Chapter 47
The room groans at an onslaught of wind. And it doesn’t taste of Quin at all.
An energised shout outside has my stomach flipping. I hurry out to Bastion and his men joyfully welcoming Gappius, back from Pylaios.
I’m giddy as I move towards them. “Did you find—”
A broad smile crosses Bastion’s face, and Gappius lifts a satchel.
I lunge towards him, arms opening, an elated cry rising up my throat, and Bastion leaps in front of him as my arms close.
He snatches me tightly with a laugh.
I have enough magic for a shield to punch him back a few steps; he laughs harder as I slip free and grab the lifesaving sack. The weight is comforting. I hold it close to my chest and peer inside. Not only ignisleaf and dragonfire moss—he’s smuggled in oldeaf, moonbloom, and aetherleaf too.
I leave them in my dust as I race down the road, through the trees, and across the lively bonfire-lit field to the luminarium. Olyn is a swish of robes as she hurries to meet me and takes in my instructions for preparing the herbs.
I grab some ignisleaf and bite into it before I pass her the sack. Bitter juices run into my mouth and I swallow them down, working swiftly to channel its properties for the critical spell.
These are the people who’ve waited, watching others healed while wondering if their turn would ever come. People who’ve endured the acrid scent of sickness and sweat, unbearable pain, relentless itching, unshakable worry—now, at last, they’re being healed.
I can’t move fast enough. It’s taking so long.
I scald my tongue over and over as I hurry to down the teas Olyn’s prepared. I must heal them.
So I can heal him.
Olyn sags onto the emptying central platform, where the glowing tithiscar should have stood on a pedestal. She was the real protection here.
I channel the spell into the last patient, forcing it hurriedly into the young man’s body. “You are an excellent healer, Olyn.”
She watches the light glowing from me into him. “Sometimes I wish I had spiritual meridians.”
I sigh. I understand. Magic has an edge like nothing else.
“But then, if we relied only on vitalians, most people would succumb to their ailments.”
I suppose, in this case, she’s not wrong.
“I’m happy I’m skilled with needles,” she says. “Maybe more can learn this, as a crude skill.” She looks down at her male disguise. “Would also be great if anyone could be allowed to learn.”
I snap my hands back from the completed spell. “Trust in your king.”
“I wouldn’t have before. But now . . .”
I glance at her, swallowing. “I’ve got to—”
She rises and stuffs crystallised ginger in my mouth. “Go.”
I detoxify Quin’s blood of miasma poisoning first.
His pulse ticks steadily under mine. The effect of the healing herbs is strong, and his body is using all its energy to process my spells.
It’s the fortieth complex-medius spell I’ve performed today, and as the last of it channels into him, my knees give way and I collapse at his bedside. “Please wake up. I promise I’ll do whatever you say without ever talking back.”
Nothing.
“If you don’t,” I counter, “I will search to the ends of this kingdom for a way to force you. And once you wake, I’ll spank you in front of all for destroying my nerves.”
I keep my wrist slotted into his upturned hand, fingers at his pulse. If he stirs, I’ll know.
Like the nights before, I drift to sleep telling him made up stories about kings and their amazing, wonderful, magnificent vitalians who really deserve all the stamps on their soldad . . .
I wake abruptly to the pressure of fingers closing around my wrist—
I snap my head up.
Quin’s eyes are open, watching me.
My gaze zigzags over him, taking in the life in his cheeks; his steady, focused gaze; his curving mouth. I push against his pulse. Healthy.
I stand and he pulls me by the arm until I’m hovering close. His voice is crackly with disuse. “You’re so quiet.”
You . . . you’re awake.
“You spoke so much while I slept.”
I catch my breath.
“I’m full of bark? Bite?” Quin’s lips curve deeper. “Shameless.”
His eyebrow lifts. His grip tightens around me as I try to pull away. I swallow thickly.
He lets me go. “What have I missed?”
His swift turn to business has my mind sharpening. “Focus on getting better.”
“How are my people, Cael?”
“I treated you last.”
“The infection has been cured then,” he says. “But the town is still quarantined. What’s the food situation?”
Grim, from what I’ve heard. The rations doled out are smaller each day, with the vague promise of more soon. My shadowing face speaks volumes.
“I need to—” He tries to rise and I push him back down.
“You need to recover.”
He yanks me onto the bed and I sprawl beside him, catching myself with a hand against his chest. His heartbeat is steady and strong, distracting beneath my fingers.
I curl them away, only to feel the same beat at my knuckles.
