Chapter 51 #2
He shakes his head empathetically, and a shiver spikes through me, forcing me back a few steps. “Time to accept—”
I spin on my heel.
Nicostratus catches me in my flight down the stone steps. “What happened?”
My hands shake, but not as violently as I’m shaking my head. “No, I don’t believe—” I grab his forearms tightly. “It’s not impossible. I believe you.”
I drag him from apothecary to apothecary, healer to healer. Each visit adds a stone to my sinking gut. None are able to treat my severed meridians. Still, I forge on. Of course, a cure will be rare, or all the vitalians would know how to treat it. I must keep searching.
I try again. An overweight, middle-aged man greets my entry into his apothecary with a sneer. “Can’t you see I’m packing up?”
Indeed, there are none of the usual herbs found in a healer’s apothecary. Instead, baskets and boxes and jars are stacked against one wall. Some of them moving, probably with snakes or spiders, for the venom.
“Are you Vitalian Dimos?” I call out.
“Not any longer. Soldad confiscated.”
“Confiscated?”
“Taken away. Destroyed.” He scowls into the distance, then snaps his tight gaze to me. “What did you want?”
“I—”
He grabs my hand roughly and reads my pulse. “Severed meridians. Even if I could help you, what’s the point? You were only par-linea.” He drops my hand and returns to his violent sweeping; I’m chased out of his store by a broom.
Nicostratus, who has waited patiently outside at every apothecary, raises a brow.
“Don’t ask.”
He doesn’t. He gestures to the road ahead, and we continue on.
My steps grow heavier as the list gets shorter.
Only one left.
“On the outskirts of the city,” Nicostratus murmurs. “It’ll be dark soon. Better to try tomorrow.”
Paper crunches under my grip.
He tries to lighten my spirits at an inn. I thank him, but I don’t touch my drink; he downs both to stave off ill luck. He wishes me good health and a happy future, and it’s clear the drinks are unusually strong because he wobbles as he stands.
I catch him around the waist and sniff at the emptied glass. I stiffen. Sedative. Strong, but only a healer would be sensitive to this subtle smell.
I should have noticed earlier.
I call to the innkeeper, demanding an explanation, but the keeper looks confused. The server has disappeared, too. It’s not safe here; I have to get him somewhere safe.
The sun has dipped behind the rooftops, casting us and the vibrant market stalls in shadows as I support Nicostratus through narrow streets.
We step onto the weedy bank, and the hum of the city fades.
The air is crisper here, cold with the scent of the canal, but something else tinges the air—something sharp, metallic.
I glance over my shoulder, my pulse quickening at the empty path behind us.
Even Nicostratus’s stagger seems loud in the stillness—
Men in dark cloaks leap from the trees, blocking our way. I suck in a breath. We’ve been followed. He was drugged to make him weak so he could be easily dealt with under these trees.
Their eyes glint along with the metal they unsheathe.
“Run,” Nicostratus urges me, staggering sideways.
He tries to call up his magic, but it fizzles.
His sword shakes as he holds it up. I can’t make a shield. Can’t clear the effects of the drugs and return his magic. I can only . . .
I hit three acupoints on his neck and back, then the fourth Olyn taught me. That’ll sharpen his mind for a few minutes. Give him back some strength.
The attackers lunge forward. Prince Nicostratus charges into their assault with deft swings of his blade and neat footwork.
One against three. The clash of steel rings out, the vibrations jarring through my bones to linger in my jaw.
He twists, the blade thrust from his opponent’s guard, and strikes another assailant.
Blood spatters on tree trunks and fallen leaves.
The attackers grow more frantic.
A shadow moves at the edge of my vision.
Too late, I see the fourth man, his blade glinting as he slinks through the shadows.
I scoop up a fallen branch and hold it tight.
Nicostratus twists and turns, sword scraping against sword.
Again, he yells at me to run, but the fourth attacker is moving, aiming for Nicostratus’s blind spot.
My heart jumps, and then so do I. I strike with my branch before the lethal blow descends.
The attacker stumbles sideways, taken by surprise.
Nicostratus whirls, his blade singing through the air as he delivers a strike that sends the man reeling into a tree trunk. The attacker whistles, and within seconds he and the others are gone, leaving us panting beneath the trees.
“You could’ve been hurt.”
“I couldn’t leave you.”
A heavy breath, a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you.”
I keep hold of my branch, scanning the shadows. “They gave up?”
“For now.”
“You didn’t use lethal force.”
“They’re my uncle’s men,” Nicostratus says. “I was worried it was a trap.”
“Wouldn’t it have been self defence?”
“It wouldn’t be spun that way.”
My throat stings. “I thought you were safe, now he’s regent.”
Nicostratus grimaces, then collapses against me, the sedative overcoming him once more.
It’s an effort to get him back to his residence. Petros takes the load off me the moment we enter the gates, hoisting Nicostratus onto his back with practiced ease. “Not my first time.”
“He gets like this often?”
