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)
I sink my head. He’s here to retrieve her body for burial. Of course his reasoning will be affected today; forcing him to believe in my innocence would be fruitless. Selfish. “May she rest in peace,” I murmur.
He shakes the bars and the lock rattles. “Why did you do it? Were you in on it with them?” He jerks his finger towards the goatee, the crooked nose, the frowner. “Were you all under orders from—”
He stops speaking abruptly.
“From whom?” I ask, frowning.
His jaw twitches. “She should be having a grand funeral. All her friends and neighbours, sending her off into the heavens. Instead, she’ll only get me.” He sneers. “Did he invite all the refugees to a stupid drakopagon to spite us?”
Tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I throw out my suspicion. “The commander?”
His anger is swirling now, his hands keep shaking the bars. He shouts, “My nannan didn’t deserve to die. His father did.”
His father did.
The commander grew up at the border. The townspeople took care of me growing up, it’s only right I repay them.
How exactly did they take care of him? What did repaying them mean?
A shiver races down my spine. Is this the motivation for poisoning the refugees? “Your nannan killed his father?”
He doesn’t seem to be hearing me. “Why her?” He sags against the bars, sobbing. “The whole town was in on it.”
“The whole town . . . did you tell this to the constables?”
“I shouldn’t have said, shouldn’t have said. Promised Nannan . . .” He rips himself away from the bars with a snarl and leaves with a promise we’ll all pay.
The hairs at the back of my neck are still standing. A shivery sense of foreboding tightens my gut.
If the commander did poison their town, why invite the refugees to the drakopagon?
Unless . . . I suck in a sharp breath. Could they be part of a big show of revenge? A town witnessed his father die, now others should witness the town dying?
The more I think about it, the more nauseous I become. We’ve been wondering how long they have. A big event like this . . . “They’ll die today.”
Goatee, Crooked Nose, and Frowner jerk their heads to me, and I shove to my feet. “I have to warn them.” Vitalians need to get to the drakopagon with the best hope of an antidote they have.
I yell for a constable, and one marches over with a growl. “Quiet. Should be at the game, not babysitting you lot.”
I tell him he needs to send vitalians to the drakopagon; needs to tell the constables the refugees are in trouble.
The constable hears my fervent pleas as a threat and turns his back, muttering. Goatee, Crooked Nose, and Frowner stare grim faced into the courtyard as he leaves. “If we could break you out, we would.”
I turn slowly, Goatee’s words forming an idea. “When do they open the cell?”
“When they put someone in, or take someone out.”
“Take someone out?”
“To be executed or—”
“Or?” I ask hopefully.
“If they’re already dead.”
I grimace and plant hands on my hips. No time to waste. The game must be starting soon. “Looks like I have to die again.”
Frowner’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and I explain. Ten minutes later, Crooked Nose hits my acupoints, immobilising me prone on the floor. My whole body is stiff and, to anyone not knowledgeable in healing and the body, I look the part.
Goatee and Frowner shout for help and make a great scene to the constable that I suddenly keeled over, clutching my chest.
“He died just like that?”
“See for yourself.”
The constable kicks my legs and curses. “You two, carry him out to the courtyard. No funny business.” I’m lifted and trundled to the courtyard where, subtly, Frowner hits my acupoints again as a sheet is laid over me. “Back into the cell.”
Footsteps retreat and I hear the jangle and snick as Quin’s men are locked back inside.
“What will you do with him?” Crooked Nose asks.
“You can watch as I burn him.”
I stiffen.
Goatee speaks, keeping his voice steady. “Constable Michealios won’t like that—if you burn him without officially recording the cause of death. If I were you, I’d get the coroner.”
“What would you know?”
“Up to you.”
The constable grunts, but he stomps off, footsteps clacking angrily against stone.
Goatee calls out quietly when the clacking has receded. “Be quick.”
I throw the sheet off, bow my thanks, and run.
I’m bolting across the road towards the cover of trees when I plunge into the person I’ve most dreaded plunging into, and known it’s inevitable I would. Quin’s standing at the roadside with a squeezing grip on his cane and a displeased frown. His lips are flattened and his eyes are narrowed on me.
My heart jumps in fright and I stumble to a halt. He stares at me, his jaw flexing in the manner of a man gritting his teeth. I don’t quite understand. I’m the one who should feel the weight of emotions seeing him, knowing I’ll have to force myself to leave again. For all he knows, I left for only a moment.