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)
My hand squeezes my clasp once more, and the pulse I feel is all that matters.
One trial down . . .
When the prins and stormblades have gone, Bastion emerges from the shadows. “Had my heart in my throat back there. You scraped sixth only by a second!”
Olyn pulls out her personal set of needles—withheld along with my medicinal bag until after the trial—and turns a tiny tip in his direction. “What you’re saying is I need more practice.”
Bastion admits he’s an insensitive fool and with a gulp begs her to point it elsewhere.
On a chuckle, we head for dinner—to an upstairs table, where vespertines make sure we’re served like any other customer. Bastion hooks his leather-clad forearm on my shoulder, and I skip right past his waggling brows to the patrons seating themselves at the table across from ours.
The royal team, their silver cloaks no longer glowing. Mikros and Makarios, joined at the hip, are teasing one another while Florentius solemnly guides Akilah to a seat beside him. He catches my eye and raises his drink with a polite sip—a quiet congratulations for our team.
I find myself moving to their table.
Mikros and Makarios stop bickering and look towards me with surprise and caution. “Where’s your fourth team member?” I ask.
Florentius answers, “Resting.”
I settle myself at their table and pour myself wine from their jug. I raise it in a toast, my gaze straying to Akilah and mentally calculating any change since we parted. There’s a small scar beside her ear—vitalian magic should erase it. Why is it there? “Your team is the talk of the town,” I say.
Florentius raises a brow. “I beg to differ.”
“Your team is all the agreeable talk in town.”
A small frown. “Why are you engaging with us?”
I look at him and speak quietly. “I want to exchange thoughts about today’s last patient. It was an interesting case.” I tell him the herbal make-up of the scription we used and note the glimmer of interest in his eyes. Mikros and Makarios are also listening carefully, but when I’m through my explanation they act unaffected.
“Sure. Your way works.”
“What was your way?” I ask.
Makarios stiffens and wags a finger at me. “You’re just trying to learn from us!”
I reach out and gently lower his finger. “Of course I am.”
“See? Mikros? He admits it!”
“Why wouldn’t I want to learn from outstanding healers?”
“You want to use it against us!”
Florentius calms him with a hand to his shoulder. “This case will not be repeated in upcoming trials.” He looks at me carefully. “Why is sharing knowledge so important to you?”
“Do you not know the story of the old man and his mansion?”
His whole body stiffens for a few beats before his gaze sharpens on mine. Akilah notices with a frown.
Florentius murmurs, “We wouldn’t want our kingdom dying of damp while we each build our own mansions.” He holds my gaze as he rises to his feet. “Follow me. I’ll write our spell out for you.”
We leave our companions gaping after us and I follow Florentius outside and into his carriage.
He stares at me again; presses his lips tightly. He leans forward. “You’re hiding your identity, yet you risk seeking me. Why?”
“I really do want your healing method.”
“The real reason.”
I grip the edges of the bench. “I trust you.”
He waits for me to continue, and I do, my voice breaking. “She’s like a sister to me. My Akilah, right before me, and I can’t . . .” I swallow thickly. “I have to know . . . what happened? How is she? Will you continue to look after her?”
“Why don’t you ask me yourself?” Her voice is muffled from outside the carriage but it’s hers, and it’s pained. She whips the fabric back and sets her teary eyes on me. “Why are you hiding from me?”
I pull her inside and into a fierce hold, my fake voice barely a whisper between hiccups. “It’s dangerous. I wasn’t supposed to . . . I was supposed to leave you alone. I just . . .” I sniff into her shoulder as Florentius watches us silently, various emotions creasing his flawless face. Things are weighing heavy on his shoulders—this contest, his brother held hostage, Akilah here in the midst of all the danger, my sudden appearance in the company of Skeldars. And he’s noticed my lack of functioning meridians. He wants to know what’s happened to me as badly as I want to know what’s happened to them.
Now’s not the time or place, though. I tell them where and when to meet later, but when later comes around the only one to meet me in the darkening woods is a pale Akilah.
“The regent’s detained him,” she tells me. “He keeps applying more pressure to ensure a win in this contest.”
“Pressure like holding lives above his head?”
“The regent has promised their freedom, if . . . And if not, he’s vowed to . . .”