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)
Idon’t mean to cause more trouble.
But I do.
I knew Megaera was uneasy about it just being the two of us, but I’m unprepared for the relief she can’t quite suppress when I tell her I may have found us a third team member. I know I don’t really understand her motivations—whatever they are, they’ve been enough to counter the risk of what we’re doing—but the fear . . . it’s still there. Another set of capable hands could help tip the balance, but I can do nothing more about that until lunchtime tomorrow, and in the meantime . . .
The following morning, I rise early, slip on my feathered mask and roam the streets asking the whereabouts of the royal vitalian team. Most people ignore me, but a kindly scholar points towards an inn beside the main canal and when I get there, I’m in luck. Florentius is emerging from its main doors and—
Akilah. My Akilah.
From the shadows of trees, I follow her as she chases after Florentius, down the riverbank and into a canopied alcove where redcloaks are surrounding large longboat.
“Please, let me talk to him!” Florentius says, louder and louder when the redcloaks ignore him and block his passing.
Akilah pulls on his sleeve, pleading him to step back, not to get in a fight.
“I’ll heal myself!”
“It’ll still hurt. Please.”
I eye the boat cautiously. Who is on board? Why is it so heavily guarded?
Florentius’s shoulders are tense with emotion, but he lets Akilah pull him back to the trees.
I slip further behind the trunk, out of view, and peer around at them. Akilah is stroking his arm and murmuring as Florentius rubs the heels of his palms over his knotted brow. “I just . . .”
“I know,” Akilah says when he chokes up.
She slips her arms around him and holds on tight. He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply, shifting the hair Akilah hasn’t tied back—like she raced out on impulse. Her hands rub circles over his back and after a few quiet moments he drops his lips to the top of her head.
So much has happened. My Akilah has gone through hard times, and Florentius too. They’ve forged an alliance, taken care of one another, fallen in love.
“He’s cruel to do this,” Akilah says.
Florentius holds her tighter and stares towards the longboat. “We must win. I must free them.”
I’m distracted by the uncomfortable weight of Florentius’s vow as I slip through narrow streets towards the square. I don’t notice the shadows following me until too late.
I spin on my heel, and two dark-hooded men fly towards me. I grab at my belt for poison, for something to toss at them to give me time to get away, but I know I’ll be too slow. Their swords gleam, and I squeeze my eyes shut—
This is it. All my plans, already ended.
But then air funnels over me—the cracking of a whip and clatter of metal, and the fact I’m still breathing has me opening my eyes.
A familiar vespertine wields his whip, pulling the last sword from its handler. The hooded men flip forward, but they’ll be no match for him. I step out of Bastion’s way, keeping one eye on his graceful display of agility, strength and swagger. Eventually, one of the men runs off; the other is caught, his hood thrown back with a whip that coils around his throat.
“Who are you?” Bastion hisses.
The Hood grabs a dagger from his cloak and before the vespertine can stop him, he plunges it into his own chest. I cry out and rush forward, driving a hand into my medicinal pouch, but—
Blood gurgles up his throat and his body slumps.
I suck in a sharp breath and let it out again, feeling a strange mix of frustration that I couldn’t stop his death, and . . . relief that I’m safe. That the dagger hadn’t been meant for Bastion.
The body slumps to the side and I notice a mark at his nape—the mark of the regent. I pick up one of the abandoned swords, frowning. The hilt carries symbols of the gods. Iskaldir weapons.
Hinsard, this Medicus Contest . . . it’s a dangerous game from all sides.
“They were trying to make it look like I was killed by one of my own party.”
Bastion coils his whip, hooks it onto his belt, and flashes his dimples. “Aren’t you lucky I was passing by, beautiful?”
Despite the situation and the lingering shock, I can’t help but laugh. Incorrigible! He truly flirts with every half-decent-looking man he stumbles across. He doesn’t even care I might come from Iskaldir. In fact, judging by the way he’s . . . appreciating my form and feathered mask, he may find that all the more exotic.
“Pretty laugh too,” he says and raises an eyebrow. “How about you thank me for saving your life?”