Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
I inspect the capsule in my hand. Indeed, there is a mark on it, however . . . I roll the gel-like material in my hand, and sniff my fingers. Frowning, I burst the capsule. Magic fumes out; I inhale deeply, easily recognising the scents of a dozen plants.
Olyn is frowning, but when she tries to speak, he cuts her off and incites the crowd to hold her while he finds a constable. The injustice of it burns under my skin, and before I’ve realised it, I’ve stepped between Sneerer and Olyn. I address the crowd. “Don’t be fooled by this seller’s nonsense.”
“Get away, this is none of your business.”
I take one of the capsules from Olyn’s palm. “These capsules are nothing but simple rejuvenating spells.”
“You’re in one of their masks. A crude healer. What would you know about vitalian spells?”
This is met with a rush of angry whispers. I take in their pinched faces and pointing fingers and step closer, holding up another of the capsules. “You, take this to the apothecary there and have him write down all the ingredients that make up this spell.”
Sneerer pales. “You have no right—”
“Afraid of the result? If so, apologise for your deception now.”
“Take it! Let’s see if you recognise even one ingredient.”
An age-weathered grocer takes the capsule and rushes into the apothecary I was in moments ago. He returns with a folded piece of paper.
I gesture to it. “I can name everything on that list.”
The crowd scoffs and laughs as they egg me on. Let him make a fool of himself now. Maybe he’ll go home.
“Arcanaberry, vitamindra, luminaria, aetherpetal, auroraroot, silverbell, aquilafolia.”
The grocer holding the list darts his eyes over it, wide eyed. He nods, over and over.
“There’s something else,” I say as he parts his lips to tell me there’s one I haven’t said.
“Small traces of bloodmoon vine.”
The grocer gives the curious crowd an astonished nod.
There’s quiet as they exchange looks with their neighbours. Disbelief. Uncertainty. Reluctant acceptance. Murmurings.
I continue, “These spells may awaken the drunk but they certainly won’t bring you back from the brink of death.”
Sneerer, pale faced at the truth, sneers harder. “Even if they do only rejuvenate, they’re still made by the infamous Sacran Kyrillos!”
“This cannot be so.”
“You—”
“Leaving a signature on a spell requires much skill indeed—quite fiddly to do during the capsulisation process . . . So I hear,” I add.
“Indeed! Even a Skeldar admits this!”
“But this is not that skill. This is the skill of a forger. Touch the capsules for yourself, rub over the signature—look how the gold bleeds onto your fingers. These marks have been added after the capsulisation process.”
“So? Perhaps Sacran Kyrillos chose to do it this way.”
“This gold oil contains geldiroot sap. That sap has only been added to coloured oils in the last five years.” I toss more capsules into the crowd for their judgement. “Unless Sacran Kyrillos has indeed come back from the dead, these are not his spells.”
Sneerer flusters and gets louder. “They still cost me money. She broke them. She should pay.”
I pull out the pouch I have from Prins Lief and throw it to him. “Maybe you’ve been tricked as well. Take this and let’s all move on.”
Sneerer glowers and peeks into the pouch. There’s a flicker of surprise in his eye—he’s getting rather a good deal indeed. He puts on a showy huff and marches away. The crowd release Olyn’s shoulders and disperse, and she dusts herself off. “How much do I owe you? For the money pouch and the favour?”
Over her shoulder I spy Kjartan and flanking stormblades making their way sternly across the square and I get the immediate feeling I’m in trouble. I bid Olyn a hurried farewell. “That tavern over there. Tomorrow. Lunch.”
I leave her with a confounded expression and rush away to be grabbed by the stormblades and dragged to Prins Lief in his chambers. He sends the stormblades to surround the room to make sure there are no eavesdroppers.
“Our first day and you’re picking fights with petty profiteers?”
“Word finds you quickly.”
“Haldr!” he says with emphasis, to remind me of my role.
“If I can’t even stand up against a wrong, how will I have the courage to stand up against the vitalians?”
“All eyes are on us. Every move we make is being judged. Now they are out there in restaurants with their comrades criticising us for getting into a public argument!” Prins Lief turns angrily towards the wall. “My father wants Lumin embarrassed. He doesn’t want to hear stories that embarrass him.”
“The people are laughing at our team, criticising us already. Demonstrating the truth—without magic—is confronting their assumptions. It’s making them wonder about our potential. It’s making them curious about our skills. How is this something your king would be against?”
Prins Lief keeps his mouth shut, then mutters about sharp tongues running in the family. He shoos me away. “Don’t cause any more trouble.”