on the victim’s tongue, as you suspected.”
“Thanks,” I say, and pretend to jot down a note. “I want to review everything I have, read through these books again.”
Florentius glances at me and looks away. “With your skill, getting out of here in a few days would be considered miraculous.”
I think . . . I think there might be some praise in there.
“Hey,” Makarios says, clapping Florentius’s shoulder. He catches the sharp look that follows and quickly dusts at his robe instead. “A little more faith in our par-linea friend.”
“Indeed,” Mikros adds. “He has us.”
It’s quiet when they leave. Too quiet. Everywhere I look in my tight confines, I see Quin and his near-constant grimace.
I still don’t know whether to commend him for trudging painfully up these stairs to be by my side in Nicostratus’s stead, or to condemn him for not being beside his brother, protecting him from abuse.
He has to put on this show of weakness, vulnerability.
Quin is too accustomed to putting on shows.
He did it out of the royal city. He did it in front of his uncle.
He expects his brother to do it too. Will there ever be a time he can simply be himself?
I close my eyes on whatever that future is supposed to look like and focus on now. Is Nicostratus training? Or resting? Or is he, perhaps, being bullied?
Three anxious evenings later, in the presence of Chiron, I recreate the cure-key and step out of the Crucible. “Five days,” Chiron says in disbelief. He frowns. “You must have had help.”
“Definitely,” I confirm, and race the last steps to freedom. Swiftly and sneakily, I follow night shadows to the barracks and slink around the outer walls to the old, overgrown dog hole. I crawl through it.
The moon hangs low in an inky sky, casting gentle light over the barracks and training grounds. I pull up the hood of my dark cloak and merge into the shadows, waiting for the change of guard.
The door creaks as I slip into a dimly lit room, heavy with the scent of sweat and woodsmoke; Nicostratus’s keen soldier senses have him springing from his straw-stuffed mattress, a silver shield unfurling between us.
He’s still in armour, as if anything might happen at any moment and he has to be ready. It has my stomach knotting.
His shield dissipates when he recognises me. He strides over, clasping my arms. He checks me up and down, looks again. When he’s sure I’m in one piece, he shakes me. “Never throw yourself in front of wyverns like that again.”
I chuckle and he stops his shaking to rub his hands up and down my arms. “What are you doing here?”
“You let yourself get poisoned for me,” I whisper, sliding my fingers up his bruised wrist and feeling for his pulse. I send a gentle spell through his veins, sniffing as I feel all the parts in him that ache, that suffer. He’s been beaten, whipped. “I would’ve come sooner—”
He jerks me into an embrace. “I’m well. Truly.” He sighs into my hair. “I wish I could keep you here, but—”
At a horn blowing in the distance, he grimaces and shakes his head. “Curfew.”