Chapter 53 #2
Quin uses his inner force all the way to the dock closest to Nicostratus’s residence, then he uses it again to tow me along to the gates.
Petros lets us in, but Quin doesn’t let him lead the way.
Nicostratus is shooting arrows at distant targets in the military courtyard; a line of aklos, all buttoned with circling wyverns, are arrayed behind him and running to collect his spent arrows.
Here, Quin lets go of the scruff of my neck.
Nicostratus lowers his bow, frowning. “Constable Soterios, are you here with news on my case?”
“Another matter, today. Regarding your guest.”
Nicostratus’s gaze flickers worriedly to me, and back to his brother.
Quin continues, “I caught him destroying property carrying the royal seal.”
I straighten abruptly. That’s . . . a hefty accusation, if technically . . . accurate. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Silence,” Quin orders, and I shut up.
“I’m within the law to punish him with imprisonment.”
I make an objecting sound, and am silenced by Quin’s furious glare. He’s not messing about; he’s truly upset.
Nicostratus’s jaw twitches disapprovingly at his brother. He raises a hand to dismiss his staff and the brothers face off silently until they’ve all left. Then Nicostratus steps forward, lowering his voice. “This isn’t about destruction of the royal seal. What’s going on?”
“You didn’t tell him the truth. Then you gave him false hope.”
“I only want him happy—”
“How will he get that with lies? How will he overcome his grief when you feed into it, raising his hopes, only to have him crash harder?”
“That was never my intention.” Nicostratus looks from his brother to me, gaze softening. “I will take care of you, protect you. You never have to work again.”
Quin’s jaw flexes. “Nonsense. Cael, pack your things.”
Nicostratus laughs, shaking his head. “You can’t make him leave.”
“He attempted to destroy the royal seal.”
My gaze shoots between the brothers, my heart beating hard in my achy chest. “You’re being unreasonable, Quin.”
He ignores me.
Nicostratus lifts his bow. “How about this? We’ll compete. If you win, you can have your way and I won’t stop you. If I win, you forget the royal seal business and leave Amuletos with me.”
“You’ve won every time we’ve competed in archery.”
“Of course I’d choose a sport where I have an advantage.”
“If he’s that important, you’d have helped him more.”
“You can have an extra arrow,” Nicostratus says sharply, pulling another bow off a stand. “Sit anywhere you like.”
Quin takes the bow; he moves to a waist-height wall and perches himself on the ledge. “I don’t need the extra arrow.”
“Stubborn. As you wish. Same rules as always. Three arrows, three targets. No magic.”
“After you.”
Nicostratus stands tall under a cloud-darkening sky, his cloak fluttering in the wind.
I’ve seen him practice with a bow many times, and never seen him miss the mark.
His military skills, both magical and crude, are well known and envied.
Quin, too, is highly skilled, but his leg is a constant weakness, and when it comes to wielding weapons, he has stood in his brother’s shadow.
Nicostratus nocks an arrow and pulls back the string with confidence. His arrow slices through the air and smacks the target in the reddened centre.
Quin’s turn. I’m reminded of the first time we met, when I’d thought I could tell so much about him. How arrogant I was. I knew nothing. I could go a lifetime and still not know him.
His arrow flies and lands beside his brother’s. An equally accurate shot.
Nicostratus seems unperturbed, possibly expecting as much; he sets his next arrow free. It thunks into the centre of the second target, a half-dozen yards farther away.
Quin’s expression is unreadable. He takes a long time holding his form, staring at the target before he releases—
The arrow also hits the centre. He lowers the bow and quietly flexes his hand. He’s feeling the strain.
Scattered raindrops fall from the sky.
Nicostratus’s bow creaks under his grip, the string taut and ready to sing. He takes aim at the target another dozen yards back; his third arrow slices through the rain, its path unerring.
Quin adjusts his posture, his injured leg braced at the wall. Rain drips from his hat as he draws his bowstring.
My stomach is a series of knots with more forming.
Thunder rumbles through the earth, and the sky cracks open with blinding light. Water cascades down, heavy and strong.
Nicostratus murmurs, “Even the heavens are against you—”
In a blink of an eye, a series of swift, strong movements, Quin has aimed and fired his last shot. The arrow sings through the rain and slides along Nicostratus’s, sinking deep into the centre of the target.
My breath catches. Even Nicostratus has frozen.
Nicostratus’s arrow creaks under Quin’s and falls.
“You . . .”
“I will save you, brother,” Quin says quietly. “But I must save him, too.”
“I can help him—”
“I’ll send someone for his things.” A small twister lifts me a few feet off the ground and gravity shoots through me as I’m deposited over his shoulder. My pulse quickens.
“Let me go.” I yell, but it comes out weak—broken, breathless.
Quin forges ahead with me dangling down his back. I struggle tiredly against him and the winds surrounding us, but my limbs are useless.
Nicostratus watches our retreat across the courtyard with a tight jaw; before I lose sight of him, I call, “Next full moon. The tree, from when we were boys . . .”