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)
Lucius takes out his pipe and starts puffing. “The regent already imprisoned us on a boat and tried to poison everyone in here.”
Akilah swallows. “He said he’d let you all go if Florentius won the contest.”
“So he’d have dumped our comatose bodies on the bank?”
“Then leave here after you’re dumped, and be free for the rest of your lives. Safe.”
There’s a gasp of longing, and I stand. “If our team wins—”
“Your boat may be set alight with all your bodies in it!” Akilah says to them, glaring at me.
Her wrath stings. It hurts to argue against the ally I’d thought would always have my back.
Your sister or your king?
I made my choice.
She is making hers. Me, or Florentius.
I briefly shut my eyes on the ache and force out my voice. “Redcloaks won’t expect resistance from the inside. Leave now—tip the battle in your favour and free yourselves.”
“You might not all make it!”
“We need this win to save our true king.”
“They don’t care about a useless king!”
I reel back at her punching words and a steadying hand clasps my hip. I feel the press of his armband, and know it’s Prince Nicostratus.
My heart races as I address all the prisoners. “If my team doesn’t win, the regent does. The regent who cast you away on that forsaken island; who denied you healthcare; who put you all here.” I look at all of them earnestly. “He promised Florentius he would free you, but who’s to say he’ll keep that promise?
Prince Nicostratus’s hand stays at my side as Lucius steps before me. “I’ve never trusted the regent. But I have seen Cael toiling for weeks on arid land to produce life-saving plants to protect you all.” There’s stirring and whispering at this. “I choose to fight.”
More murmurings, and the three men who taught me to weave coffinweed on that island rise.
One by one, they all stand, vowing to fight for their escape.
Lucius faces me. “What do you need us to do?”
I ping my eyes open to Olyn and Megaera bowed over me. They startle and rear back as I lurch upright and check the hourglass. Mere minutes left.
I hope they all follow my instructions as promised.
“Needle the rejuvenation acupoints.” Olyn swiftly follows the instruction. “Sniffing salts!” Megaera grabs some and holds them under each nose.
The clouds have thickened overhead and the luminarium dome glares along with the regent, who is shifting tightly in his seat. The crowds are full of quiet whispers.
The royal team watches closely, Florentius with a twitching jaw. He sees me as a threat. He sees me standing between him and his brother—
And, I am.
I cannot forget that.
Gravely, I move to the little girl’s side and whisper in her ear to wake, to see her Nestor. As instructed, Lucius has guided the little girl through the exit door first, and she sits up crying. “Nestor! Brother!”
Spectators take a collective step back, enlarging the stage in their shock, their disbelief. And in the centre of it is Florentius, dropping to his knees with an agonised cry while the leader of the orange team races forward with a shout of relief, pulling his little sister into his trembling arms.
Nestor’s wet eyes meet mine over her small shoulder and in their depths, I see remorse and endless gratitude. I incline my head, and he whispers as he passes me, “I lost. I know what to do.”
They leave the stage and I huddle over Casimiria’s slowly stirring body with Olyn and Megaera. I whisper, “The moment he sees her, the regent will set his soldiers in motion. We split here.”
Olyn swallows. “Bastion told me what to do.”
“This is goodbye then,” Megaera murmurs with a wry smile, “I’ll be happy not to owe you any longer.” She pauses and her eyes lock on mine quietly. “Take care.”
They step back, and as the hourglass drips its last sand, Casimiria awakens. “Had some rough sleeps before. That was the worst.”
Absolute silence. The crowd doesn’t so much as whisper. They don’t know how to explain this away. They don’t know how to comprehend that an outcast, non-magic team just won the Medicus Contest; that we revived two comatose patients. Clouds descend, thickening the shadows of their frowns—and the regent’s fury.
He’s risen from his throne, his face pinched. He wants to lash out, strike us down, but he’s aware the people are watching, judging. He has to finish his act.
He’s motioning for his men instead, silent language. I know what it means.
As planned, Bastion has capsulised spells tossed high into the air, and they burst into sound and colour. In the confusion, I take Casimiria by the hand; she slaps me away and springs to her feet, gaze meeting mine. We might have scores to settle, but right now we need to flee.
We dash through the throng, weaving between startled spectators and drink stalls. Skriniaris Evander is yelling false directions in the distance, a risky move that he could not be dissuaded from taking. I’ll lay my life down, if it gives you the chance to get away; to free my friend and my king.