Chapter 29 #3
I catch my breath, my trapped laughter dying away.
“‘All should be judged in a manner that is fair and proportionate considering the inherent inequality that comes through circumstance.’ Goffridus, the Rights of a Benevolent Kingdom.” I gesture to the shaking boy.
“A boy with nothing has no choice but to steal to survive. With no choice, can it be called a crime? And if it is, is it not the crime of a kingdom: not giving the weak, poor and vulnerable a choice?”
“Insulting our kingdom is treasonous!”
“You believe it’s an insult? That what I’ve said is offensive?”
“Mightily so.”
“Mightily. Only the defensive would be so offended; if you’re defensive, my words cannot be ignorable. If my words are not ignorable, there must be some truth to them. If there is some truth to them, this case cannot be so easily concluded.”
“I don’t have time for this drivel.”
“If you don’t have time, I have a suggestion.” I pluck a gold coin from the pouch Quin gave me and hand it to the herbal dispenser. “For those herbs.” I take the package from him. “Can we call this a misunderstanding?”
He blinks at me, grips the gold, and nods. “There—there was no crime. There’s no complainant in this case.”
The judge roars. “Spare his hands then, but he still owes me compensation for this cloak! It was hand-stitched by monks from the eastern kingdom! He can be my slave, spend his life on hands and knees. Aklo, bring him.”
Air stirs and an elegant figure descends from a window of the dance academy.
Quin. He perches himself on a stall table between stacks of quality parchment, hood cast low over his eyes, shadows shielding most of his face.
Gone is his aklo’s uniform, replaced with fine fabrics and shiny boots.
His navy cloak is hemmed with gold ribbon.
Of the nobility, at a single glance.
Worthy of attention.
The judge hesitates.
Quin gestures towards me with the flick of a hand. “I felt compelled to interject after hearing such ear-prickling outspokenness.”
Quin, whose side are you on?
I raise my chin, hoping it hides the chaotic thumping in my chest. There’s still a boy to save.
The judge’s eyes twinkle and he prods my chest smugly. “Go, if you know what’s good for you.”
“I won’t leave until you let this boy go.”
“He must pay for his wrong,” the judge snaps.
Laughter again. The judge swivels towards Quin, frowning.
Quin directs his raised voice decidedly towards the judge. “Why do you see a rip in your brother’s clothes, but can’t see you yourself are naked?”
My breath catches.
He twists his hands and the judge lurches into the air. Quin reaches out and runs his fingers over the finely embroidered cloak. “Hand-stitched by monks from the eastern kingdom. This comes at an extravagant cost. Can your salary afford this? I’d be mightily curious to audit your accounts.”
The judge pales.
“Are you sure one must always pay for his wrongs?” Quin asks, silkily soft.
The judge stammers. “I . . . that is . . . Who would dare—”
Quin hauls him close, so close the judge must see the face in the shadows of that hood.
The judge gasps. “Your m—”
“Do you admit your wrong?”
“I admit my wrong! I admit my wrong!”
Quin lets the judge go, and he sprawls over the ground. “I can turn a blind eye to this, if . . .”
The judge scrambles onto his knees, whirling round urgently and ordering his aklo to release the boy.
The crowds disperse as the judge slinks away, and regular marketing soon resumes.
I help the shaking boy to his feet and hand him the package of verdeflora, which he hugs tightly to his chest as he bows over and over.
I put out a hand to stop him. “What’s your name?”
“I . . . Aklo.”
I shake my head kindly. “If you have another name, you can tell us.”
“Mama calls me Niki.”
Quin calls out for Niki to be helped home.
The scarred aklo emerges from the shadows, and I startle. “How—”
“He knows to find me here if I don’t return to King’s Island.”
Right. Of course the king would have such contingencies in place.
At Quin’s request, the boy tells him where he lives and starts off with Aklo. We’re to follow shortly.
I palm the back of my clammy neck. “You should probably vacate this seller’s stall.”
Quin pushes off with his good foot, and suddenly I’m in his arms and we’re rising in the air and through the academy window. He drops me and I catch myself on my feet as he falls gracefully into an elegant armchair.
He sits quietly, his hood pulled back to reveal the strict, smooth lines of his face. His eyes seem especially dark, but not cold and determined as they’d been in the queen’s courtyard; dark and warm, with a strange intensity. As if he finds the world amazing and wants to study every inch of it.
My pulse still hasn’t recovered from the altercation with the judge; it skips madly in my veins. I release a shivery breath towards the view of the market. “With how often you go gallivanting, I’m surprised that’s the first time you’ve been recognised.”
