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)
As Chaos takes all this in and slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position, I lift the liquor jar and take a deep drink before setting it down with a thunk that of course neither of them will notice. I bring my face right up to Quin’s profile as he stares at the flickering fire. “Why don’t you tell him what really happened? How he almost fell; how you saved him?”
“We’re stuck here for the night?”
“Will that be a problem? Will Akilah be searching for you?”
“I told her to go home. She may only start panicking in the morning.”
“Then she won’t be panicking too long.”
“What about me? Should I be panicking?”
Quin glances over his shoulder. “Would you? So I might see what that looks like?”
Chaos grins and winces, rubbing his head.
“Your meridians are still intact,” Quin murmurs. “Heal yourself.”
Chaos quietly does as he’s told, and Quin grabs the jar I drank from and gulps at the liquor.
Before he sets it down, Chaos is there, scooping it into his hands as he sits himself at Quin’s other side. He shakes the jar, listening to it slosh, and sniffs at the liquid. His eyes brighten with mischief as he glances at Quin. “I’ve never tried alcohol before.”
Quin immediately reaches out to take it from him, but Chaos holds it out of reach and turns to chug a whole lot down. “Quite sweet.”
Quin steals it back. “You’ll knock yourself out again.”
“You’re not secretly thrilled? You won’t have to deal with me for the rest of the night.”
I see Quin balling the fabric of his cloak, the veins popping in the back of his hand. I cover his with mine and am surprised to feel even the ticking of his pulse.
Chaos starts rambling, progressively inching closer to Quin as the cool air becomes cooler. When they bump together, Quin hisses and instinctively clutches his thigh.
Chaos turns to him sharply and stares at his lap. “You’re wounded. Let me—”
Quin bats Chaos’s approaching hands away and shuffles in my direction, until I feel his warmth pressed against my leg.
Chaos glowers.
“It’s nothing. Just a few rocks. I’m fine.”
Chaos doesn’t stop. “This again? Why won’t you let me heal you? Because I’m par-linea. That’s ridiculous.” He pushes up his sleeves and starts summoning a spell. “If I’d known you were suffering, I would’ve healed you first—”
His spell blows up in his face, sending his hair upright. He blinks, puzzled, and frowns. Shakes out his hands. He tries again to call his magic but it merely fizzes . . . He looks at Quin. “I . . . I can’t. It must be the liquor!”
Quin can’t hold it back—he laughs and reaches out, flattening Chaos’s hair.
Chaos stiffens under the touch and their gazes meet.
Suddenly Quin is dropping his hands and Chaos becomes absorbed by the dancing flames.
“So,” Chaos says, swallowing, “have you practiced archery for a long time?”
“From the moment I could lift and aim a bow.”
“Even though you can use magic?”
“Sometimes magic isn’t an option. We need other ways to survive. To fight.”
Chaos looks at his hands and sighs, frowning irritably. “Even to heal?”
“What if this happens again? When your magic fails?”
“I’d rather never drink again!”
I sigh and stare sadly at Chaos. He’s just eighteen—too young, too prejudiced. If only he’d truly listened, if only he’d spent more time learning other methods alongside vitalian ones. He’d have saved more lives along the way. Maybe if he’d learned, those who died waiting on magic in Kastoria wouldn’t have.
“I desperately want to be a vitalian,” Chaos whispers towards the fire. “It’s my dream.”
Quin’s voice is very soft. “Your only dream?”
“If I ever stray from it, I hope someone will plunk me back onto my right path.” He tilts his head back towards the dome and the smoke rising into a starry sky. “I think that might be true love.”
“Helping one stay on the right path?”
“No. Helping one another stay on the path.”
The rest of their conversation is muted, as if Quin remembered talking but no longer the content. As if, perhaps, Quin had been caught up in that particular one. They talk until they yawn, until they curl next to the fire on their sides, the tops of their heads barely a few inches apart. I watch as they fall asleep; as they toss and turn, warming their fronts then their backs; as their heads shift closer and closer until, sleeping, they’re facing each other, their soft breaths tickling, their noses skimming.
The fire dies and the night deepens, and finally they’ve found peace.
I drink the remaining liquor while I sit against the muraled wall and wait. Quin’s imagined how this night together looked; he’s gifted this for me to see how he dreamed it happened. All these moments that have meant something to him, the big ones and the little ones . . .