Chapter 28 #2
His words send a sharp shiver through me.
I use my oar to push from the bank, then dip it into the water and pull us in the direction from which we came.
The rowboat twists as Quin moves his oar in the opposite direction.
I glance at him quizzically. “We’ll stay at my academy,” he says, “and re-enter the royal city tomorrow evening.”
If we’re in the capital . . . “Can I stay with my family?”
“My uncle may have eyes about. I’d prefer we stick together.”
“Stay with me then. I haven’t seen them in months, and you did promise me a reward . . .”
He rows two, three strokes while I eye him pleadingly. “Fix your cloak, it’s coming undone.”
“Is that a yes?”
He hums low in agreement, and I hand him the oar so I can fiddle a knot that will hopefully hold.
“Your clothes won’t do,” I murmur. “Too fine. My family will have questions.” I eye the passing manors and hold out a hand in front of Quin. “Pull up to the bank and give me some coin.” I pause. “Why do you have money on you, anyway? Were you always planning on sneaking out?”
“I confiscated this. Redcloaks caught gambling.”
“Their stupidity, your serendipity.”
“Quite like your ending up here.”
I leap out of the boat, flushing, and return soon after with a simple aklo’s uniform.
I take over the oars while Quin shifts behind me to change.
He casts a wavering reflection in the water as he slips off his cloak and pulls at his shirt; his gaze flickers toward the canal, and I dunk the oars into the surface with a rippling splash.
“There,” he says, “Happy?”
I immediately set the oars in the boat and turn.
The boat sways gently under us as I raise my fingertips towards his face.
He jerks back, only a fraction, but enough to notice.
I pause and meet his dark eyes, then reach out quickly, tugging the jewelled fastening on the end of one of his braids.
“Aklos would never wear valuables in their hair like this. Nor would they wear braids.”
Quin’s hand comes up, stopping my fingers at the fastening. His voice is low, soft. A warning. “Are you really going to undo my braids?”
I pause. Aklas and aklos might braid the hair of their master every day, but never do they undo those braids. The undoing of braids by someone else is a significant act. Usually a parent would do it, or a spouse.
Even those from poorer classes, who don’t braid, have similar customs. A wife covers her hair only for her husband to uncover at night, and a husband only lets his wife comb his bed-knotted hair.
Even I don’t let Akilah undo the playful braids she sometimes knots into my hair.
Something about coming undone under someone else’s hand is very . . . intimate.
I pull my hand away from under Quin’s. “Take them apart. I’ll tie it in a simple knot.”
When Quin has finished, he turns his back to me, and I hastily gather his hair. It’s still too long for an aklo; if anyone looks twice, I’ll tell them his master the king commanded it.
Quin resumes a seat facing me and I get my hands back on the oars. “You seem adept at lying—I mean acting. Have you played the role of aklo before?”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
We dock at the jetty closest to the manor, and at the familiar chime of a spiritual bell, I tug Quin down low in the boat. His breath skitters under my ear. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding from a luminist.”
“I may have slightly offended our local once or twice.”
He shakes his head, and I flash him all my pearly whites.
When the bell fades into the distance, Quin manipulates the air to lift himself out of the boat and onto the path at the top of the bank. He waits for me to hurry alongside, wind whirling around his leg to prop him up, whipping strands of hair free around his face.
I flick his arm. “Stop showing off.” Not only will he drain his magic too fast, but it’ll give him away. “Few can wield power like that—you’re an aklo, remember?”
I wrangle an arm around his waist and hold tight.
Quin raises an eyebrow.
“Use me as a crutch. There are spare canes at home—not as fancy as yours, but they’ll lend support.”
He presses his lips together but drops his weight against me, solid and warm. I fight to keep my steps steady.
“Better,” I croak.
“You’re trembling.”
“You’re heavy,” I fling back, cheeks burning as I tighten my grip. His warm breath brushes against my temple, and I hobble harder the hundred yards to my home.
I locate a cane in the darkened storeroom and Quin grips onto it. I spare a minute to squabble with him about using his flutette against the pain throbbing from him, and in the end, he lets me win.
I stuff the wood into his mouth and offer him a patronising “good boy, your majesty” that has his eyes flashing.
I am a fool. Still, I can’t help laughing.
The main hall is brightly lit and drunken chatter leaks through the thin walls. I glance at Quin before we enter, and shake my head. “Can you slouch more?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re too . . . regal. Straight-backed. A commanding presence is . . .”
“Enviable?”
“Un-aklo-like.”
He shrivels around his cane and I lead us into a warm room stuffy with the scent of ale. My brothers are huddled at one end of the table, throwing cards on a pile, and my father sits in an armchair in front of the fireplace, deep in thought.
They glance up, my brothers first, and then my father when they call my name in startled surprise.
Father stands, gaze cutting over the room towards me and Quin. A wave of confusion and relief crashes through him, making his shoulders droop. He steps in our direction but stops himself, forcing a small nod instead.
I gesture Quin towards the table and take a seat beside him, my father watching my every move like he’s not sure what he’s seeing is real.
“The king awarded me one night at home.”
My brothers lift up their glasses and welcome me back with pointed glances at Quin.
I clear my throat. “He’s my aklo for the evening. He’s . . . part of the reward.”
“Reward?” my eldest brother asks.
I preen. “His majesty was most effusive in his praise.”
My brothers laugh rambunctiously while under the table, a hand covers my knee and pinches. I prod Quin’s fingers off me. “Where’s Akilah?”
