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)
I turn my head towards the other boat, far in front, approaching the city wall. You were ahead of them.
My mention of this island brought him out here tonight; brought him this pain. I swallow a guilty tendril; it takes me three uneven breaths before I can speak. “Are we following to stop them?”
A contemplative nod.
I whisper, “Will sentinian spells be involved?” My stomach clenches. “I’m better left behind.”
“I need you to do the legwork.”
Legwork?
“They’ll disembark at some point,” he says. “Follow and look for evidence implicating my uncle—letters, documents.”
I blink at him. “I’m a scholar.”
“Who, I maintain, is fearless,” Quin says with a familiar chastising glance.
“What if they catch me?”
“Use your shield, like you almost did against me earlier.”
I lean toward him, surprised. “It was really that strong?”
He doesn’t look at me, but his jaw twitches. His hands tighten on the oars, and the silence feels sharper than the cold breeze. I pull back, not entirely at ease. “What if I can’t do that again?”
“Channel your feelings,” he bites out.
We row to the stone wall surrounding the royal city. I gaze quizzically at Quin as he thrusts his hands toward three key stones. The wall shifts, revealing itself to be a hidden gate.
The boat glides past the cold stone into a darker, forested area. The air grows heavier under the canopy of tall, thick trees. These trees are familiar. Too familiar.
My stomach tightens, and I dig my fingers into the edge of the boat. This is the royal belt, where I often went to look for . . .
I clamp my teeth together and shove away the memories. Not now. Not here.
Quin rows in silence, but I feel his gaze flicker toward me.
It’s also the place where the high duke’s redcloaks tried to kill Nicostratus. That memory, at least, doesn’t make my chest ache. Strange, the things I’d rather remember . . .
I curl into my cloak with a guilty shiver. “Feelings, feelings,” I croak, heart throbbing, the words barely louder than the creak of the oars.
Quin glances at me, his expression unreadable. He puts more weight into his rowing, and I almost lose my oar. I frown at him.
He doesn’t look at me. “The canal forks ahead, we can’t lose them.”
Not much later we reach a tidy neighbourhood on the fringe of the inner capital. Large stone-walled manors with modest households line the canal, separated from it by a wide lane and sprawling oak trees that cast long shadows in the moonlight. The boat ahead docks at a small jetty, and we squeeze ours into a nook, long grasses curtaining us from view.
At Quin’s command, I don my hood and scrabble up the dewy bank. Wind shifts through the grass and the trees overhead. I glance back to an empty boat. What’s he doing?
I skirt the shadowy stone walls with nervous steps and pray to the heavens I’m not seen—
“Shush, something’s there.” Only a dozen yards away, a redcloak spins in my direction.
I melt back into the wall, breath held tight.
The men stride closer—
Something skedaddles past their legs and one hits the back of the other. “It’s a cat, you fool.”
They turn while I try to recapture my gut that’s long dropped into the earth. Fearless my foot.
From somewhere above, I feel Quin’s penetrating eyes on me, silently demanding I keep moving. I glare into the night and edge along the wall.
“This is the place.”
They leap onto the wall and drop out of sight; I grit my teeth and curse Quin silently as I clamber up and belly-slide over, then tumble into a bush.
“What’s that?”
“How did you become a guard if you’re this easily spooked?”
“I heard—”
“It’s that damn cat. His chambers are west of the main building. We’ll search the rest of the house once we’ve dealt with him.”
I have to search the house for documents while these men commit murder? My stomach roils. I should be saving lives, not letting someone die, but . . . I have no fighting skills. Quin’s doing heaven knows what else. There’s nothing I can do against sentinian magic except cast a volatile shield—
Or . . .
I slip through shadows, climb through a window left partially open, and grab the first scrolls I find. Never mind if they’re incriminating or not.
I rush through the cold, quiet manor, fling open the door and run towards the west. My heart hammers, my footsteps make heavy clomping sounds against the earth, my fingers choke the paper in my hand. I trip over a prone body in the grass, surrounded by wine jars. The man shifts only to snore sharply.
A life is on the line. I scramble to my feet and spy the redcloaks ahead, closing in on a semi-detached cottage. My ears ring from my rapid pulse.
This can be considered a ward. Preventing death. Grandfather would’ve approved.