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)
“You promised they could leave, given the opportunity.”
He stares hard at them and waves them aboard first. He’s about to speak again when a call has his gaze snapping over my shoulder. I turn. Beyond the dozen armed soldiers, running along the dock in a dazzling dress without so much as a shawl, as if she’d left in haste, is my aunt. The sight of her graceful sprint and glittering skirts and beautiful face has Prins Lief audibly hauling in a breath. He gestures for the soldiers to part, and my aunt rushes through the gap to haul me into a hug. “Impetuous boy.”
I can barely gurgle her name she’s holding me so tight. And I’m holding her even tighter, the child in me terrified to let go. What if I don’t have the ability? What if I can’t even get past the first trial? What if I’m the reason Lumin loses its true king?
What if I’m forced to watch as . . .
I slam my eyes shut and she holds me through the shaking, before whirling around to grab Prins Lief by his robe.
Fervently, she pulls him towards her, making the soldiers all rush forward until he flings a hand up for them to cease.
“Please,” she says. “Protect him.”
He slides his hand over hers, and she shakes her head like this isn’t enough. “Vow he’ll survive, and I’ll make a vow in return.”
Prins Lief stiffens in her hold and looks hard into her eyes. His voice is a whisper, “What did you say?”
“If he survives all this, I’ll be yours.”
He stares and stares, as if he can’t trust what he’s heard. My aunt pushes herself onto her toes and whispers it again, in his ear, before turning away with a prayer to the gods to watch over us.
“You’ll obey all of my commands,” Prins Lief says sharply when she’s gone and he finds his voice. “Your fate is my future.”
His future, and my king’s freedom.
Lykos and Zenon spare a few moments to say goodbye. We’re still on the docks, waiting for the envoy to transfer into carriages and onto horseback. Lykos clasps my shoulder and presses a chain into my hand. Not a regular chain—one with unique symbols, through which braided thread is knotted. “If you ever need help, show this, and . . .” he murmurs in my ear.
I raise a brow and run the chain between my fingers. “What if it requires saving someone with active meridians?”
Lykos grumbles, and Zenon steps before him, bowing. “I’ll make sure your favour is returned.”
He’s so earnest, I can’t help but fondly scrub his hair. We might have been forced together by circumstance, might have started out on the wrong foot, but I’ve come to like my companions. “You can promise that?”
He blows at the hair that’s flicked into his eyes, and Lykos speaks over his shoulder. “He can. Zenon is the son of the chief.”
Megaera doesn’t jerk in surprise at this as I do, and I wonder if she’s suspected. Or known. I shut my mouth and stare at the chief crusader’s heir—and his hair I mucked up.
Lykos speaks, “Not knowing who we were, you risked your life to save us. And now you’ve set us free again. We trust you.”
“What if my favour is your promise never to harm the king?”
Lykos meets my eyes. “I’ve observed you. Should our king reclaim the throne . . . I believe you may have a profound influence on him and his rule. I believe with you at his side, he will seek to improve the lives of those without magic.”
I step forward and hold his gaze with urgency. “Spread that word. Get your chief to back the true king. Make real progress for the people.”
Lykos clasps his hands solemnly and bows, and when he rises, Megaera swishes her red skirts between us and produces a bundle of books for Zenon. “Become wise. Keep practicing.”
For once Zenon doesn’t groan at the mention of study. He takes the bundle and gratefully holds it to his chest.
Lykos looks wistfully at her. “Are you sure you’ll not come with us?”
She hesitates and shakes her head. “Cael needs to form a team to compete. I owe him this.”
I look at her sharply and she returns it with a sharp brow. But she’s right. Of course I can’t enter a team competition on my own.
“You’re not a healer,” I say.
“I can cook. I’ll follow any recipe precisely. All you have to do is give me good ones.”
Indeed, she is exceptionally meticulous when it comes to measuring ingredients and following methods. To the point that, even if a ridiculous amount of hogwart is requested, she’ll not question it and forge on. She should have no problem applying that same philosophy to my scriptions. However, anyone who joins my team . . . “You have to know, King Yngvarr will have our heads if we fail.”