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)
I laugh, and he laughs, and between our laughs the heavy weight of reaching the end lingers.
We stare at each other. Each shift apart adds to the sting behind my eyes. He scoops up his cane, leans on it, looks towards the castle in the distance.
His mother . . .
“He won’t let her go willingly,” I croak.
“I have a plan.” He meets my eyes. “Tomorrow at the wedding, be sure to act like you don’t know us. Tell Mother, too.”
“Us?”
“Me, and Nicostratus.”
I swallow thickly. “He’s here?”
“Yes,” he says and glares into the hills. “To save you.”
“You won’t save me?” it slips out, and at the flicker in his jaw and his briefly shutting eyes, I wish I could claw the question back.
Quin looks at me, and the change is swift and painful. The warmth of his eyes cools and his jaw stiffens, and the hardened façade of the outcast king returns. “There are other things I must do.”
Ibarely notice the streets passing. My chest is tight, full of silent sighs and unspoken questions. What became of Skriniaris Evander? The old man was an echo of my grandfather and he had risked everything—distracted the regent so I could escape Hinsard. And I’d left him. I swallow hard and send a quiet wish skyward, hoping he and his cat are safe.
I round the final corner, my feet moving on their own, only to be bowled over by a blur of motion at the gate.
“Goddess above!” A firm grip steadies me before I can stumble back. “I just finished with my last healing, and now I’m late for my fitting.” My aunt plants a kiss on my cheek, her touch brisk but warm. “Let’s steal a dance tomorrow, alright?”
And just like that, she’s gone, rushing down the street in a flurry of fabric and purpose. I stare after her, exhaling a short, wry laugh of admiration.
“Her work will always come first,” I say, mostly to myself. A warning. A reminder. I smirk slightly, shaking my head. “I hope Prins Lief is aware of that.”
A sharp whack lands on the back of my head.
I whirl around, half ready to curse the culprit, only to find Prins Lief himself standing there with arms crossed and brow lifted.
“Of course I am,” he says coolly. “Her dedication to helping others is one of the reasons I love her.” His gaze narrows slightly, assessing me with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
The sudden shift in mood prickles my skin. For a moment I expect a scolding, as if I’d been caught climbing over the castle walls.
I yank the king’s badge from my pocket and lift the bag of runes for good measure, waving them between us like a shield. “I didn’t sneak out.”
“I didn’t suggest you had.”
“You were thinking it.”
He leans in, “And don’t I have good reason to?”
I flash him a smirk. “You forgive me all transgressions, uncle.”
“That’s Prins Uncle to you.”
“Yes, your uncleness—”
I run as my soon-to-be-uncle-in-law chases after me with exaggerated swats of his sheathed sword. Patrolling stormblades offer their help and he waves them off. Only when he catches sight of Captain Kjartan does Prins Lief stop playing. He moves swiftly towards the captain, and I stick in his shadow.
“What news?” Prins Lief asks.
“As we feared.”
“They’ve taken Crosshaven?”
“Harmoria, too.”
Harmoria, the independent trader town where Akilah and Florentius had gone?
“They’re getting closer.”
“A week at most and they’ll reach Ragn.”
“We depart after the wedding.”
“Give it to the morning after,” Kjartan says quietly.
“Even tomorrow is—” Lief hesitates, grimacing.
“This is a moment for you to remember,” Kjartan insists. “Let your men see what it is we fight for.”
Lief closes his eyes and nods. “I’ll try to find a miracle.”
“Many more men will do.”
I’m left standing in the harsh heat of the summer sun, shivering. I suddenly see the day differently—the larger numbers of patrolling stormblades, the rune store owner hurrying to close shop, the desperate thieving of my bag, the duelling over potatoes.
Ragn is a town preparing for war.
I turn sharply towards the castle, my heart hammering.
What other things is Quin here to do?
There’s no one to ask, and no one to tell me. Casimiria is at the king’s side this evening, as she is most evenings; I’m alone as I pace the small courtyard between her chambers and my shed. I will the heavens to give me some clue so I might understand. So I might know how to support him.
I stall, mid-step . . .
I ball my hands.
It’s no longer my place to support him. Nicostratus will save Casimiria and me, and I will disappear. I have the dromveske; I have my last moment. Whatever he is here to do, it’s not for me to involve myself. He’s no longer a captive. He has a plan. His brother is by his side.
I rub the back of my neck as I nod and nod.