Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“. . . send him south to the others soon,” the commander says.
Their conversation unfolds, revealing the precarious state at two of the kingdom’s borders, west and south. West is stable for now, but perhaps the greater threat, while the south has been thrown into disarray since the regent withdrew troops. “Territories are vulnerable to our foes. My additional ten thousand have helped keep up the appearance of strength, but it’s a façade. Lives hang in the balance.”
“How long can the units hold out?” Eparchess Juliana asks, her concern palpable.
The door snips behind me as the woman, Sparkles, enters the room carrying food. She passes me with a glint in her eye.
“Who’s there?” the commander demands, entering the main room with Eparchess Juliana on his heels.
I straighten the wine and set down the cups, and Sparkles announces their food. “Leave it and go,” the commander says.
“Should we not perform for you?” Sparkles asks with a lift of her eyebrow my way.
Is this her way of exacting payment? To witness me making a fool of myself? Or . . .
Thalassios looks like he’s about to bark for us to leave again, but a redcloak enters with a message for his commander. “Sir, there’s someone downstairs wishing to speak to you.” He steps up and speaks quietly at his ear.
The commander grimaces, and glances at Eparchess Juliana. She nods. “I’ll leave you to him.”
When I try to follow after her, he tells me to stay. One of us is to play the harp, the other to dance. “Make sure he’s entertained. Fully entertained.”
I stifle a frustrated sigh when the door shuts behind Juliana. I’ve discovered little about her, have no clue why she keeps showing up.
Sparkles quickly jumps behind the harp, leaving me to dance. I swallow tightly. At least I’m not behind the instrument. I eye the lazily watching commander. Perhaps I’ll learn something useful yet.
Music tinkers around the room, and I thank Akilah for her insistence on making me learn traditional dances. She, of course, got me to do it for laughs—but those laughs are saving me.
I’m mid-spin when ‘Constable Soterios’ enters. I hurriedly regain my footing and fling my arms elegantly in time to the music, battling a galloping heart. He’s here? Now?
The commander urges Quin to sit, take some wine, and it’s during their first toast that Quin scans the room. His eyes flow over me and snap back. His hand jerks, spilling wine across his knuckles. For a heartbeat, his gaze locks on mine, unreadable. Then he rips his eyes away, masking his thoughts with a laugh. “Excuse my clumsiness,” he says, lifting his glass. “I wasn’t expecting such . . . unique performers tonight.”
Outwardly, I’m a series of delicate steps to quickening music, hips sashaying, hands twirling in the air. Inwardly, I’m groaning at Quin’s untimely appearance.
“What brings you here?” the commander asks.
“I understand you donated oats to the incoming refugees yesterday.”
“You’re here about the food poisoning.”
“Someone died.”
“You suspect foul play.”
“We must rule out all the possibilities.”
“The oats I delivered were purchased from a grocer in town. The seal was intact when I delivered them.”
“You delivered them personally.”
“I should think that makes it less likely I’d tamper with them.”
Quin eyes him. Waits.
“Ah, you’re after my motivation for donating. I wanted to help. I plan to help more.”
“You’re from the border.”
A slow, acknowledging smile. “How do you know?”
“You drag your vowels slightly. I made a guess.”
“The accent leaks through from time to time. You’re right. I grew up in Lyrica.”
“Are your family amongst those—”
“I’m the only one left in my family. The townspeople took care of me growing up; it’s only right I repay them.”
Quin hums and, while I dance, continues conversing. His mouth addresses the commander, but his eyes are solidly on my performance. Something which the commander notices. He toasts Quin again, and orders another dance. “You, come closer. Let my guest admire you fully.”
I wince behind my silk scarf and flutter towards Quin, whose lips twitch knowingly. I dance again, this time close enough that I touch his chest—with warning force—and knock his constable hat over his grinning face.
Quin neither budges nor flinches. Instead, his smile widens, he straightens his hat, and after another twirl, he yanks me into his lap with firm steering hands, eliciting a laugh from the commander. “Excellent, excellent. Pretty eyes, that one.”
“Full of hidden talents,” Quin agrees.
I purse my lips.
The commander rises. “Excuse me one moment, I’ll be right back. Keep playing,” he orders the harpist.
Quin’s hands tighten on me, stopping me from pulling away. His breath combs my ear. “Laugh,” he says. “There are eyes in the room.”
I feign a giggle, though my chest lurches with . . . frustration. Quin’s grip softens, but his fingers linger around my hips. I pinch the sensitive area of his chest as hard as I can, and he jerks slightly under me—but that only results in him laughing and drawing me in tighter. He whispers, “Being interested in the entertainment keeps the commander at ease.”