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)
Faces in the crowd blur until I see the face of my father, warning me what would happen if I continued using magic, if I didn’t understand; the teary glimmer in his eyes; the pleading in his voice . . .
River is crying.
Akilah whimpers.
I slam my eyes shut; my knees buckle.
River and Akilah are forced up the stairs ahead of me, trembling with fear, their every breath sharp.
They seem to know.
No one will save us.
Magic pins River’s head in place on the block. His small body writhes.
Just yesterday, he was humming lullabies. Last night, he was clutching my hand in the dark.
What have I done?
I’m choking on the gag, but I can’t even cry out. I lunge towards him. Magical chains yank me back. Pain blinds me.
Sounds squeal out of River, jerky. He’s trying to sing, trying to keep himself calm—
“HALT.”
My vision clears, and I swing my head towards the white-haired man striding up to the presiding judge. Skriniaris Evander. He glances in our direction and his step stutters as his gaze latches on me. His face darkens with a deep frown. He kneels before the judge and holds out the box I gave him. “I have a copy of the magic pill that supposedly caused the death of former official Temenos. It is a fine spell indeed. Even a royal vitalian might have overlooked an adverse effect with such a rare herb as ippifras.”
The judge stares blindly ahead. “This case has been trialled.” He raises his bell.
White light shoots from the skriniaris’s hand as he blocks him from sounding the bell—the signal for the guillotine to drop. “I’d like to appeal.”
“You should have come to the courts yesterday.”
“I only learned about this last night.”
“Unfortunate. Ill-fated.”
“You’re condemning the innocent.”
The judge sets his small eyes on Skriniaris Evander and laughs. He points across the courtyard to the great wyvern-embossed bell suspended over the well. “The only thing that can stop this execution is the chime of the royal bell, followed by a decree from the king. As long as I have lived, that bell has never rung. Not for the most prestigious noble. It certainly won’t for an unremarkable commoner.”
Skriniaris Evander pales and bows low. “Delay this an hour. You will regret—”
The judge rings his bell soundly and the guillotine drops.
The judge flicks his hand and River’s lifeless body and head are moved away.
I stare at the blood pooling on the wooden boards.
They come for Akilah.
I wrap my numb arms around her—
Magic whips down my back, once, twice, three times. I can’t feel the pain. I can’t hold on. Akilah is dragged through the puddle of River’s blood, sobbing.
Her head is forced onto the block. Her back heaves with uneven breaths and her eyes latch onto mine.
I can’t move. I can’t cry.
The judge rings his bell.
The blade falls.
My stomach rises up my throat—
Chimes ricochet around the courtyard, vibrating through the stage and into my bones. Bright magic zaps to the guillotine, freezing it mid-fall, a breath from ending her.
The crowd spins towards the swinging wyvern bell, awed. Skriniaris Evander remains on his knees, unsurprised, holding the evidence towards the judge, who has leapt to his feet in disbelief.
A voice booms. “A decree from the palace. All bow to receive it.”
As one, the crowd drops to their knees. Only two remain standing. The judge. Me.
“Prince Nicostratus Aetherion is a magnanimous soul,” the voice fills every inch of the courtyard. “In celebration of his upcoming birthday, the king reflects his brother’s benevolence onto the people: No executions during spring.”
I barely comprehend the words. All I glean from them is . . . Akilah is safe.
Safe.
Redcloaks pull her to her feet and we clutch one another amidst the chaos and confusion.
River’s blood is damp on her clothes and seeps into mine.
I blink.
The judge demands silence and bluntly orders us escorted from the city. Our commuted sentence: border service in the sacred forest, in the name of protecting the kingdom.
Skriniaris Evander rushes towards us, breathing hard. “I came as swiftly as I could”—he shakes his head—“too late . . . Why were you up there?”
I’m speaking, but I barely hear myself. “We visited Akilah last night. The bead pass we used—”
“Beads?” He looks surprised, confused. “Where did you get—”
“Back away,” a redcloak calls; Skriniaris Evander is forced back. He watches us go between their shoving shoulders.
Gravel crackles under rickety wheels. Cool wind slices between the bars and Akilah huddles close. Over the following hours, her condition steadily worsens. With no access even to worm truffle for temporary relief, all I can do is stroke the hair that curtains half her tears and her swollen wound.
“I just wanted to save you, Cael. You’re not supposed to be stuck with me.”
A weird little laugh leaps out of me. “I’m shameless. I want all the adventures.”
She buries a sob against my chest as we round a sharp corner. Rocky banks give way to rolling green pastures and boats moving along curving canals as we’re pulled at a brisk pace south.