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)
I return the dromveske and head to the castle, where I’m brought to a terraced garden.
It’s overflowing with frostweiss, the beautiful white flower covering the earth like snow. The king walks through the flowers and immediately I’m imagining his bloody sword dripping and staining them. This man who kills Lumins unflinchingly is the same man as the prins in those memories.
Lumin’s cruelty changed him. We’re the reason he has this hate.
I shake off my shivers and tell myself I’m safe for now; the king is simply taking in the view of the town and sea. In the distance beyond, the craggy peak of Mount Lysippos rises. He stares to the east of that mountain, as if he might see Hinsard, or the royal city many days beyond. He clasps his hands behind his back.
“How would you humiliate Lumin?”
“They only value magic.”
“They are too proud, too cunning, too cruel.”
“Release him and I’ll enter the Medicus Contest.”
The king’s hardened stare hits me.
“Huge numbers will be entering this year. All will be avidly watching, or waiting for the storytellers. I’ll show them how powerful alchemic healing is.”
“How do you know about this?”
“I’m a healer. It would be concerning if I didn’t.”
The king rocks back on his heels.
“Vitalians are considered the superior healers in all kingdoms. How shocked—how mortified—Lumin would be if a non-linea team made it to the final round.”
A spark of interest hits the king’s eye.
I clasp my hands together prayerfully.
“You must like this failed king,” he says in disgust.
“He’s insignificant, powerless. A laughingstock. He’ll spend the rest of his years ducking his head in shame; he has truly lost everything. I ask for his release out of pity.” I bow, swallow down a nervous flare of bile. “In return, I’ll prove the value of Iskaldir healing to all.”
He raises his brows, laying a hand on the bejewelled handle of a sheathed dagger. “You have Lindrhalda’s touch.”
“H-her touch is powerful, of course. But magic—”
He steps close and leans in. The furs around his neck swing forward against my shoulders, my nervous heart. “Surpass it, and you have my word. Your reward for healing poxies will be the failed king’s release.”
“Surpass it.” The words taste hollow on my tongue, even as I try to believe them. I can surprise many with combined vitalian and alchemic knowledge, but surpass magic? After all, I have none. Surpass the vast power of skilled vitalians. Florentius will be there too. I’ll be up against my former comrades, who are the best of the best. Insurmountable.
King Yngvarr follows the bulging swallow in my throat and narrows his eyes. My skin prickles, and I can feel the weight of his judgment pressing against my ribs, squeezing the air from my lungs. There’s a deadly flash in his gaze as he rips off my curacowl to inspect me more carefully. I’ve never been so relieved I have blonde hair and take after my mother’s Skeldar side. I hurriedly show Lindrhalda’s ‘mark’ on my arm. “She’ll help me. She will.”
But as I say it, doubt creeps in like a shadow. What if I fail? What if my words—my promise—become the nail in Quin’s coffin?
“Of course.” He smiles and I shiver. “Or I’ll make you watch as I put his head on a stake.”
I want to throw up, but I can’t. I want to leave, but the sudden appearance of stormblades stops me.
“Your majesty. We found this wyvern in our waters.”
“Wyverns?” King Yngvarr smartens. “So far from Lumin?”
They present a stretcher carrying a lifeless creature, and I immediately recognise the sewn wound on its belly. It takes all my effort to keep my expression unaffected, as if I’ve never seen this wyvern in my life. Beneath my still façade though, I’m battling a thickening throat. The king can no longer get word in or out. He’s cut off. He truly only has me.
I bow when I’m dismissed and concentrate on keeping my limbs from shaking as I leave.
I’m escorted to my abode and ordered to pack. A royal envoy will see me to Hinsard.
I rush through the courtyard, calling for Megaera, Lykos and Zenon to collect their things. “I’ve a way for you to return home,” I whisper to them. “Take only what you need.”
They don’t need telling twice. Lykos and Zenon exchange a look of deep relief and are ready in under a minute. I need a few more to gather a chest of equipment and another of herbs, potions, and poisons, some extra robes, and . . . yes, I must take my clasp.
Prins Lief is awaiting our arrival at the ship, along with Captain Kjartan. I make sure my veil covers my face and stiffen as Megaera and the others flank me.
Prins Lief comes down the gangway and meets me with quiet words. “He’s my man. He’s no threat. The rest of the crew are unaware of your identity.” He eyes my companions and I step forward.