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)
“Are you sure you don’t want him to know it’s you?”
“He can’t know.”
She nods, and finally shoos me off for the day.
At the temple, stormblades part for me on sight. Flutette sounds drift from the cottage—softer than before—and I stall in the blotchy light of evening-baked trees.
I stare down at my arms. The braids are light and ticklish around my wrists.
I only took these to protect a king’s dignity . . .
I square my shoulders and march, totally unaffected, into the cottage. He’s waiting for me, stripped to his leggings again. Stiffly, I check his pulse, pull out salves and potions and apply them. His hair is another inch longer. He flicks it from his eyes.
I hand him another pill. “Soon it’ll be long enough to braid.”
He snaps his gaze my way, tension stiffening his shoulders.
I fumble corking the glass.
He squints, his hand rising towards my veil, as if he wants to peel away this mask. My chest jumps and I step out of his reach. “Y-your body is healing quickly. Ten days, and you should be like new. Faster if I can find any pearl heart.”
“Pearl heart?”
I talk steadily through a racing heart. “A plant that increases strength and stamina.”
“I know very well what it is.” He laughs heavily.
I whirl away from the memory of us then, and from him now. “I . . . lost track of time. Have to meet the prince.” I rush out, immediately wishing I’d held it together.
I chastise myself all the way to the main gates, where at least my lie is made true. Prins Lief is climbing into his carriage, and he curls a finger for me to join him. I slip inside and jerkily remove my curacowl. His carriage is rich, dark woods carved with runes of protection and good health, soft velvety cushions, and warmly glowing light from a bronze lantern. Comfortable. And yet I’m still on edge.
Prins Lief tips his head back against the wall and lets out a tired breath. “How’s his health?”
“Improving. He’d like you to meet with him.”
“I can’t be seen to give him that privilege.”
Too many pressures. As I’d feared. “If you do meet him, my name is Haldr.”
Prins Lief lifts his head and blinks at me. “Haldr? As in Halda from Lindrhalda?”
I wince.
He laughs. “At least you’ve accepted your fate.” He cocks his head at me. “You seem to make a game of disguising yourself.”
“Only out of necessity.”
He accepts this with a nod. “We understand this need too, of course.” He smiles and continues, “You’ve seen our wedding celebrations. The guests come masked.”
“How is this a need?”
“The allure. Our faces attract others easily, too easily. We need to make sure when we fall for someone, we fall for what’s behind their appearance. The beauty inside. We know we’ve met our soulmate once we recognise them despite their masks.”
I stare at him, his words tumbling into my chest. The masks we wear—whether made of silk or silence—are meant to protect us, yet they so often became a part of us. When Quin looks at me, will he ever see the person behind the veil? Do I even want him to?
Prins Lief looks out the window at the dazzling glacier. “How’s Asta?”
He always says my aunt’s name so softly.
“Never afraid to whack me with a wooden spoon.”
His lips twitch.
“How long have you known her?”
He takes a long time to answer. “I was seventeen when we met. I wanted to deepen my understanding of health and healing, and she was my tutor. That makes six years.”
I lean in. “Did she ever hit you with a—”
He glares at me and I shrink back.
He sighs. “I couldn’t believe it the first time. I almost had her head for it. I was too arrogant back then. She made me see myself for what I was becoming and asked who I truly wanted to be.”
“How long was she your tutor?”
“Three years. I spent three years learning from her, and three years chasing her to come back.”
“To be your personal physician.”
A huffed laugh. “Yes. To be mine.”
“She’s too independent to be caged in a castle.”
The lines of Prins Lief’s lips freeze; his whole body has stiffened, and when he unclenches, he speaks tightly. “Father’s coming early. I hope you’re prepared. I need you to stay alive—” a pause “—at least long enough to transpose all your medical knowledge into alchemy scriptions.”
“If we tell your father the truth? Maybe he’ll—”
“He hates Lumin. He’d despise the idea we value their knowledge, that we’re integrating it with our own. One whiff of it, and he’ll not only disembowel you, he’ll ban and burn all your scriptions.” He returns to tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. “We’ll carry on pretending you’re the one with Lindrhalda’s touch, and when we introduce the scriptions, we’ll claim they were whispered into your ear by the goddess herself.”