Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I watch her leave. Perplexed, I swivel on my heel toward Quin’s still-thriving stall and wait in line. I frown over how we could possibly steal those herbs without the consequences landing on us, or the already beleaguered residents of this place, while the line shuffles forward by slow degrees. The solution doesn’t magically reveal itself though, and at Quin’s “next” I push those thoughts momentarily aside.
I sling myself onto the stool in front of him, and the moment I rest my hands on the table, Quin pauses. He doesn’t lift his head; his hood casts the top half of his face in shadow.
“Work, family, or relationships?” he asks.
Readings, Quin? Really?
He repeats his question.
Fine, I’ll play along. “Relationships.”
“Friends, colleagues, or romantic interests?”
“I can only choose one?”
“As many as you please. A copper coin for each.”
Unbelievable. “Friends.”
He pauses, and I clear my throat, cheeks flushing. I blurt, “What’s next?”
“What would you like to know?”
“I’d like to know what a certain one is thinking!”
He picks up the dice and sets them into my hand. “Roll.”
I pinch them between my fingers as I shake my head, and drop them. Quin peers at the markings, humming. “I see.”
I almost laugh. “I bet you do.”
“A six, positioned north.” I scoff, and he continues, “Your friend is surrounded in golden aura.”
“Yes, yes he is. He’s just bathing in it. Though it’s less gold than . . . the colour of bile.”
He coughs. “He means to help with your current predicament.”
I unwrap the silver ribbon from my wrist and dangle it before him. “Yet he doesn’t want customers to come to me.”
“He doesn’t want anyone to come to you.”
“What about money?”
“What about your safety?”
Through a teeth-gritting smile, I ask, “Any advice on making him less overbearing?”
“He does like a good massage.”
“I’ll get my hands on him, all right.”
Quin coughs again; I wave at the line to back up a bit, and lean over the table, whispering, “What are you doing?”
“Using my vast cultural awareness and knowledge of history to our advantage. The folk along the river Chrysos are deeply superstitious. I borrowed a ginger cat, strategically let it run past some folk . . . and suddenly there’s high demand for fortune reading.”
“You’re scamming your people?”
“For each query, I give good, practical advice.”
“Return their money.”
“Then we’ll have nothing.”
“We’ll have our conscience.”
Quin grumbles, but he stoically obliges me and returns to the townsfolk their hard-earned copper coins. “The means by which I engaged your business is, I admit, creative—” at my look, he amends. “Questionable. However, the advice I gave each of you is honest and helpful.”
They demand more than a refund though. The crowd is restless and angry and . . . I understand them. This is another example of the many injustices they have been suffering. They’re upset and desperate, and they’re craving change. Actions held accountable.
I raise my hands and project my voice. “You’re right. He shall face the consequences.”
Quin lifts his head, enough that I make out his shadowed eyes and the sudden suspicion in them.
“Bend over the table.”
His biting gaze sends a jolt through me, but it’s not enough to overshadow the twisting stomach I have from witnessing the pillaging of these people’s farms. This may seem outrageous to him, but it’s not. Not to these people. And if Quin took a moment, he’d accept that too. He was the one who declared, at my local luminarium, that if necessary even the king should be caned before his people.
Some grim-faced farmers grab an arm each and push him over the table. When he’s in position, and none too happy about it, I take his cane, raise it sombrely for the townspeople to see, and bring it down on the king’s rump. Again, and again.
Between thwumping hits, Quin growls at me that he won’t forget this.
I’m not sure I will either.
When I reach the count of ten, I release my grip on the cane and it drops with a clatter to the table. Folk leave, silent but satisfied, while I’m left with a gloriously haughty face eyeing me sharply. I help him up, an arm slung around his waist. “I spelled pain relief at the same time.”
“That is not the point. My people have seen me—”
“—taking responsibility for your actions?”
He absorbs that and my piercing stare. “I expected you to be smirking.”
I wrench my gaze away—
He grabs my chin and his thumb is a ghostly touch over my deepening frown. “What’s wrong?”
I tell him about the confiscation of herbs, and he comes with me to meet with Olyn.
On the way to the dispensary, I ask, “Don’t you have a network? Could it help us?”
“It’s not big enough to have someone in every town. Last time, I made prior arrangements to meet.” He grimaces. “My nearest supporters are in Hinsard.”
So we are on our own, with someone whose magic is blocked.