Chapter 63
In the dim, musky stables, Quin leans against a beam, his cane braced at his side, while I press my weight into the wood to steady my nerves.
Through a gap in the stable doors, I catch fleeting glimpses of the drakopagon pitch, where hooves thump against churned earth.
A distant cheer from the spectators ripples through the stillness—and tightens the knot in my stomach.
A horn blows. Half time.
I glance at Quin with a tight swallow. This is it.
Murmurs drift from redcloaks traipsing to the privy. “They’re gonna cost me a pretty penny. S’like they’re asleep out there.”
Commander Thalassios leads Nicostratus and his horse to the stables, and he gracefully dismounts and hands the reins to a stableboy. He crosses to us, face impassive, but his eyes track both me and Quin and one of his hands—the one still wearing my armband—tightens.
I shake my head. No time for that. I pull him with haste further into our private corner; he lets me, his fingers closing around mine and lingering. Quin’s gaze drops, noticing this, and he schools his expression. The air suddenly feels stiffer and I jerkily face Nicostratus. “I need your help.”
He lets out a strangled breath. “I’ve always been willing to help you. Now is no exception.”
I tell him everything, and his eyes widen and search Quin and the commander’s faces for confirmation. He looks down at the object I’ve pushed into his hands.
“Can you do it?” I ask.
His voice drops with displeasure. “Of course. I’ll take him down.” The steely grit in his tone is reassuring, but also unsettling. He’s a man who is kind until he is pushed to the edge.
“The horn will sound soon for the second half. I’ll use the chance.”
“Wait,” I say, following him as he snaps his fingers for his horse. “Did you have a welcoming drink?”
“No matter how tempted I was today . . . I never drink when I play.”
I let out a relieved sigh, which elicits a frustrated expression and Nicostratus turning his back on me. As he rides out onto the pitch, the commander sets off towards his ceremonial seat, and Quin snaps over strewn hay to my side. “Are you alright?”
“No, I’m not alright.” I leave it at that and push my way through the crowd, who are again sipping drinks. My stomach rises and falls and it feels like I might throw up. They’ve no idea what’s happened to them.
Nicostratus’s head aklo trots into the centre of the arena, where each team is lined up at either end of the pitch, waiting.
He blows his horn energetically and tosses the ball high into the air.
The moment it’s released, horses charge forwards, and Petros races out of the way.
But he’s not fast enough. Nicostratus gallops ahead of his team and swerves suddenly, causing two reactions: Petros’s horse startles and takes off sideways, and the horse behind him rears violently and throws off its rider.
Petros blows on his horn to pause the game, jumps off his horse and races towards the accident. But Nicostratus is already on foot, crouching beside the unconscious Eparch Valerius.
I hold my breath, heart galloping wildly as I step onto the pitch.
Nicostratus glances sternly at his Petros and pulls a hidden flask from his person.
He tips the contents into the Eparch’s mouth, and Eparch Valerius stirs, coughs.
He spies the flask, swipes his tongue over his lip at a drop left behind, and scrambles backwards. “What did you give me?”
Nicostratus gestures to the jugs at the welcoming station.
Eparch Valerius fingers his pulse and pales. He searches his body for—
“Looking for this?” Nicostratus holds up a small vial he must have noticed and snatched.
“Return it. It’s a . . . calming concoction.”
Nicostratus tips the contents onto the churned-up grass, and Eparch Valerius lunges for the vial. Nicostratus holds it out of reach. “It’s just a calming concoction. No need to get aggressive.”
Uniformed constables have approached the fence line, waiting for orders from their leader. Constable Michealios seems hesitant to involve himself until he spots me closing in on the scene.
Suddenly he’s a roar of orders—they jump the fence and race towards me from four directions. Quin casts a shield around me, stopping their blasts of magic—and one arrow. Constable Michealios whips his head to Quin and orders him to return me to the constabulary.
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“It’s your duty.”
“I know very well my duties.”
“Insolence. Who do you think you are?”
Prince Nicostratus pushes to his feet, spins around and crosses to Quin. He stops before him and bows low.
The blood drains from Eparch Valerius’s face. The constables freeze.
“W-who are you?” It comes out a fearful whisper.
Nicostratus rises as Quin channels his magic overhead. The sky rapidly shifts from clear blue to grey as winds gather clouds over us into the symbol of chasing wyverns.
