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)
A spring breeze ruffles over us with the scent of impending rain; I’m still holding Bastion when the first drops hit.
“Holding one another in the rain,” he says, patting hands becoming roaming ones. “How romant—”
“Don’t push your luck.”
He laughs and we pull apart, and I’m grateful for his company as I drag myself back to town.
In the morning, we go over our ‘retreat plan’ in a corner of the manor where we’re sure the regent’s spies will overhear. The real plan, we formulated the night before in the library: We—the Skeldar envoy and the prisoners on the longboat—must make it to the vespertine tunnel, the entrance to which is hidden down the narrow, western arm of the canal. Not only must we all make it there, we must make it there without being followed. Only then can we get out of Hinsard undetected, and part ways in the southern woods.
Our chances aren’t good.
We must try anyway.
Out in the streets, making our way to the third and final trial, the prins catches my elbow.
His face is tight with concern. A lot is riding on my performance today. That Lindrhalda’s touch will win the contest, and with the win, my chance of survival, and with my survival, his chance of a life with my aunt.
I look down at his gripping hand and past it to the ever-ticklish braids spiralling under my sleeves. I laugh out an ache. Everything rides on today. I snatch his arm back and pierce his gaze with my desperate one.
His jaw tightens in determination and we enter an alley where we meet Bastion. Quickly and silently, his men and ours exchange clothing, and when we emerge into the next street, I’m walking beside Bastion in the prins’ gear. We’re four in feathered masks, with two token ‘stormblades’, and when we get to the square Megaera, Olyn and I leave them in the crowd to take our place.
Like the first trial, today’s is held in front of the luminarium and the enthroned regent. And like then, the day is overcast.
But this time there’s only one stage positioned at the base of the steps, and it’s equipped with a stretcher, furnace, pots and teapots, and an entire apothecary of plants, seeds, and collected venoms.
A glance at a grim-faced Skriniaris Evander reminds me again: the regent has replaced the trial the orchestrators originally planned with one of his own design. It will not be a fair trial.
The favourite team glides into the square in their glowing cloaks and the people roar with delight. Team Orange on their other side look as though they’ve begrudgingly accepted they’re unlikely to come first, but their arrogant gazes are sharp: they don’t intend to lose to us.
My gaze washes over the show to Florentius, and my pulse hitches. Despite his dazzling cloak, he’s shrouded in shadow, his expression sickened. When he catches me looking, he stares at me hard and mouths something—
My stomach twists. “What—”
But there’s no time. The regent is rising; the square is a wave, bowing down to him.
With a wicked gleam in his eye, he announces the third and final trial. “I promised you all insurmountable difficulty. Each team will come onto this stage in turn, and will have one hour to revive a comatose patient.”
The regent sweeps his gaze across the crowd, landing for a few moments longer on our team. His lip curls and he removes a pouch from his belt, brandishing it for all to see. “All three patients have lost their souls in this Skeldar dromveske.”
There’s a collective gasp. Even Florentius pales. A patient in this kind of coma . . . no vitalian has ever succeeded in waking them.
When one of the orchestrators kneels to protest, the regent dances down the steps and helps him to his feet. “Of course, I don’t expect any one of you to perform a miracle!” He throws the dromveske onto one of the worktops on stage. This time his gaze shifts pointedly to Florentius. “Your trial will assess the quality of your attempts. Technique and overall patient improvement—every twitch counts!” He gestures towards Skriniaris Evander, at a board to one side. “Our judge will keep a tally.”
Each team draws a straw—orange pulls first, our team last.
Team Orange is given a two-point advantage, and the royal team, one point. This is to consider the advantage of the watching teams.
“There’s no advantage to us,” Olyn murmurs. “We can’t use magic!”
I purse my lips. The regent took control of this trial to assure our defeat. This play of fairness is just that: an act.
Team Orange step onto the stage, and when they’re presented with their comatose patient, their leader cries out and clutches the almost-lifeless body into a hug. He jerks his head towards the regent, croaking, “What’s the meaning of this?”
The regent merely smiles and motions for the hourglass to be flipped. “Motivation.”