Chapter 50
The final crash, the final breath . . . it never comes.
Something soft cushions me. Someone prods me, demanding I wake. There’s pressure around me, something brushing against my ear; words I can’t decipher.
Then there’s warmth. A surge of warmth that blooms through me.
It unfurls with ticklish energy beyond any spell I’ve experienced before.
I can feel my bones knit together, muscle and flesh repairing itself.
Life trickles back into me. And with the life comes an overwhelming exhaustion.
A privilege of the living. My breathing steadies and a deep, healing slumber steals me into a dark yet comfortable abyss.
I wake to jewelled fastenings brushing my arm; the king’s bowed head at my side. He’s murmuring stories. One about a healer overcoming every heartbreaking obstacle in his pursuit to heal the heart of the kingdom.
My fingers twitch under the warm weight of his hand clasping mine.
Quin snaps his head up, his fingers closing tightly. The even lull of his voice breaks into a rasp. “Cael.”
Shadowed skin rings his eyes, a sure sign of sleepless nights. How long?
I breathe in deeply, and out. There’s no pain. I’ve been well healed, and sleep has thickened my blood. I feel healthy, if a little stiff.
Dark eyes, usually ablaze with determination, are closing briefly with relief. He reopens them, gaze roaming my face, and I catch the shimmer in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he tries to control himself.
My throat is dry. “Quin.”
Fragile light flickers in his eyes and his fingers tremble. Maybe I’m not entirely healed because I suddenly ache. With my free hand, I touch my chest, and Quin’s posture stiffens, his gaze sharpening with a promise that whatever is ailing me, he’ll find a way to make it better.
I open my mouth to tell him I’ll be fine but my throat closes on an overwhelming feeling of . . . rawness. I squeeze his fingers and try to sit up. His arm comes around my back, and we’re a cocoon of uneven breaths as he steadies me.
“Thank you.”
His gaze holds mine, voice soft. “What were you thinking?”
“It was the only way.”
“Never do that again.”
I would do it again.
“If I hadn’t . . . Even if the spear didn’t kill you, your injuries would have been so severe, we’d have crashed to ground. We’d have been in their grasp and they’d have killed us only moments later. There was no question. It was my life for yours. For Nicostratus’s.”
“For . . .” He looks away.
My name on a nearby cry is followed by pounding footsteps. Quin removes his arm from my shoulder and slides his hand from mine. He shifts silently away as Nicostratus throws open the door and rushes to my side.
He grabs me into a desperate embrace, murmuring his thanks to the heavens; pulls back, hands rubbing my upper arms, and looks at me.
His eyes are alight with relief, his dark hair tousled like he’d been constantly running worried hands through it.
His smile is undeniably beautiful, and it’s easy to smile back at him.
Then I recall the silver ribbon he gripped in his weak, bloodied hands, and I swallow.
Quin clears his throat. “You’re still recovering. You shouldn’t have rushed in here.”
Nicostratus ignores his brother. “It was hard enough not being able to stay by his side all night.” He smiles at me again. “You’ve no idea how happy I am to learn you’re alive.”
“The healer said if you overwork yourself, it’ll take longer to properly recover.”
Nicostratus scoffs. “This is hardly overexertion. In fact, seeing Amuletos does my soul a lot of good.”
Quin’s stare hits mine over his brother’s shoulder, then as Nicostratus kisses my temple, he twists sharply for the open door with the aid of a new wooden cane.
“Brother, wait.” Nicostratus pulls away from me, and fishes something from his inner cloak.
Quin pauses in the doorframe, keeping his back to us.
“The man beside me in that cell gave this to me before he died. Told me, if I could, to excuse his absence from the constabulary.”
“This is a letter of transfer.”
“He said he was demoted from the capital and sent to work there. He laughed about being worried he had no contacts.”
Quin’s head shifts, as if he’s about to look at his brother but reconsiders. His profile is pensive.
“You’d have come up with an alias anyway,” Nicostratus says, returning to my bedside. “Soterios may be practical for you. If you’re worried about what constabulary would hire you with your leg . . . tell them you had a tough encounter with crusaders.”
Quin leaves the room, and the snick of his cane echoes with little punches into my chest. I frown after him until Nicostratus shifts his face into my line of sight.
“Constantinos confessed to me last night. Once you’d fallen asleep, after the . . . healer left. He told me poisoning him was all part of a plan.”
“I wanted to tell you. I . . .”
“I’m not angry. My greatest wish came true. To have you back.”
