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)
“You’re someone to get rid of.” His teeth start chattering; the sound makes my stomach clench.
Not on my watch. I plant my knees either side of his on the chair and he jerks his head back so fast it whacks against the frame. I jam my fingers against the soft skin at his throat, at the acupoint to paralyse him momentarily. His gaze is dark but there’s a streak of surprise and respect in it.
I drop my fingers and he laughs hollowly, icy puffs against my chin. In a snap of his fingers, he hurtles air toward the default cure and pulls the vial off the shelf towards us.
“This is my future you’re playing with,” I croak, and the vial pauses mid-air beside us.
“Doing this . . . to protect . . .”
“I want to protect him too.”
Quin shuts his eyes, frosted lashes meeting icy skin.
“If he is hurt in the palace,” I whisper, “how many would seriously treat his wounds? I will do anything to make sure he lives.”
His cold thighs numb my own. If I don’t work fast, I will need to use the default cure.
I need to get warmth to his core. Without magic. Fast.
I stare at him, and—
I press my fingers against two more acupoints as he instinctively palms his chest, higher up. “This will confine your energy and keep your vital organs warm.”
His dark eyes hit mine like he wants to bellow his outrage. Only the ice weaving patterns over his skin is stopping him. I call the spell to my fingertips—
It stutters, and snaps.
My meridians are blocked.
He’s momentarily smug as he takes the vial. I snatch for it, but Quin expends the last of his energy to keep it from me.
“Please,” I beg him.
His words are mostly clouds between us. “Ending things . . . with Nicostratus . . . is best.”
“I care about him.”
“If you care . . . stop.”
“Is that how you deal with your problems? By running away? Hiding?”
He uncorks the vial.
“Don’t force this.”
He lifts it to his quivering lips.
“He has my first kiss!”
Something sad lurks in Quin’s eye, like a part of him regrets doing this. He looks at me over the vial. “Doesn’t mean . . . he’ll have your last.”
“Stop.”
He hesitates.
“Nicostratus is only one reason I need to get into the palace. He’s not even . . . not even the main reason.”
Icy patterns fall down his cheeks as his trapped magic warms him up.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “They need to see there is hope. One day more par-linea will be able to do this.”
Quin’s fingers tighten around the vial.
My voice plummets to a whisper. “If I can show we are equally capable, if there is any chance to change stubborn minds . . .”
“At the cost of your life?”
“Should only the king live to serve the people?”
He swallows, and I reach for the vial, slide my fingers over it—
Dark eyes hold mine, filled with shadows of warning and something softer, fleeting and fragile. “Do you understand the risk you’d be taking?”
I look him squarely back. “I do.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “I won’t always be able to help you.”
“That’s not your responsibility.”
He releases his grip and I soften my tone, grinning as I snap the vial to me. “Nicostratus can teach me how to fight. Self-defence. Hopefully it’ll give me more control in other areas.” I murmur under my breath, “Maybe then I won’t break any more of your vases.”
“You broke—” Quin lets out a long cloudy breath, and it trips him into a violent cough.
Poison has reached his lungs. I leap off his lap and rummage through herbs and shards of glass, plucking up murtleberry leaves and dandelion stalk. Combined, hopefully they will mirror the nutrients from snowy silkworm excretion.
I grind it into a paste, divide into two bowls, add water to one, and tip it to Quin’s grimacing mouth. He glares at me as he gulps. “This is your bedside manner?”
“Unique to you.” I set the emptied bowl down and pick up the thicker paste. “Your wound. Strip.”
I fluff his shirt to emphasise, and dark wood peeks out from his collar. I stare at the familiar grain of the flutette I carved. Quin palms his chest over it. The same move as when I’d triggered his acupoints. This is what he wanted to keep me from seeing? My gift, strung on cord around his neck?
I raise my eyes to his blankly schooled face.
“It’s practical,” he mutters, shifting his gaze away.
I frown—
Bells chime outside the shed, and the door is swung open. “Hands down. Examination time over.”
I set the unused paste on the bench and wait under tight scrutiny until the judges—Skriniaris Evander and Vitalian Horus—finish assessing the nine other candidates and head towards me, heads bowed in hushed conversation.
“Remember, Evander, I’m the palace-appointed judge. Keep your opinions to yourself. You’re only here to ensure my decisions are just.”