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)
“Sorry!” they cry.
Makarios says, “We were detained. But we checked the body like you asked.”
Mikros nods. “There’s a burn mark on the victim’s tongue, as you suspected.”
“Thanks,” I say, and pretend to jot down a note. “I want to review everything I have, read through these books again.”
Florentius glances at me and looks away. “With your skill, getting out of here in a few days would be considered miraculous.”
I think . . . I think there might be some praise in there.
“Hey,” Makarios says, clapping Florentius’s shoulder. He catches the sharp look that follows and quickly dusts at his robe instead. “A little more faith in our par-linea friend.”
“Indeed,” Mikros adds. “He has us.”
It’s quiet when they leave. Too quiet. Everywhere I look in my tight confines, I see Quin and his near-constant grimace. I still don’t know whether to commend him for trudging painfully up these stairs to be by my side in Nicostratus’s stead, or to condemn him for not being beside his brother, protecting him from abuse. He has to put on this show of weakness, vulnerability. Quin is too accustomed to putting on shows. He did it out of the royal city. He did it in front of his uncle. He expects his brother to do it too. Will there ever be a time he can simply be himself?
I close my eyes on whatever that future is supposed to look like and focus on now. Is Nicostratus training? Or resting? Or is he, perhaps, being bullied?
Three anxious evenings later, in the presence of Chiron, I recreate the cure-key and step out of the Crucible. “Five days,” Chiron says in disbelief. He frowns. “You must have had help.”
“Definitely,” I confirm, and race the last steps to freedom. Swiftly and sneakily, I follow night shadows to the barracks and slink around the outer walls to the old, overgrown dog hole. I crawl through it.
The moon hangs low in an inky sky, casting gentle light over the barracks and training grounds. I pull up the hood of my dark cloak and merge into the shadows, waiting for the change of guard.
The door creaks as I slip into a dimly lit room, heavy with the scent of sweat and woodsmoke; Nicostratus’s keen soldier senses have him springing from his straw-stuffed mattress, a silver shield unfurling between us. He’s still in armour, as if anything might happen at any moment and he has to be ready. It has my stomach knotting.
His shield dissipates when he recognises me. He strides over, clasping my arms. He checks me up and down, looks again. When he’s sure I’m in one piece, he shakes me. “Never throw yourself in front of wyverns like that again.”
I chuckle and he stops his shaking to rub his hands up and down my arms. “What are you doing here?”
“You let yourself get poisoned for me,” I whisper, sliding my fingers up his bruised wrist and feeling for his pulse. I send a gentle spell through his veins, sniffing as I feel all the parts in him that ache, that suffer. He’s been beaten, whipped. “I would’ve come sooner—”
He jerks me into an embrace. “I’m well. Truly.” He sighs into my hair. “I wish I could keep you here, but—”
At a horn blowing in the distance, he grimaces and shakes his head. “Curfew.”
He takes my hand and after he’s sure the coast is clear, he pulls me outside. “Our meetings are always so fleeting,” he murmurs.
I lift his hand and, sure we’re alone, brush a kiss on his wristband. “For while we wait.”
I crawl through the wall and just have my legs under me when a barking shout has me lurching to my feet, heart ramming. I yank my gaze around the shadowy field, expecting redcloaks to be charging towards me. There’s no one.
At least, not on this side. I suck in a sharp breath and crouch, shoulder pressed against the stone, to peer back through.
“. . . past curfew.”
A timid voice, “B-but he’s—”
A snarl. “He’s nothing in these quarters but at our mercy.”
My hands ball into fists. I want to do something—slide under the wall and confront them, force them to back off. Steal him away.
But my presence will only make this worse.
The timid one shuts up, and with nothing more than a tight expression, Nicostratus lets himself be led away.
What was I thinking, coming here?
I race through shadows to the canal, bypassing the scholar’s precinct and heading directly for King’s Island. Guards prevent my entry, so I drop to my knees and call for Quin to come out.
He does, with the aid of a cane, in elegant sleepwear and an unimpressed scowl. He waves a hand to dismiss the guards and stares down at me. “Anyone who dares disturb me at this time would be kneeling the rest of the night.”