The door flings open and little feet scurry into the room. Lucetta latches onto her father, giggling. “I want to stay up.”
Akilah falls through the open doorway, flushed from running. “Lucetta,” she gently chides. “You’re supposed to be in bed—”
Akilah spots me and gasps. “Cael?”
Lucetta flicks her head around and squeals. Within seconds, I have her arms around my neck as she climbs onto my lap. “Uncle Cael, you’re home!”
I resettle her and give her a hug. “Missed you too.”
She peeks at Quin shyly; Akilah registers him too and blinks rapidly, stunned. Imagine her reaction if she knew it’s not rich merchant Quin at our table in disguise—as if that weren’t bizarre enough—but the crown of our kingdom, Constantinos Quintus Galliot.
Lucetta whispers, “Who’s that?”
Quin glances at me, awaiting my introduction, and I explain to Lucetta that Aklo is here to help me for the evening.
Father’s cool voice cuts across the room. “An aklo and a night at home? You’d have been better off with a piece of gold. That at least would be useful.”
I shift and clear my throat. “It’s an enormous privilege to leave the royal city.”
“I’m sure.”
I cringe as Quin stiffens in his chair. “Father,” I say over Lucetta’s head, “I believe, in time, you’ll see things getting better.”
I can feel Quin’s gaze on my profile, and I flush. “I-I mean, the king has his problems but his principles are not among them.”
Father raises a brow, intrigued.
I blow out a breath and my tension eases. “He’s a man of many faces—” I swat Quin’s fingers off the side of my thigh and Akilah snaps into action, coming around and pulling Lucetta off my lap. “Come, I’ll read you one more story in bed.”
She eyes me as she leaves and in this unspoken communication, we agree we’ll talk later.
“I’ll doubt until I witness change with my own eyes,” Father says. “Forever, if you don’t leave the palace in one piece.”
My brothers raise their glasses at this; but my father’s eyes keep shifting to Quin and I know, just know, he’s suspicious. It’s the hair. Too long for an aklo.
I catch Father mid-observation and palm Quin’s head like I own him. “You’re curious about his long hair.”
“It’s unusual, is it not?”
I toss off a laugh. “He’s one of the king’s aklos.”
“What does that mean?” one of my brothers inquires.
I feel Quin tense, as if he’s guessing how I’ll explain this.
“Does he have a fetish?” another brother asks.
I say nothing. Just ask for cards to be dealt my way on the next round.
My brothers inhale sharply; Quin pinches me the hardest he has yet and his glance my way is absolutely lethal.
“I didn’t say it,” I mouth back to him. Still, the look is making me shiver. I quickly change the topic of conversation, and after an hour my father and brothers retire.
“Get some sleep,” they tell me. Mother has to leave to collect herbs from the mountains in the morning. I’ll have to wake early to see her.
“Your aklo can clean up in here. Put him to good use.”
They go, and Quin’s glare turns on me in full force.
I shuffle out of reach. “You do seem the type—”
One swish of his hand has me whipped towards him. I catch myself with an oof on the back of his chair, my knee braced between his legs. He flicks my forehead, his mouth a grimace.
I pull away from him and pointedly scan the glasses and empty bowls on the table. He returns this with a dry expression, one elegant eyebrow arched.
I grin, clear the table hurriedly, and ferry the dishes to the scullery to wash. Quin gives a hand drying with the wave of his fingers, then I lead him to my bedchamber and light the candles at the window and my bedside.
The knot at my throat gives way and my cloak plummets to my feet.
I scoop it up, fling it over my arm, and rummage around the room for a fresh shirt and pants.
Quin waits at my bedside, taking in the painting I made on the wall there.
The violet oak, and two huddled boys in its hollowed trunk.
The lids of his eyes lower like he’s lost in thought.
As he quietly soaks in each line of ink, I speak softly. “Your flutette is made from that tree.”
“My brother’s armband, too, I believe.”
I stare wistfully at the painting. “I wish he remembered.”
Quin turns to me, his focus broken. “Would it change anything?”
Would it? Nicostratus is . . . a genuine kindness, wrapped in strength, with a smile that warms my heart. I look away from the violet oak and meet Quin’s eye. “It doesn’t change anything.”
He nods and snaps his cane closer to the bed. “Take the floor.”
“You can have the whole room. I’ll sleep with Akilah.”
“What?”
“She’s stargazing on the roof. I’ll join her.”
“Wait.”
I pause, halfway to the door.
“You’re male, she’s female. It’s inappropriate.”
“We’re practically siblings. Plus, it beats the floor.”
“You—”
The door shuts behind me. I hurry across the yard, drop some extra blankets in Akilah’s room, and climb the ladder to the roof, where she’s lying starfished under the clear sky. I sit beside her, breathing it all in: that ticklish feeling of my forefathers and River looking down on us.
After a few minutes, I ask her to take off her boots.
She lifts one foot after the other and I undo them.
“I should probably ask why, but I figure I’ll end up without boots either way.”
“You’ve always been the best test subject. Now hold still—I’m going to practice swapping your toenails.”
She raises her head, looks down at her feet and my glowing hands, and reclines again.
“Put them back in the right place after.” She lazily traces stars with her fingertip while I rearrange her nails—mostly successfully—and then she freezes and turns her head to me, whispering, “Why is he pretending to be an aklo?”
“Probably because he’s actually the king and doesn’t want anyone to know.”
She snaps upright. I slip on her boots and sigh a foggy breath into the night.