“Not him.” Petros hesitates, his voice quieter. “My brother’s legs gave out years ago. Back’s used to the weight.”
We get him into bed, and I thank Petros, telling him I’ll keep watch overnight. When he’s gone, Nicostratus grabs my hand and tugs me to his side, his eyes glazed, or maybe weepy.
I wake to Nicostratus watching me sleep against the side of his bed. I hurry to my feet and wipe my mouth. “Are you alright?”
“My uncle must know I helped Quin. He’s sending a message. If I support the true king, I’m his enemy and will be treated as such.”
“What will you do?”
His jaw tightens, but only for a moment. “Get you to that last healer. But first, breakfast.”
I barely choke down some bread. Nicostratus gives up halfway through his own meal and rises, chuckling. “Come, then. Let’s go.”
I race outside into thick mist that immediately clings to my face. If this healer can fix me, I’ll give up five years of my life. Ten.
The gates open, and no sooner have Nicostratus and I stepped out than we’re met with a tight-jawed constable.
He addresses Nicostratus carefully, but his voice nevertheless holds a note of authority.
“Your highness, I’m Constable Michealios.
I have a written order requiring you to accompany me to the constabulary. ”
Nicostratus’s expression flickers, as perplexed as I feel. “What’s going on?” I ask.
The constable turns rigidly to address me. “The affair will be discussed at the constabulary.”
Is this Quin’s doing? A way to meet his brother? Not the most subtle approach.
My nape prickles; I position myself in front of Nicostratus. “What magistrate has the power to take him into the constabulary?”
Constable Michealios holds out a letter.
Something’s wrong. I don’t like it. “I’m coming with you.”
“Suit yourself,” the constable says.
We follow him through dewy streets to a sturdy stone structure with iron-clad gates. Chills scuttle over me as we step into the courtyard.
To the left, a half-dozen yards away, uniformed men are positioning three narrow carts, each holding a sheet-covered body.
A stray breeze peels off one of the sheets, and a knot tightens in my gut. I recognise that face, I saw it last night. But he’s no longer dressed in black. He’s wearing military uniform.
Killing on-duty redcloaks is treason. A crime of rebellion against the kingdom. A capital crime.
Even royalty can be convicted of this.
Horror has my step faltering. I’m about to come to a standstill when I catch sight of Quin, in constabulary uniform, seated on a nearby bench doling out firm instructions to aklos.
He glances my way with an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
I know instinctively he’s telling me to swallow my shock.
No matter what happens in the next minutes, I must be calm.
I keep my face impassive, and only stop walking when the constable does.
Constable Michealios faces us and watches our reactions closely as he gestures towards the bodies. “These redcloaks were found at dawn, near the perimeter of their outpost. On them was evidence suggesting an alarming connection to your highness.”
Nicostratus keeps his voice steady. “What kind of connection?”
The constable orders an underling to bring him the letter, which is then handed to Nicostratus.
Nicostratus’s brow crunches a fraction. He folds the paper and returns it. “This hardly qualifies as a connection.”
“It instructs them to watch you for crimes against the regent and country. The very next morning, they’re found dead. It all feels rather convenient.”
“Doesn’t it. But convenience is not evidence.”
Constable Michealios has us follow him to the bodies as someone else is escorted into the yard—the innkeeper from last night, swinging a finger to Nicostratus and me.
“They were in my inn last night. That man was drugged.” When the sheets are pulled back, his eyes grow big, afraid. “D-did he kill these men?”
“Redcloak witnesses said one of these men visited your inn. Can you identify which one?”
The keeper jerks his finger. “That one. That man was there. He disappeared—”
“Thank you, that will be all for now.”
My stomach has dropped into my feet.
I glance once more towards Quin, struggling to keep my composure.
This accusation could kill Nicostratus. From all I’ve seen of this world, justice—true justice—is hard to come by.
Instead, suspicion, intrigue, or someone more powerful determines guilt.
Nicostratus was afraid of falling into his uncle’s trap last night. Has he fallen into it anyway?
Quin meets my gaze, unwaveringly confident, and that . . . comforts me. I give the smallest nod back.
“First inspection indicates the soldiers were poisoned.” The constable is grim faced. “Possibly echowisp, which is only found in West Wind fields outside Hinsard. We’ll investigate whether you’d have had access to it.”
“No need,” Nicostratus says. “I’m sure the inn I stayed at is on those fields. But I didn’t kill these men.”
Quin snaps his cane towards us and bows shallowly to the head constable, not once looking our way. “If you’ll give me permission, I’ll look over this again. See if we missed anything.”
Investigating something like this must be time consuming and tedious; Michealios looks relieved he has someone willing to do the job for him. He orders his men to escort the prince back to his manor. “You understand that for the duration of our investigation, you’ll be under house arrest.”
Two armed men flank Nicostratus. He accepts their escort docilely, but his gaze flickers when he turns to me with a calming smile. He wants me to find Quin.
I swallow and curl my hand.