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 caught the trick pulse in the last patient. This was not the difficult part; the difficult part is to get the precise scription, to simmer the potions to the perfect consistency and temperature, to needle them into the body at exactly the right points. Difficult is to do this under time pressure.
Sound vibrates around the square as the bells chime, and the teams leap into action.
I race to the first patient, check how long her skin takes to turn from white to pink after a pinch, calculate how long she can stand on one foot, check once more the glaze in her eyes. I note down the scription to best suit her body and pass it to Megaera, who heeded my instructions to already start heating, chopping, grinding. She brews the potion in the teapot, and I inspect the second patient more closely.
When I have the right scription for him, I pass it to Megaera and hurry to Olyn. The first needles are dipped into the teacup holding a Megaera’s pink potion, and I quietly list the seven acupoints in order. Olyn nods emphatically and breezily administers the cure-tipped needles.
Back and forth, from patient to scription to acupoints. There’s no time for rest, but as I race through the trial, I catch glimpses of flashing light and the sparkles from spells. I can hear the hollers of the crowd when a patient has dismounted their pedestal. From this, I can roughly gauge that we’re neither the fastest team, nor the slowest. We can make it into the next trial, as long as nothing goes wrong.
Three patients treated. Four.
One to go. One last, somewhat trickier, case.
Two team flags have been raised—
There’s a third . . .
“Arcane Sovereign!” Megaera curses and, catching her error, adds a few Skeldar gods to her expletive as I rush to her shattered teapot—and the potion puddling into the ground. “It couldn’t withstand the heat.”
With a backdrop of hand-pointing and laughter, Olyn crouches beside me and the sharp shards of teapot.
Carefully, I lift a curved shard that still carries a little fluid and set on the table. One by one, I dip three needle ends into it, and set my lips in a flat line. “It didn’t boil enough to coagulate.”
“What does that mean?”
“If it doesn’t hit the exact centre of his acupoints, it’ll poison him.”
“You mean . . .”
“The patient will be paralysed.”
Olyn sucks in her breath. Two more flags are raised around the square. Only one more team can pass. If it’s not ours, Quin . . .
I pinch the needles and twirl towards our last patient. The neighbouring team are a burst of vibrant light as they quickly finish stacking their last spell.
“What are you doing?” Olyn says, hurrying to my side.
“I can’t ask you to bear this responsibility.” My stomach is diving out of my feet as I stand before the last pedestal. This is a life I will ruin along with the king’s if I don’t . . .
“You’re an exceptional healer.” Olyn strikes my acupoints, freezing me in place, and plucks the needles carefully from my fingers. “But I’m still better with needles.”
She doesn’t hesitate. There’s no time to hesitate—the team beside us are driving their magicked needles towards their patient’s lower stomach.
Olyn flings the three needles into our patient—
Megaera gasps—as do I, internally.
Such perfect accuracy.
Even our patient is stunned a full second before he raises our team’s flag and leaps off the pedestal.
Bells chime around the square announcing the end of the first trial. Olyn jabs to free my movements and I growl at her and grab her into a fierce hug. Even Megaera is laughing joyously. The crowds swarm past us to surround the other teams, lifting them onto their shoulders to parade them. Even the teams who didn’t make the second trial bow with respect to the other five.
Ours, they all ignore. Stormblades surround us, blocking us from a few violent attempts to put us ‘in our place’. Only Captain Kjartan, the prins, and Skriniaris Evander give us nods.
“Must’ve cheated,” most murmur, while the more generous shrug. “Luck.”
Skriniaris Evander calls for order and when the square is quiet, he and the other orchestrators officially announce the six passing teams. The regent looks over each, with a stiff smile at ours, and rises.
“Prins Lief,” he calls with feigned diplomacy, “you’ll be happy we’ve considered non-magic limitations.”
Captain Kjartan surges forward to retort, but is held back by the prins’ warning look.
I smother the instinct to defend and fold back between Megaera and Olyn. I don’t listen to the rest of the exchange, nor do I pay much attention as the regent and his men leave, or when Team Orange laughingly point out to us how easy that round was. “The next will be harder, and I hear the third has been designed by the regent himself!”