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 already know.”
My stomach sinks. No. I close my eyes. Please, no.
“Quin’s son,” I whisper.
Bastion nods. “A mere child and his queen mother.” His jaw tightens. “I saw them in the capital. The redcloaks shoved the her and the boy onto the public stage. The child was crying, his crown slipping over his eyes. His mother tried to reason with the people, but they didn’t want placation. They want a cure—the one they believe is being withheld. The queen had to shield herself and her son from hurled furniture, men with fists raised, linea wielding spells. The redcloaks only stepped in after they had endured an hour of it. Then marched them to the next town, where it happened again.”
I grip the branch harder. The dread in my stomach turns to something far worse.
“The more people get sick,” Bastion murmurs, “the more violent they become.”
Nicostratus recovers first. “You’ve been following them?”
“Not because I have respect for our true king,” Bastion says quickly—too quickly. “He’s just a boy, isn’t he? And the royals in charge—” A bitter scoff. “Even ruthless to their own.”
“Where are they taking him?” Nicostratus demands.
Bastion’s face darkens. “Hinsard.” A pause. Then, quieter, grimmer, “If the boy makes it there, he and his mother will be dead within the week.”
The bark bites into my palm. I can barely feel it.
My friend, Queen Veronica . . .
The young king . . .
Quin’s son.
I cannot let them be dragged to Hinsard. Cannot let them be hurt any more.
The thought is a fire in my chest, burning with the weight of certainty. My throat tightens, but I say the words steadily. “We need to save them.”
Nicostratus exhales sharply. “There are four of us. At least twenty-four of them.”
I turn to him, heat flashing through my veins. “What kind of uncle will you be?”
His jaw flexes. A muscle twitches. “I’ll never be like him.”
Bastion flicks his gaze to Nicostratus again, eyes assessing. “He and I can lure the bulk of them away. Start a fight, make it loud.” His smirk is all sharp edges. “But how will you get them off the boat?”
Olyn rolls a needle between her fingers. “I can take a couple of cloaks.”
She could. But that would reveal there are more of us. Too risky. I rummage through my healing bag, fingers grazing over vials. I have something that could work—but it needs an igniter.
I pause. Then glance over at Bastion.
He raises a dark eyebrow. “What?”
I shuffle closer and pat his chest. He stiffens, a low rumbly sound vibrating from him.
I hiss and slap his arm. “Not what I meant.”
His grin is wolfish. “Shame.”
Ignoring him, I pull out the bottle I was hoping for.
His amusement vanishes. “That’s my wine.”
I tuck it into my belt. “That’s my plan.”
The plan works—at first.
Nicostratus and Bastion launch a chaotic diversion, and the redcloaks don’t hesitate to take the bait. Three remain stationed near the boat, keeping watch.
I slip through the mist.
The boat is shrouded in fog, quiet except for the occasional murmur of the soldiers. Keeping low, I crouch near the hull. Quickly, I mix an alchemic paste, Bastion’s wine acting as the burning agent. I smear the compound along the waterline.
The reaction is instant. The wood sizzles. Softens. Bubbles.
Water seeps in.
I press back into the shadows just as the boat groans. A sickly, splintering noise.
A sharp cry from within.
Queen Veronica and her son are pushed out onto the deck as the soldiers rush below.
Now.
Olyn and I step from behind the trees. I catch Veronica’s sharp breath as she sees us.
Hurry. I motion for her to come.
She hesitates—just a fraction of a second—then bundles her son into her arms and slips over the railing.
She’s not using magic. They must be sealing and unsealing her powers at will.
No time to talk. No time for the questions burning between us.
We run.
The ruins loom ahead. Safety. We actually did it.
We—
Steel flashes.
A sword slashes toward my throat.
The blade rebounds off my shield and my breath chokes in my lungs. I’d be dead if—
Men step out from the trees. More than I can count.
Two lunge for the Queen and the child—Olyn whips her needles into their acupoints. They collapse before they can touch them.
Their captain booms, “Kidnapping royalty?”
I snarl. “That would be you.”
The redcloak raises his sword again. The second impact rattles through my bones. How long will my shield hold?
Olyn twists her attacker off balance, but his hand rips her tunic as she moves, exposing the bandage binding her chest.
She stills.
A snarl of disgust. “Many reasons to die today.”
Queen Veronica hisses. “Caelus. Protect my son.”
I turn and shield the boy with my body. He trembles, clinging to me.
Veronica snaps a branch from a tree and parries a redcloak’s strike. The soldier hesitates, uncertain.
Until another voice calls.
“Only the boy needs to live.”
My shield flickers, still there—but only faintly.
Quin’s son screams for his mother.