“I’ve not released any public portraits. Nor is my injury known outside of the royal city. He is the capital’s high judge. I’ve had dealings with him.” He pauses. “You’re versed in Goffridus.”
“Only the basics. I was reading his views on health of the mind, body and soul.”
“Cael?”
It takes me a few beats to look at him.
“Come closer.”
I hesitate and cross the few feet between us.
“Kneel.”
The floor is cold under my knees but Quin is a solid block of warmth before me, very close.
My head is tipped up, his tipped down to study my face.
There’s the gentlest amazement in his expression.
He produces a pouch, one I recognise: he bought it from the jewellery stall.
From it, he draws out a beautifully carved clasp.
Silver, and formed in the shape of an aether petal—just like in the pictures of Saint Kyrillos, the only person in the history of our kingdom to have reached the seventh level.
He used the aether petal to save the life of his beloved.
I stare at the delicate grooves in the silver. An imitation of the saint’s clasp. Surely, it couldn’t be . . .
I’m robbed of voice.
Quin reaches for the fraying knot of my cloak, his fingers brushing my throat as he undoes it.
Carefully, he arranges the cloak over my shoulders and attaches the clasp.
Again, his skin whispers over mine, and our gazes hook.
My breath falters at this softness, and as if realising he’s let his mask slip, he pulls back decisively. “It was annoying me.”
Tension whooshes out of me, and I hear myself chuckle. “Maybe my boots can annoy you next.”
Quin flicks my forehead away from him and I scramble to my feet. “Order up black cumin, milk thistle, and mint tea. Let’s help this boy’s mother.”
Quin is quiet and reflective at my side as we follow the boy’s directions to the outskirts of the city.
As the wealth of the inner capital fades, the solemn lines on his face deepen.
Wind rattles through huts slapped together from wood and straw, and hacking coughs come through thin walls.
Threadbare clothes are pegged to sagging, criss-crossing lines, and groups of thinly clad children kick at a clump of dead grass in place of a ball.
We spot Quin’s scarred aklo outside a small hut, whittling a stick of wood. Behind them, an elderly, hunch-backed man tends a pot boiling over a fire of sticks. A rich nutty scent hits the back of my nose; I steer myself to the pot and crouch beside the man.
He prods the fire. “I’ve seen you outside the gates of the scholar prefecture. My grandson wants to follow in your footsteps.”
Quin’s gaze cuts to us and then to the fire before he turns back to Aklo and Niki.
“I hope you are not an exception.” Tired eyes that have seen too much untimely death meet mine. “So many are willing to save lives—have the potential—and are yet unable. To be frank, we need to place greater importance on healers than on vitalians.”
“Vitalian spells are superior. If more par-linea could—”
A dismissive laugh. “We can’t rely on magic. I’ve prepared the verdeflora.”
My stomach tightens. I frown and quietly take the tea he’s prepared, scalding my tongue on a large gulp.
It’s damp and mouldy in the hut Niki and his mother share; the blankets covering her are coated in a film of moisture. Quin takes one look around and excuses himself, voice raspy. It takes me an hour but when I’m finally done, the mother’s condition has significantly improved.
“Air the house every day and hang the blankets outside,” I murmur. “Spend an hour each morning out in the sunshine.”
Niki throws himself onto the bed and hugs her tightly through doting kisses to his forehead.
When I leave the hut, the elderly man is still at the fire. “How did you know to drink black cumin and milk thistle before seeing her?”
He recognised the spell I used. “I noticed the yellowing around Niki’s eyes and suspected his mother would suffer similar malnutrition. The black cumin will help with that and the milk thistle will help the verdeflora heal her liver.”
He hums. “You knew we wouldn’t have any here.”
I look down.
Quin comes closer. “I’ll have seeds delivered to everyone in the neighbourhood.”
The hunched man glances at him, then back to the fire.
Gently, I palm Quin’s shoulder. “We should go.”
Frustrated, distraught eyes fly to mine. Quin’s jaw hardens stubbornly against the urge to speak. He snaps his cane, pivoting away. I sigh.
He keeps a harried pace, but he senses my approach.
“Why?” he barks.
“No one dares to hope anymore.”
“I thought it was the last thing to go.”
“It is.”
He looks away from me and dark shadows swallow his face. We’re quiet on our way to the canal. Once he’s seated in a rowboat, he orders his aklo away with instructions to deliver my grandfather’s books to my bedchamber, and prepare the tunnel.
“The tunnel?”
“You’ll see. Let’s go.”