Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“You know it, brother.”
Nicostratus soars off, and Quin stops rowing to pinch the bridge of his nose. “The overall good?” He shakes his head and picks up the oars again; with mighty pulls, he escapes the royal city and enters the capital.
At the first blooms of lovelights dancing around couples on the canal banks, I startle. The lovelight festival. This is that night. I suck in a breath—
There. A figure careens around the bend on the path that runs six feet above the canal edge. He’s looking over his shoulder at the group of linea—those haughty firstborns of high officials from the cat incident—chasing him, flinging spells that Chaos has ducked and jumped and run from since they spotted him in town.
Quin stops rowing, frowning at the sight; Chaos turns his head, hurrying faster along the path, his thin cloak whipping behind him. Quin almost drops his oar, and then swiftly steers his boat under the next bridge. When Chaos streaks past, Quin flicks his hand and a gust topples Chaos off the path into the deep shadows below. And into his arms.
Chaos’s eyes widen and Quin’s finger presses over his lips.
“Where’d he go?”
“Must have reached the other side. Come, we’ll get him yet.”
The rowboat drifts back out from under the bridge and farther away from them as the clank and clatter of their boots fades away.
Chaos is still frozen on Quin’s lap. Quin’s finger is still at Chaos’s lips.
And then all around, lovelights twirl against the night sky, their reflections dazzling in the inky water.
The lights turn the trees into a rustle of moving shadow and glitter, dancing over faces as Quin and Chaos stare at one another. I press a hand lightly to each of their chests. Chaos’s, I know, is a ruckus—he’d been so surprised at this sudden and timely appearance that he couldn’t quite process anything. Quin’s . . . is also banging hard.
He moves his finger gently off Chaos’s mouth, and Chaos blinks. He saw this moment almost the way I’m seeing it now: he’s noticed something about the softness in that gaze; he’s felt something in the shiver that rolls through him. He’s almost aware, and yet he doesn’t trust those feelings. He doesn’t know what to do with them. His breath becomes trapped in the extended silence, and he tells himself hurriedly that all this is just . . . relief. Relief at having evaded those nasty linea. For the rest of the night, everything will be filtered through that, and the memory of waking up alone in an abandoned mountaintop luminarium.
His eyes glitter with a little loathing and a lot of life.
My palm, still pressed against Quin’s chest, feels Quin’s pent breath.
Chaos leans forward brazenly, like he might nip and pull at the mask on Quin’s face.
Quin abruptly throws him off his lap, and Chaos lands in a sprawl on the bank.
“I’m not your enemy.”
“You’re not my friend either.”
I feel the weight of those words on Quin; I hear his anguish as he reminds himself over and over that he can’t have friends.
I grit my teeth. I want to shove this ignorant Chaos into the icy water so he’d wake up, so he’d see, so he’d admit the truth that is itching low in his stomach.
I fold my arms instead and sigh as I pin Quin with a disapproving glance. “Of all the men, this one?”
“What were you up to tonight, before you ran into those men? Should I drop you off to someone?”
My head whips back to Quin. “What a question,” I say drily.
Chaos pats his belt, but the pouch he’s hunting for came loose in the chase. He looks at Quin, his eyes suddenly glittering. “Are you hungry? How about some pecan puffs?”
“Pecan puffs?”
“Ground pecans in a creamy custard set into the lightest, flakiest pastries, and pretty taffy art to top it.” The rumble of his stomach punctuates this reverent description. “Shall we share a plate?”
Head shaking, Quin picks up his oars. “You’ve lost your money, haven’t you?”
“Please? They’re a hassle to make so they only sell them at the lovelight festival. I’ll have to wait an entire year . . .”
“I don’t know. Buying someone dessert sounds like something a . . . friend would do.” Quin suddenly deflates and quickly pulls his oars.
“What . . . Are you upset?”
Quin pinches his lips.
“Well, I’m upset too,” Chaos says, walking quickly alongside. “You took off without a word!”
Chaos frowns when Quin looks at him, expecting this to be it, another sudden departure, but instead Quin is soon on the bank, tapping Chaos’s rumbling belly with the end of his cane. “Pecan puffs.”
As they move through the streets, he sneaks glances at Chaos while Chaos isn’t aware. In fact, Chaos isn’t aware of anything—not the cold cobbles, not the pretty lanterns strung along the streets, not the flashes of lovelights blooming in the skies. He’s thoroughly perplexed, trying to work Maskios out, to reconcile all the contradictions—he halts abruptly on a thought outside the inn, and then when they’ve barely taken their seats at a small table, demands, “Why are you still hurt?”