Bonus Flashback Chapter
Nine Years Old
Something is wrong. Really wrong. “It’s just . . . Grandfather always comes with us. Why did he stay behind with Father?”
Veronica looks up from the table between us, its surface filled with teapots and half-eaten cakes, as I pace beneath the plum trees. She blinks her soft eyes at me, her voice gentle but firm. “Maybe he’s sick. Your father will take care of him.”
Sick? The word slams into me, twisting my stomach. I grip the nearest plum tree for balance. Of course, that must be it. But the thought sets my chest buzzing with fear. “I have to get Grandfather’s scriptions!”
Veronica’s face tightens with sympathy, but she doesn’t budge. “Cael, there might be a scription at your grandfather’s cabin that could help him, but it’s a three-day journey from there back home. Your mother won’t let you go.”
I stare at the drying mud spattered across my drakopagon gear, picking at it absently. She’s right. Mother wouldn’t. And I can’t take the carriage alone. But if Grandfather is sick, Father won’t heal him with magic. And what if Grandfather’s too weak to help himself?
“What about one of your aklos?” I blurt. “Isn’t one leaving tomorrow to visit family? I can go with him!”
“Cael—”
“Please, Veronica! Sometimes rules have to be broken.”
She hesitates, biting her lip. “They’ll stop you at the gates.”
“Not if I’m officially your aklo. Just for a while! Please, please, please.”
Veronica sighs, considering. “Maybe . . . if we said I’ve sent you to collect thornwort. It only grows near the capital.”
My heart leaps. “You’re the best. Thank you!”
She shakes her head, but a small smile tugs at her lips. “Then you’d better get those scriptions . . . Aklo.”
Grinning, I take a running leap at the back wall.
“The gate, Aklo!” she calls.
I ignore her, scaling the stone blocks. My feet slip on moss, and I grab hold of the ledge just as her giggling reaches me. “Careful!”
“I’m fine!” I shout back, hauling myself to the top.
I freeze.
On the other side of the wall, a boy is leaning casually against the stone. His dark eyes lock onto mine. He doesn’t look surprised—just irritated.
His robes are elegant, untouched by mud or wear. He must be propped on something below, perfectly balanced while I’m perched awkwardly.
I shift, planting my knee securely before glancing behind me at Veronica, a smudge of green across her cheek and smelling faintly of horse. I whip my gaze back to the boy. “Are you peeking at Veronica?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I wanted to see what she’s like.”
“So,” I say. “Peeking.”
Before I can accuse him further, my knee slips and I tumble forward, crashing into him. We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, his nose nearly brushing mine.
“That’ll teach you,” I mutter, grinning sheepishly.
“Remove yourself.”
I scramble off him and offer a hand, which he ignores. He straightens with a wince, brushing dirt from his pristine robes before turning to march deeper into the forest.
I shrug and head north. Halfway up the hill, a flicker of red catches my eye.
My stomach twists.
I glance longingly toward the northern path, but my feet betray me. I double back, weaving through the trees until I catch up. He’s striding along the trail, oblivious.
“Psst!”
He doesn’t hear me.
“Redcloaks,” I whisper harshly, grabbing his wrist and yanking him behind a trunk.
He glares at me, brushing at his sleeve. “Shouldn’t you be running, then?”
“I couldn’t just leave you.”
He arches an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. Together, we crouch in the shadows as the soldiers pass.
“We should cross the river,” I murmur. “There’s a swing bridge nearby.”
He hesitates.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
His hand brushes invisible lint from his cloak, as if searching for composure. “Nicostratus,” he says, slow and deliberate.
“Nicostratus,” I repeat, tasting the name. “I’m—”
He interrupts quickly, his eyes darting away. “Aklo. I heard.”
I pause, then nod. “Right. Aklo.”
We move quietly, damp earth soft beneath our feet. I glance at him again and again, curiosity gnawing at me. Finally, he catches me.
“Why do you keep looking at me?”
“How old are you?”
“Older than you.”
“Not by much.” I gesture at his pristine robes. “Why are you spying on Veronica anyway?”
He halts, fixing me with a sharp look. “I’m with the royal entourage. A . . . friend of the princes.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Then why run from redcloaks?”
He grimaces. “They might be the high duke’s.”
His words carry a weight that chills me.
I straighten, glancing toward the path ahead. “We should hurry.”
He nods, his expression unreadable. “I’ll loop back through the front gates.”
I tug on his sleeve, and after a long moment, he finally looks at me. “What are the princes like? Why are they here?”
He shrugs free and keeps walking. “Why does it matter?”
“So you’re not that close to them,” I press, skipping to keep pace.
