Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
His head turns slightly, enough for me to catch the stubborn line of his jaw. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
I laugh thinly and set his hair nicely in place, but there’s a lingering strain in his eyes. I don’t press. It’s clear he won’t admit to anything.
Frederica and Akilah rise cautiously, and we all freeze at the sound of a low, mournful whine. I slide off Quin’s back and follow the sound to a collapsed section of wall. Teeth snap out from beneath the rubble, followed by a foam-flecked snarl.
“It’s the sheep-killer,” I breathe, stepping back as the mangy dog scrabbles free.
“Suppress it,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite a lurch of fear up my throat.
Quin musters the wind to slam the dog to the ground. Its ribs heave; blood mats its fur. It howls in agony, but not only from broken ribs—there’s a large abscess on its back. Possibly the cause of its viciousness. I murmur, “I can help it.”
Quin glances at me, his brows furrowing. “It could rip your throat out.”
Our gazes clash, a challenge sparking between us. “So don’t let it.”
For a moment, he grimaces, magic pressing harder against the dog, as if to end it. Then, with a mutter, the winds cease. A flick of his fingers, and golden threads of magic lash around the dog like a net.
For a single breath, it feels like he wants to say something more, but he locks the words behind his imperious mask.
Forcing a grin, I step closer to the shuddering creature.
“My spell will clash with yours.” I glance at Quin, his lazily shifting fingers. “Can you hold steady?”
Quin laughs and the air hums with restrained power, the kind that suggests there’s so much more where it came from. I shake off a shiver, but I can’t shake off Quin’s gaze, daring me to match his magic.
I summon my spell and funnel it through Quin’s. The two merge smoothly, Quin’s blazing hot and gold while mine flows cool and calm.
His makes my own feel supported, stronger . . .
My pulse hitches and with it my magic jolts, a painful collision that lances through me. I almost drop my spell. Quin’s magic flares like a pocket under mine, lifting it, holding it in place. “Focus,” he says. The punch of authority steels my resolve; his keen scrutiny has me rising to the challenge. I needle the spell under the abscess on the dog’s back. Our magic slides seamlessly together until I pull out and it repels. “You’re overpowering,” I mutter.
He just laughs. “That’s nothing.”
The abscess finally bursts and dissolves. “Pull back,” I grind out, trying not to let the strain show in my voice.
“I’ll be gentle,” Quin retorts knowingly. Or is that mockingly?
The dog whines softly, its pain easing as the last of our spells release. I feel a strange sort of emptiness when it’s done, like Quin took energy or lightness away from me.
I shake off the eerie feeling and collapse into Akilah’s waiting arms, my legs trembling with exhaustion. She presses sugared ginger to my lips, a sharp sweetness, and Frederica ushers us inside to eat and rest. Quin follows, gaze a hot prickle at my back; I look over my shoulder sharply to catch him in the act, but he’s snapping off into another room, calling for his aklos.
Herb-stuffed chicken is the main event at dinner, and between it and the bone-broth, my energy is restored. Akilah, seated next to me, leans in and whispers under the chorus of conversing guests. “Where did that haughty man go?”
I shake my head.
“What’s wrong with him, do you think?”
I lift a silver spoon between us. “Grew up with one of these in his mouth?”
She snickers. “I meant, why does he need the cane? He only uses it half the time.”
I tap the spoon against my mouth, frowning. “I sensed pain. He’s clearly powerful and can use magic to support himself without a cane, but that’s not possible all day long, is it?” Also . . . the potency of his power reminded me of that evening, in the royal belt. All those branded redcloaks, dead . . . “Anyway, he’s clearly agile despite whatever it—”
Frantic banging echoes through the bones of the manor. Our hostess rises from the table with apologies; I flash my teeth at Akilah, who sighs and follows me.
Around a corner on the way to the foyer we collide with Quin. He halts, blocking the narrow corridor, filling it with his presence. There’s a weight in it that has Akilah lurching back a step.
I, on the other hand, follow the impulse to push on. “We’re making sure the mistress of the house isn’t bothered. Again.”
Quin’s eyes flash and I glare. He snaps towards the source of the ruckus, and we sneak along beside him.
Frederica stands on the threshold, her hand resting on the head of a young akla kneeling in the pool of light falling from the open door. “Deep breath. Tell me what the matter is.”