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)
“Just help us on board!”
He hesitates, but it’s Nicostratus who acts. With a flick of his wrist, he rides the winds, sending a pulse of magic that unlocks Casimiria’s meridians. She makes a graceful leap toward her fellow prisoners while in a swift motion Nicostratus wraps his arms around my waist and Akilah’s, lifting us off the ground and flying us aboard.
Florentius snags Akilah from him—and I suspect, away from me—and forges through the crowd of prisoners to Lucius.
I take a heavy step towards them, yearning to explain—
Nicostratus steps in front of me. It’s the first time we’ve truly looked at one another since the dromveske. Our fleeting glance then had been filled with the promise of difficult questions; now, the tension crackles between us like the static before a spell.
We don’t have time for this, but his gaze stubbornly holds mine. I can see the conflict etched in his features, flickering in his stormy eyes. To ask. Or not to ask.
The longboat glides silently down the canal, then halts abruptly at the west arm, jostling me against him. He catches me, his warmth flooding through my cloak. I pull away too quickly, the distance between us fraught with unspoken feelings. His brow furrows, confusion clouding his expression.
I meet his eyes with resolve. “Not right now.”
Now, we need to gauge the situation. The longboat blocks access from the main canal, the looming cliffs on either side of the west arm offering a narrow route for prisoners to climb into the rowboats that Princessa Liana and the Commander are magically steering towards us.
The tunnel. We just need to reach it.
“Get moving!” I order, inhaling the metallic scent of blood mingled with the fresh, damp earth. “There are wounded.”
“I’ll help you first.”
It’s kind. Softly protective. It’s the opposite of what Quin would say. He’d tell me to put others first, to hurry on with it, that he’d have my head if I got hurt.
I rip a strip off my black cloak and wrap it around the nasty cut on Nicostratus’s head. Blood soaks into the fabric. He watches me, a mix of gratitude and something sad in his gaze. “That’s not what hurts.”
I swallow hard, forcing my voice steady. “Lucius or Florentius will spell you when we get to the tunnel. Get Casimiria there and come back for me when they’re all safe.”
His eyes search mine for answers I can’t give. I shoo him away with a fragile smile that I hope looks confident, and when he finally turns to help the prisoners onto the rowboats, I find an apothecary kit inside the boat. The wounded men’s eyes brighten when they see me coming, hope flickering to life amidst their pain. “Caelus! You should have seen us. We snuck up behind and got the better of them. They had no idea it was coming!”
Three have broken legs, one a stab wound through his flank, and the last a dislocated shoulder. I prioritise the stab wound, applying pressure and shouting for Lucius and Florentius, who come rushing in from their reunion.
They become a synchronised team in the chaos and spell four of the five to health. I focus on the dislocated shoulder, pulling it back into place with a quick, brutal motion. Akilah appears with water, her eyes briefly softening before she stiffens again, her smile strained. She offers Florentius and Lucius crystallised ginger, and she’s about to pop one into my mouth when she jerks her hand back. Like she’d momentarily forgotten she was upset with me.
“You don’t need this anymore.”
I steal it anyway, grinning despite the lump in my throat. I focus on the wounded, the atmosphere heavy with urgency. A long train of rowboats moves up the canal, but it’s clear they’re struggling. Princessa Liana and the commander are weaving magic, but the sheer number of prisoners makes it challenging. Prins Lief is among those at the oars, his face strained, while Nicostratus continues shuttling prisoners, his own magic waning.
Suddenly a horn blares in the near distance; birds explode from their cliffside perches, squawking into the grim grey skies.
Lucius races to the side of the boat, jerking back just in time for an arrow to fly past his face. He conjures a shield of shimmering magic, yelling as he deflects more arrows with his glowing barrier.
I spin in horror, my heart sinking as I see Nicostratus sprinting for the last prisoners, his face a mask of resolve and fear. The regent must have sent a portion of his army down the canals, hedging his bets.
Florentius grabs me by the collar of my cloak. “I told you this wouldn’t work!”
Akilah pushes between us, concern etching her features. But when she glances my way, disappointment lingers in her eyes.
Nicostratus whisks toward me, fire flashing in his eyes, and I shove him back. “Last. I go last!”