He glares over his shoulder, his expression stiff. “Water wyverns are kept in Hinsard’s rivers. The princes come to train their magic and practice controlling them.”
“Are they any good at it?”
“Have you ever seen a water wyvern?”
“Pictures,” I admit. “They’re on all the banners.”
“They’re the royal family’s emblem for a reason. Only those of royal blood can control them. To anyone else, they’re wild beasts—stronger than a wolf, faster than a horse, and ten times as dangerous. Only the bravest hunters would face one willingly.”
I shiver and glance around the woods, suddenly less sure of our surroundings. “Have you . . . seen one here?”
“Of course.” He keeps walking, the leaves crunching under his boots as though the topic doesn’t bother him at all.
Spooked, I grab his sleeve again. He pauses briefly to glance at my hand but doesn’t brush me off this time.
“I watched the king teaching his sons to command them,” he says, his voice quieter now.
“And could they?”
He sighs. “Like with anything, it takes practice.”
I frown. “How far can wyverns go from rivers?”
“Miles,” he replies. “The big ones can climb cliffs and trees. They travel in packs.”
I swallow hard. “What do you do if you meet one?”
“You hope there’s a royal nearby who can control the pack leader.”
“Just the leader?”
“Control the leader, and the rest will follow.”
“And if there’s no royal?”
A loud crack snaps through the forest, stopping my breath.
We both look up as a huge branch tears free from the canopy above, crashing toward us.
I yelp and grab onto Nicostratus, but he calmly raises his hand. A burst of golden light erupts, forming a dome around us just as the branch smashes into it, splintering harmlessly against the shimmering barrier.
Nicostratus sways under the effort, his breathing tight. I steady him with a hand on his arm.
The dome glimmers; through its filter the forest is a warm gold. I reach out to touch it—it feels cool and solid, like polished stone. “That’s . . . incredible.”
“Any linea can do that,” he mutters, his voice strained. With a wave of his hand, the shield dissipates.
“I’m only par-linea,” I admit as we continue walking.
“Simplex spells are basic,” he says dismissively.
“I know other spells too,” I huff. “I wish I could learn more.”
“You shouldn’t.”
I bristle. “Why not? Anyone is capable, given the chance to learn.”
“Bold words for someone who doesn’t know the risks.”
“They’re not just words,” I snap. “It’s what my grandfather says.”
The mention of him sours my mood, and the silence between us grows heavy as we tread onward.
It’s Nicostratus who breaks the quiet. He glances at me, his dark eyes probing. “Who is he? Your grandfather?”
“He’s sick,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why I’m out here. I need to get to his cabin, find his scriptions and bring them back.”
Nicostratus frowns. “He’d be better off with a proper vitalian.”
“Like we could afford that,” I snap.
He looks at me for a long moment. “And you think you can help him?”
“I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”
Something shifts in his expression—less guarded, more thoughtful. The woods begin to thin, and sunlight breaks through the branches in warm patches.
“What?” I ask. “Don’t you have someone you’d do anything for?”
Nicostratus stares ahead, his steps slowing. I wait for him to answer. When he finally does, his voice is softer. “My mother and my brother. I’d give up everything for them.”
I grin and wag a finger at him. “Under all that, you’re hiding some gooey, sweet sap. Or taffy! I love taffy.”
He shoots me a sharp look, but his lips twitch at the edges.
We reach the riverbank, and my grin fades. The bridge is gone—only frayed ropes dangle over the rushing water. Broken planks drift downstream, snatched by the current.
I let out a slow breath, staring at the opposite bank.
Grandfather’s cabin is still a good hike away, and the sun is sinking fast.
I step closer to the edge, eyeing the slope. Maybe I could slide down and swim—
Before I can act, Nicostratus grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and whispers harshly, “Are you an idiot?”
I’m yanked upward, and a rush of wind lifts us both into the air. I flail, but Nicostratus’s hands move with steady precision, guiding the currents. In seconds, we’re across, and he drops me on the opposite bank with a scowl.
“You could have drowned!” he snaps.
I blink at him, dazed. “Can you do that again?”
He exhales sharply, his mouth twitching with the hint of a smirk. “Unbelievable.”
“Fly us up to the treetops!”
Nicostratus folds his arms. “I don’t have an endless supply of magic.”
“Please? Pretty please? With a lovelight on top?”
He rolls his eyes but finally relents, his lips curving faintly. With a practiced twirl, he hooks an arm around my waist and leaps, riding the wind upward.
I laugh wildly, the world spinning below as we soar above the trees.
I turn, drinking in the view. The air feels cleaner up here, crisper, like it belongs to another world.
“I need to get to those marbled rocks.” I point towards Grandfather’s cabin, faintly visible in the distance.