I swallow and stare at his knee folded under him, where he’s perched beside me.
“Are you alright?” he murmurs.
“So much has happened,” I say. “You were captured by crusaders . . .” I shake my head. It feels surreal. Like it’s all been a nightmare. “How? Did they . . .”
“They ambushed us. The moment I saw we were outnumbered, I sealed my magic so it wouldn’t leak, so I couldn’t use it rashly. I couldn’t let them know. They would have smashed my spiritual meridians right away. Being new recruits kept us alive. As you saw, they used us as bait to lure more in.”
“They tortured you in there.”
“They tortured us all. They wanted to convert us. None yielded. The constable died for his unbending belief in the law.”
I sigh and take his hand, sliding two fingers up his wrist to read his pulse—
I frown, shake my hands. My spiritual power is dormant. Like . . . I look up at Nicostratus’s weak smile. Hiccuppy panic scratches deep in my throat, and I swallow it away. “The healer . . . did they block my magic?”
He stares at me. “You have to recover fully.”
“I’m healed.”
“Not the internal and external wounds. The shock.”
I watch him, and his eyes soften. He says, “I’ll be right by your side. I’ll help you grow strong again, alright?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding and nod. “Where are we?”
“We’re at an inn a day from Hinsard. You’ll like this place. It’s nestled in the herb fields surrounding the city.”
I swing my legs out of the bed and rise on shaky legs. Immediately, I realise the view of these fields is not the first thing I want to experience. Rather a visit to a privy, and a bath. Nicostratus laughs at this, leads the way, and leaves me to take my time.
Fresh clothes are waiting for me after my bath, and I slide into the soft, luxurious material, fix my belongings—soldad and golden feather—to my belt and my clasp to a thicker cloak. The hood is lined with fox fur for a crisp autumn.
I find Nicostratus waiting outside in the garden, the pretty shrubbery fenced in with a low stone wall outside which fields of herbs stretch as far as the eye can see.
There are lanes with trees separating chamomile from lavender and those lanes seem to lead to a distant pavilion.
It’s in this direction Nicostratus and I casually walk.
I pluck upturned roots from the ground, wishing I could sense the pulse of their healing spirit, but my fingertips only feel coarse stalks, crumbling dirt, stringy ends, and sharp prickles.
It’ll come back. I just woke after serious injuries. Nicostratus—or Quin—will unlock my meridians soon.
I crush the root in my grip and sticky juice sluices down my fingers, leaving a bitter trail beside us.
Nicostratus eyes my hand and stares ahead at the approaching pavilion. “It’s been tough for you, since leaving the royal city.”
“The royal city was no picnic either.”
He side-eyes me. “You could have escaped after your ‘death’, made a new name for yourself. You could’ve had it easier.”
“Are you asking why I followed your brother?”
He lets out a breath with a weak chuckle, his gaze falling and narrowing on my clasp. “I thought you found him difficult. Frustrating.”
“Let me assure you, I still think that.” But I’ve also seen so much more to him. No matter how much I’ve wanted to avoid him in the past, fate has always thrown us back together, forced us to reveal deeper levels of ourselves. To like them, to hate them, to understand them.
My voice crackles. “He’s the hope the people of this kingdom are looking for. He needs to succeed in removing your uncle from power. I followed him as his personal healer. To aid him along the way.”
“If that’s why . . .” We reach the pavilion steps and he sweeps me up them in a twirl of magic that has me gasping. He smiles warmly. “I’m also on my brother’s side. If you want, help me help him.”
“Let’s . . . all work together.”
“He and I will be parting ways tomorrow. We’ll have to act the part of strangers in Hinsard. Will you come with me?”
I absently touch my knotting stomach, and Nicostratus steps closer, steers me to a bench and table and sits me down.
“Are you in pain? I’ll call for a healer—”
I shake my head, and exaggerate the rub at my stomach. “I’m just dizzy. Hungry.”
“I should have thought. Stay right here, I’ll get us something.”
He soars towards the inn, a graceful figure dancing across fields.
I drop my fingers from my knotted stomach to my golden feather, and breathe in perfumed air and inexplicable tension.
Stop being ridiculous.
Of course I want to spend more time with Nicostratus and be by his side. And if it helps Quin, there’s simply no question.
Maybe I won’t be easing Quin’s pain, but I could put my skills to good use. Take care of the soldiers and those who are on the king’s side. There’s bound to be retaliation from the high duke, bound to be bloodshed. I can be by Nicostratus’s side, healing the wounded in this pursuit of justice.