The constables drop to their knees, as do all the spectators in a wave of respect for the king. Quin stares at the head constable. “I’ve deceived you. Understand I have my reasons for it.”
Constable Michealios crawls forward. “Of course, your majesty.” With a pinched glance my way, he says, “This man may mean you harm. He’s involved in these deaths.”
“Stand.” When the constable is on his feet, Quin continues, gesturing to me. “Let him prove now, to everyone, his innocence.” He projects his voice. “Let him show you all.”
The constables take one step back as Quin removes the shield around me. He nods, and halts Nicostratus by the arm when he starts to come between me and Eparch Valerius, who is now eating the grass where his ‘calming concoction’ had been upturned.
I step closer to him, the murmur of the crowd fading into the background.
My voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
“City philanthropist, friend to the refugees, healer of the sick—you’ve played your part beautifully.
Too beautifully.” My words hang in the air, the accusation as sharp as the glare in his eyes.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps.
I smile grimly. “You attempted to kill and killed three of four redcloaks; you poisoned the refugees, and you murdered Vitalian Dimos.”
“Insanity.”
“You may choose to plead that after.”
“I have alibis for all those events. The last one I was almost killed myself!”
“We’ll get to that. Let’s start with your henchmen.”
“Henchmen? I didn’t know them.”
“You’ve never had any prior interaction with those deceased redcloaks? Are you sure about that?”
“Of course I’m sure. Constables, this interrogation is unwarranted. He does not stand for the law. I will not answer to these accusations.” He tries to get up but a blast of magic from Quin has him pinned to the ground. The constables don’t move.
Quin looks at me. “Continue.”
“You say you’re sure you’ve had no interaction, but you confiscated Vitalian Dimos’s soldad after they came to you demanding punishment for a medicinal spell that almost killed them.”
Eparch Valerius flushes and grits his teeth. “Indeed I’ve had a little contact with them. Quite forgotten.”
“Quite forgotten?”
Eparch Valerius’s eyes flash angrily.
I crouch to his level and spell it out for him.
“They were abusing their power, forcing you to get rid of Vitalian Dimos. You realised they couldn’t be trusted, so you withheld their next dose of antidote.
” He jerks his eyes to mine and I see how deeply treacherous this man is.
“You poison all those who work for you. If they leave your service or become problematic, they’ll simply keel over and die.
Those who remain useful will repeat your poison-antidote cycle, quite likely completely unaware. ”
“Those soldiers consumed echowisp, a flower found where the prince resided before coming into the city. Perhaps you should be confronting him.”
“You know very well the prince was in the West Wind fields before coming here. You’d sent your men to scout for him after hearing rumours he’d left the capital.
They recognised him, sent word, and you sent word back to pluck some echowisp flowers before returning.
It’s a pity in doing so they got stung by fern bees.
They’d have thought the stings a nuisance at first, but by the time they got back to the city, the stings would have become painful welts.
They ducked into a nearby apothecary—Vitalian Dimos’s—and he did his job using spells he’s used a hundred times before.
Only he didn’t know your men were poisoned.
Didn’t know it would clash with his spell, worsening the effects of the stings. ”
Eparch Valerius flattens his lips. His silence is welcome. In fact, it speaks loudly.
“Those bees are particularly drawn to echowisp pollen. They’re almost solely found in places where echowisp grows.
” Something I tripped across in my grandfather’s books.
I’d been so focused on snake venom I hadn’t realised its importance until today.
“An investigation of the bodies can determine they were stung by these particular bees, and prove the redcloaks had been near echowisp. Your henchmen, though, they didn’t know much about flowers and poisons.
They probably assumed your request was for a rare medicinal spell, and perhaps at first you too thought it useful as such.
After all, you work with many of the best vitalians and dabble in herbal concoctions yourself.
” I lean in. “You don’t need to deny that part.
I remember clearly you telling me as much the first time we met. ”
“I dabble. That proves nothing.”
“After you confiscated Vitalian Dimos’s soldad, you gave your henchmen one last mission: to kill the prince. They tried very hard, by the way. Ultimately, they returned to you in failure. But you had another idea. You gave them the flowers and told them they’d know when to use them.”
“What idiots would take flowers with such vague instructions?”