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)
I crush the truffles in my trembling fist. The juice seeps out slowly; I drip the precious liquid onto Akilah’s wound, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Keep singing,” I murmur to River. I need calming too. Please work, please.
River’s voice floats around us like a spell of its own. It thickens the air, a natural sedative. Even the guards have grown quiet. It lets my thoughts wander and I collect all the half-ignored lessons of crude healing, stack those pieces of conversations together. There aren’t a lot of them. When I get out, I’ll broaden my knowledge on ways to heal.
I hope I’m not lying to myself.
River grows hoarse, and I check Akilah’s pulse. Still slow, but steady. And a trace of colour has returned to her lips. I bow my head against her shoulder in relief, murmuring my thanks to the heavens.
A guard interrupts my thanksgiving. “Is he still infectious?”
I shake my head.
The redcloak lets out a relieved breath. “Visiting hours are over.”
River and I glance anxiously at our sleeping Akilah, and then we’re herded out of the cell and down the corridor.
It’s darker and damper than it was on our way in. Two masked men appear from the shadows, stopping us in the passageway. They’re haloed with metallic-scented magic, recently used. I choke on a whiff of blood and shiver. One barks, “Are these the ones?”
River grabs my arm so tight, his fingers are forming bruises. I recall the strange way the outer guards looked at our pass.
“Yes, sir,” a redcloak says.
River whimpers. I whisper in his ear, “What’s wrong?”
“Those masks—”
They pull and tug at our clothing until they find the beads and rip them off River’s belt. They look at one another darkly. “Lock them up.”
Sweating redcloaks snap their heels and push us back to Akilah’s cell, shoving us inside with rough hands. They ignore our protests and explanations, and as the metal bar grinds into place, a cold realisation settles over me.
We’re not visitors anymore.
The masked men are bad people, River keeps saying. The beads were supposed to be safe. Something must have happened . . .
Nursing Akilah is a distraction—so are the words I keep whispering to calm River: Silvius will come for us.
He will.
But can he?
I clutch my soldad.
What mess are we in? Is there any chance of salvation?
Or was that his blood I smelled?
My stomach twists and a sob tries to squeeze up my throat. I swallow it down. River looks up at me, eyes wide in the dying candlelight, and clutches my hand. His fingers are more delicate than mine, and very cold.
“Are we going to die?”
I don’t know. My breath shudders out and I pat the back of his hand.
River’s voice breaks. “I—I won’t regret it. I’d have died on the canals anyway. You gave me another year.” My throat hurts. “A good year. My best. I finally have a . . . family.” He smiles and it wobbles. “I had a safe place to sleep, got paid for work. Silvius treated me like I was your little brother and he wanted to impress you.”
“River . . .”
“Do you think I was good enough to be reborn linea? Do you think I’ll be able to learn in the schools? Become a scholar?”
My whisper crackles. “That would be your biggest wish?”
“To learn. To become a great healer like you.”
“I’m not great.”
“You could’ve been. Maybe even I could’ve been.”
I sniff and hold his head against my shoulder.
It’s freezing here, but I’m warm—the only good thing about having my magic sealed is my internal heat is trapped with it. I pull Akilah and River closer, sharing my warmth. Until dawn, when Akilah stirs. “Cael? Why are you here?”
A ruckus comes down the dank corridor. Cell doors squeal open and slam shut; frightened shouts become muffled whimpers. Redcloaks swish into view, and our cell door opens. “We’re out of sacks,” one guard whispers to the other.
“Shove the last one on the youngest.”
River cries out, clutching me tightly; I pull him close. They rip him from my arms, gag us with scratchy linen cloths and shove the last sack over River’s head and his terrified eyes. Cold magic restraints bite into our wrists.
We’re dragged into blinding morning light.
The crowd is sparse today.
No one wails for us.
Megaera stands before the stage, alone, in black skirts with a sash the colour of blood. Her hood casts shadows over her face but I feel her eyes on me. She surges forward, yanking her hood back. Her face pales and her mouth forms my name.
She drops to her knees and raises her eyes. They’re dark. Darker.
I am the one who killed her father.
Magic seeps around her, black smoke. Devastated. How could I have done this? I was supposed to save him . . .
She sucks her magic inside sharply, twists on her heels and leaves with a heavy swish of her skirts.