He speaks low, voice a raw tease. “I recall you promised you’d do what I say if I woke. ”
My mouth dries in the tightening air between us. “I was sleep deprived. Delirious. I didn’t know what I was saying.”
His curving lips hit me with a shiver. “You seemed very clear headed when you threatened to spank me. Again.”
I jolt upright and retrieve his cane to deflect this conversation. But his gaze doesn’t waver, and my stomach riots as he wraps a hand around his cane, overlapping mine.
I swallow. “You stopped me going into the caves.”
I glance up and he snags my gaze with a silent command for me to hold his.
“I-I thought you’d die.”
After a long moment searching my face, the air softens again. He shifts his hand and gently pries each of my fingers off the wood. “Come.”
It takes some time to get to the magistrate’s office, townspeople stopping us on our way with praises and thanks. Bastion crosses the courtyard to us, leading a laden horse. My horse. I rush to the packs and open them. Grandfather’s books. My clothes. And in its purse, the money Quin gave me.
I look sharply at Bastion, who’s having a stare-off with the king. “How did you get this?”
He reluctantly pulls away from the game and grins at me. “Woman in red—” His gaze snaps to the main gates. I peek under the neck of the horse, trying to see what stole his attention. Redcloaks, matching silk masks covering their noses and mouths, are pulling in carts of food.
One is familiar—the sweep of his shoulders, the grace with which he moves. I bolt upright.
Quin throws me an urgent command. “Inside, behind the screens in the office.”
I obey immediately.
To the rest of the world, I’m dead. I can’t be seen.
Please let me see him. Let me know he’s well.
I’m crouched behind the screens, peering through a thin gap, when Quin snaps his way inside. He seats himself in the head magistrate’s chair and calls for his brother to enter.
Nicostratus pulls off his mask and seats himself across from Quin. His eyes are heavy with the weight of the world—the spark he’d always had, despite so much hardship, lost. Tied around his head is a long, flowing silver ribbon.
He speaks first. “I was afraid . . .”
“Don’t be fooled by the hair. It’s not the effect of life-shortening tea.”
Nicostratus leans forward, whispering, “You mean . . .”
“I’m not dying.” Quin glances toward my hiding place. “Neither am I allowed to.”
“Your magic is blocked.”
“Mm.”
Nicostratus rises and comes to his brother’s side, hand glowing with rich magic. Potent enough to open a king’s spiritual meridians. He presses Quin’s shoulder; the glow sweeps over him and sinks inside.
I shuffle closer to the narrow gap, to better glimpse the brothers, and the screen wobbles—
I try to steady it but there’s nothing to grab without giving my presence away—
A gust whisks around the room, and Quin’s gaze darts in my direction as suddenly everything shifts and rattles and then is caressed until it’s still. The screen is back in its place.
“Looks like you’re free again,” Nicostratus murmurs. He returns to his seat, while Quin clears his throat and tells his brother—avoiding any mention of me—what happened during that time in the palace and up to this point.
Nicostratus lets out a shuddery breath. “I’ve worried, brother.”
“I kept much from you. Forgive me for that.”
Nicostratus bows his head. “You needed the act to look real. You’re well, that’s all that matters.”
“What also matters is that your position in the royal city is safe, with my son named heir. I’m relieved, knowing you are able to watch over my boy, and my queen.”
“They miss you. They mourn you. Uncle treats them with insincere kindness.”
Quin is quiet.
Nicostratus clears his throat. “I heard rumours you were sighted in this part of the country. When we got news of the outbreak, I had to check . . . I organised food relief and joined a newly established unit. They believe I’m a spiritless recruit.”
“You got past the redcloaks upholding the quarantine.”
“I wasn’t in a position where I had to interact with the captain. They checked the wagons, took some of the goods, and reluctantly sent us through. Then you spotted me and had me brought here.”
Absently, Nicostratus touches the end of his ribbon. “He would’ve wanted lives to be saved.”
My chest and my throat ache to call out.
Quin clears his throat. “Did the regent get the message about the wyverns?”
“He got it. He knew immediately you were the source. He didn’t seem pleased and he didn’t divulge his plans.”
Quin grimaces, and from my hiding spot, so do I. The regent had better take action, or . . . I shiver.
At a distant shout, Nicostratus tenses. “I shouldn’t be too long from my unit. They’ll wonder why.”
“Say you have family here. You were recognised by a cousin.” Quin’s straight back sinks against his chair and he smiles. “One day, we’ll be free to spend time without worries between us.”
“I’ll bring wine.”
“We’ll bring out the bows and arrows.”
“Best archer gets to make an outrageous request.”
“You’re not getting me to perform in the square again.”