Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“Only one,” he says, his voice soft but heavy. I hiccup again. “Like you, since I was young.”
I close my eyes on Quin and the trees, and hum. “Good for you. I wish you a long, happy life together.”
I drift off to Quin’s raw laugh . . .
Afternoon is filtering through the pear branches when I blink myself awake. Quin’s cloak is draped over me, warm as sun-soaked grass. I brush off fallen pear blossoms and scan around, but he’s gone. The teapot with our intoxicating tea lies empty on its side. I sit it upright with a grimace; pearl heart thorn-tea is more potent than I thought. So much for sharpening the mind!
I rub at the slight pounding in my head. My magic stutters, not on top form after the indulgence. Neither was I on top form while we were drinking. I blabbered my way into a temporary coma. I’m not sure how much I told Quin.
I shake off my scowl. The last impression I have is Quin turning a saddened face away . . . Or perhaps it’d been a tired face.
Grimacing, I stand and shake off more petals, Quin’s cloak hanging over my arm. I should return this, then it’s back to the apothecary to refill my chest with medicinal herbs. My half-day off is over.
Red flashes and I turn. A redcloak, marching through the trees, hard eyes swinging to me. “Make way.”
More redcloaks line the path leading to the king’s house, still more are planting themselves between the pear trees. My insides swoop up to the base of my neck. Which way is he coming from?
I retreat hastily; a bathhouse, it’s right there, and the door is ajar—I slink inside and the steam instantly engulfs me. I’ll hide here until the royal presence has passed.
This bathhouse is much, much fancier than the one in the scholar’s quarters. An elegant, timbered room sheltering a waist-deep pool. Natural light streams in from glazed panels in the roof, making the swirls of steam sparkle.
Mustn’t be seen. I sidle down the side of the pool, further from the windows. Movement under the water catches me by surprise; I almost knock a large basin of fragrant rose petals into the bath. I grab the bowl and settle it, then almost topple it again when Quin’s upper half lurches out of the pool in a spray of water. He halts abruptly at the sight of me, and I clasp a hand against my pounding chest. “Oh, thank heavens. It’s you. I thought I’d stumbled upon someone important.”
Quin sinks into the water, as though shielding himself from my gaze. His eyes remain fixed on mine, calm but assessing as his flutette submerges. “What are you doing here?”
“Hiding. I mean,”—I raise my arm with his cloak draped over it—“returning this. I’ll just . . .” I pause, glancing around at the swirling steam. “Midday baths. Lavish.”
The flicker of his smirk makes me wonder if he caught the slight tremor in my voice. “I have an important meeting. I stank of that tea.”
Oops. I chuckle and divert my gaze from the pool.
“Who are you hiding from?” Quin asks.
I glance towards voices outside the doors.
Wait.
Could that important meeting be— Could the king stride in here to talk with Quin?
A sharper sound of footsteps at the entrance. I dart my gaze around the room, panicked. There’s no back door. No way out. No place to—
I eye the rose petals. The water. Quin, naked in its depths. Surely the king wouldn’t bathe with his subordinate?
The door starts to slide open.
“Cael,” Quin says. “I asked—”
No time for chitchat. I tip the heavy bowl and petals spill over the surface of the water.
“What are you—”
“Just . . . play along.” I abandon his cloak and slip into the water. “Forgive me.” I haul a deep breath and sink under the blanket of petals.
The water is warm and murky, but not so murky that I can’t make out Quin’s form mere feet away. I grab his good leg and hold tight, anchoring myself. His fingers tangle in my hair as it drifts upwards in the water; he clamps it against my head. Tightly. Like an admonishment.
I wince, the sting sharp but grounding, and my chest flutters with an unsettling need to laugh. I curse myself and slam my eyes shut not to see more than I already have.
Quin’s presence looms around me, every shift in the water quaking over me, and I bite my lip.
How long will I have to hold my breath? Could he do that bubble magic on me? So I could stay under here as long as possible? I tap his thigh, hoping he’ll get the point. His fingers scrunch up my hair. Alright, alright. I can hold on half a minute more . . .
I think.
I bash my hand against his thigh and sneak it up his stomach. The flutette. That might—