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)
Nicostratus plucks a fried mushroom from the platter, his grin widening as he pops it into his mouth. I toy with a baked potato, my gaze fixed on him, silently pressing for an explanation.
“Akilah has been especially helpful,” he says after a teasing wait. I smile softly; he reaches over and clasps a steady hand over mine. “She misses you too.”
I flip my hand under his and slide our fingers together. He swallows hard, and I squeeze gently, aware of his poor wrists. “You’re also adjusting to life here. How are you managing?”
“My brother is protecting me. He has me training cavalry, under our uncle’s watchful eye. My every move is transparent. That’s why I’m still here.”
I look down at his wrists. “Is this protecting you?”
“You have to understand, the royal city is . . . complicated. Ruthless.”
“I’ve seen.”
His gaze darkens.
“Why doesn’t your brother do more?” I say bitterly.
“For years, Constantinos has downplayed his abilities, quietly solidifying his position. For now, he must let our uncle believe he holds complete control of the military.”
“People are dying in those water wyvern attacks.”
“Trust me, he knows that. But the moment he commands the redcloaks to act against our uncle’s orders, Uncle will know who to purge from the army.”
I glance at the soil I toiled in today. The weeds I removed take on the faces of loyal men. I shiver.
“He must be feeding them his blood,” Nicostratus says, “keeping them under his control and timing their attacks for when Constantinos isn’t around to stop them himself. Undermining the king’s power for all to see. Then conveniently stepping in to save the day.”
My stomach twists sharply. “He’s behind the killing and the saving.”
Nicostratus nods sombrely.
I frown. “When will the king have the strength to face him?”
A sigh. “I don’t know. My brother is . . . sentimental.”
“What do you mean?”
He closes his eyes. “Our uncle poisoned Constantinos’s mother. She only survives by taking the antidote he provides every month. Leverage.”
“Can’t the vitalians help?” I ask tentatively.
“The antidote runs through the duke’s blood. If she stops taking it, she’ll die within months.”
A loud snap to my right has me whipping my head towards the house—the trellis has torn free of the stone. Another crack has it dropping a few more feet and dangling precariously. I lurch to my feet. “No-no-no. The pearl heart!”
Nicostratus springs up to catch the trellis and a tinny metallic smell fills the air as he uses magic to meld it back to the house. I run around under him catching stray timber before it plummets onto the most exhausting plant in history.
A few minutes later, he’s hauling me out of the flower bed.
He lifts my arm and blows over the scratches there. “Why are you camped out here, anyway?”
I stare grimly at him. “I’m afraid your brother and I have not started off on the best note.”
Nicostratus blinks at me and then the pearl hearts. He laughs. “I’ll tell him about your heroic acts saving the royal feline. I’m sure he’ll go easier on you.”
He’s already settling his hood back over his head. “When will I see you again?” I ask.
He captures my gaze. “I’ll do my best to make it soon. Until then,” he says with a light laugh, and ruffles my locks, “do your best to win my brother over.”
I look at the pearl heart with determination.
“The king requests the thorns be removed.”
We’re at our daily spot in the garden, me on my tired knees while the gold-sashed liaison tells me things I don’t want to hear.
“Can I change my mind?” I ask. Beg. “I want the caning.”
Laughter hits my back and I swivel on my knees. The liaison inclines his head and leaves, and I slump onto my haunches. Quin settles a hand atop my head.
I look up at him with dawning understanding. “The king . . . he’s . . .” I point at him, exhilarated, in complete disbelief.
Quin’s hand slips off me and he nods. “You’re correct—”
I get to my feet, shaking my head. “He must have overheard me talking with Nicostratus.”
Quin stares at me blankly and abruptly walks away.
“Unadulterated cheek.” I’m laughing, but it’s not easy laughter.
I shake a wild, frustrated hand towards the king’s chambers, and begin the arduous task of plucking the thorns off each thigh-high pearl heart bush.
How can I possibly laugh?
I pluck faster. Scratch the tips of my fingers. After I’m done, I find an akla to bring me a large teapot of hot water, and squeeze the syrup out of each thorn. I carry this brew with me around the gardens looking for a quiet spot to reflect on the turbulent punches of laughter that keep erupting from me. I spot Quin headed for the bathhouse, and the sudden need for his harsh criticism overcomes me.
“Quin.” I catch up to him under the shade of pear trees.