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)
“Thank you,” I mutter.
As the spell stabilises, Bjorn’s pulse improves under my fingers. Relief floods through me, but it’s not over yet. There’s another spell to go. First, though, my body needs to absorb enough of the idleflower nectar I just drank.
Master Hrafn stays at Bjorn’s side, holding his hand, murmuring to him softly. I leave him a moment of privacy, returning to the front chamber where Quin is stationed at a crack in the shuttered window.
He stands like a statue carved by a master’s hand, the flicker of lantern light glancing off his sharp angles and smooth lines. His gaze is rooted on the outside, but his expression is distant, as though he’s deep in troubled thoughts.
There’s a stillness about him that makes me want to lean in and prod him, see if he can still move. I don’t try. I watch, and the silence stretching between us feels taut and prickly.
“Something you want to say?” he asks, turning his head sharply.
I yank my eyes away from him to the shutters and then around the room in a frantic search for Akilah.
“Do you refuse to speak, or are you afraid?”
I snap my gaze to his. Afraid! “Thank you for your escort here, and for the frostbloom.”
“Don’t think this means I like you,” Quin says, his lips twisting wryly.
I laugh. “If this should turn to friendship, I’d have a lot to explain.”
Sound approaching the cottage pulls our gazes apart. Quin checks out the window, his sharp eyes narrowing.
The first chime of a luminist’s handbell freezes me in place. My blood chills.
Quin’s gaze moves between me and Hrafn as he comes into the room, eyes wide with panic.
The bell chimes again, closer this time, its steady rhythm like a funeral march. Possibly an omen of my own to come. Quin moves to the door, his cane snicking the floor at measured intervals. He pauses at the threshold, his broad frame blocking the view outside.
“Awaken Bjorn,” he commands.
“Not yet,” I hiss. “I just delivered the first spell. I’m still—”
“You don’t have time. Either he wakes, or the luminists will drag us all to the capital for judgement.”
The air thickens with fear as I bend over Bjorn, channelling the spell’s final layer, my hands trembling. I pull at every bit of idleflower nectar in my system and press it into him, willing the magic to hold, to be enough.
“Come on,” I whisper to Bjorn—and to myself. “Come on.”
The sound of the bell stops. Muffled voices. Quin steps back into the bedchamber, his expression unreadable.
“Akilah,” he says, calm despite the crackling tension. “But she won’t hold them long.”
Bjorn stirs, his lashes fluttering, and I sag with relief.
“He’s waking,” I tell Hrafn, who falls to his knees beside the bed, tears streaking his face.
A sharp knock at the door cuts through the moment.
Quin’s gaze snaps to mine. “Finished?”
“Barely,” I admit, my chest heaving. “But if they see me—”
“They won’t,” Quin promises, his voice firm. He glances at Hrafn. “Get rid of them. Say whatever you must. Send Akilah back in here.”
Hrafn stammers, his fear palpable, but he obeys, stepping out to greet the luminists.
Quin’s calm facade falters for a moment. He grips his cane tighter, his knuckles whitening. “Take Akilah and go,” he orders. “The back door leads to the river where we left the boat.”
“What about you?” I ask, my voice low.
Quin fixes me with a look that’s equal parts annoyance and something I can’t quite name. “Think I can’t handle a few luminists?”
His self-assurance is infuriating, but the weight of his tone has me ready to follow orders.
Before I can respond, Akilah bursts into the room, her face pale. The luminists must have frightened her.
“Not just luminists,” she says, reading my mind. “Frederica sent an aklo after us.” She trembles as she holds the paper. “Your niece—Lucetta, she was injured in the earthshake.”
The air leaves my lungs. My mind reels back—just last week, her bright eyes were laughing as she staggered through the courtyard with a basket far too big for her little arms. “Look at me! Picking herbs like Uncle Cael.” She was so proud, even though her basket held only grass.
“She’s alive,” Akilah says quickly, snapping me back to the present. “But your father . . . I’m not sure . . .”
I squeeze my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms. My father would do what he could, but simplex spells might not be enough. Especially if the injury is severe.
My mind spins, but Quin steps forward, cutting through my panic.
“Take the boat,” he says steadily. “Go.”
I hesitate, my gaze flicking between him and Akilah. He strides to the back door, opening it to reveal the flatboat at the bank.
His dark eyes meet mine, and for a moment, something unspoken passes between us. And I’m somehow more . . . confident.