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 push myself upright, my arms trembling.
“I won’t let it aboard this ship,” he murmurs. “No matter how many tricks you have, you won’t beat this.”
I shudder. He’s right.
My grandfather died trying to create wards against it—his most important work, for the most dangerous disease. But Lumin wouldn’t allow it, too afraid of what it might do. Too afraid of worsening the spread.
Iskaldir is also afraid.
The plague is the most devastating sickness to have ever ravaged the kingdoms. It terrifies me most as a healer. That it will come at all. That if it does, I won’t be able to cure it.
For an ugly second, I understand why the redcloaks imprisoned Kastoria during its outbreak.
For an uglier second, I accept the flames.
There’s a tautness in the air at breakfast. Men scrutinise their comrades’ faces, laughing weakly when suspicious gazes connect.
There’s an almost collective sigh of relief when it’s clear no one here is showing symptoms. Shoulders drop, conversation eases.
At the table behind me, a Skeldar shivers in the chilly air. “Snowing early this year.”
“Shaman predicted a cold so brutal, not only Iskaldir will see an early ice-over, but half of Lumin too.”
I grip my spoon hard.
Quin had hoped to make it into the mountains and back to the capital before winter. An early cold means . . . He’ll be stuck on Mount Lysippos for months. Travelling would be too dangerous. Using magic to clear a path would drain him and Nicostratus too quickly. Even with a dozen linea clearing the way, it would be agonisingly slow. And worse: far too conspicuous.
The regent’s men are set on killing him, after all.
No, the royal brothers have to arrive stealthily, with the surviving witnesses. But being stuck on a mountain would make it easier to corner him. They’d only need to set traps at the base and wait for spring . . .
“Has that spoon offended you in some way?” Megaera slips onto the bench beside me, elegantly kicks her foot into Lykos’s shins across from us, and smiles daintily.
Lykos grunts, then smirks. “Surrounded by Skeldars, and you’re the one to fear most.”
The smirk turns into a laugh.
I adjust my grip on the spoon, trying to push thoughts of Quin aside. He doesn’t want me interfering in his life. There’s nothing I can do from here anyway.
I shove my untouched porridge away, prop my elbows on the table, and sink my pounding head into my palms.
“Cael, are you—” Megaera cuts off.
All chatter stops.
I raise my head to see the captain making a tight-lipped appearance.
Megaera and Lykos also lose interest in their food. Last night, I told them about the burning ship.
The captain holds up a tiny scroll of paper. “They’ve sent scout boats. They’ll arrive within the hour.”
He turns sharply on his heel and held breaths release around me. We’ll be fine. We’ve pretty much made it—
An urgent screech echoes through the bowels of the ship.
Dozens of spoons clatter into bowls, and Skeldars leap to their feet, shouting to grab weapons, as the man I’d paralysed stumbles in.
His limbs are trembling, and so is his voice.
My stomach tightens.
“Kjartan—captain—it’s Hakon. He’s . . . he’s sick. He’s got . . .”
I slam my eyes shut, drawing a quiet breath as panic erupts around me. Megaera slides closer, her body strung taut.
Lykos lurches to his feet and bolts from the room, calling for Zenon.
Kjartan blows on his fingers, releasing a sharp whistle that commands immediate attention. If he’s afraid, he hides it well. The elegant lines of his face tighten with responsibility, sharp control. He speaks, and no one dares challenge him.
“Sit. Down.”
They sit.
He addresses the bearer of the bad news. “Rurik. Details. Now.”
“We were on night watch. Nothing happened. Around dawn, we played a little by the brig, to stay awake.” A guilty look.
“Continue.”
“At first, I thought he was flushed with drink; we fell asleep. When I woke just now, he . . . he . . .”
The captain grabs him by the hood of his cloak. “By Hrafnar’s beak, spit it out.”
“He’s still sleeping. But his face. It’s covered in boils.”
Rurik’s frightened eyes latch onto me.
I rise slowly, hiding any signs of concern. I’m the one they’re looking to; their hope. My reactions control their panic. “I’ll see him. Rurik, you’ve been in contact with him. Quarantine yourself. No one but me goes near them.”
Megaera clutches my arm, her eyes warning me.
Stay steady. Stay strong. “Keep them calm. Get everyone to cover their nose and mouth.”
I stop by my cabin, pull out a kerchief, and tie it around my face, my shaky fingers fumbling. I gather all my rare herbs and Grandfather’s books, then head to my patient.
The captain is waiting outside the brig.
“Wear a face covering,” I tell him.
“I must show my men I’m not afraid. I’m willing to go down with them.”