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 straighten my clothing and turn to the ladder, pausing to look back at Nicostratus, slumped with his face buried in his hands.
I sigh. “Isn’t there a way . . . could we at least all be friends?” my words are quiet, barely there, but he hears them. Hears them and laughs sadly.
I hate that I understand. Hate that I find imagining that difficult too.
This is the reason Quin spoke of stealing a single moment.
I’m a thorn between brothers.
My continued presence can only cause harm. I know it. Nicostratus knows it. Quin knows it.
I say the words he wants to hear. “I’m only saving his life.”
Once more, I’m faced with the deeply carved, intricate knot on the doors. I glance over my shoulder, nod to Prins Lief, and—at the king’s summons—push my way inside, alone.
Guards flank the long hall, light from the pits of eternal flame reflecting on their armour. At the far end, King Yngvarr sits on his throne, a beautiful bejewelled figure of grace with his ageless face. Only his dark eyes hold the truth of his age, his pain, his anger.
The fragrance in the hall hits the back of my nose; had I not taken herbs to counter it, I’d already feel the lulling effects. This meeting is too important. I need a sharp mind.
As I move towards his curling hand, another figure comes into view. He’s crouched behind a stormblade, bent over a side table before the king. And I immediately recognise him. My heart hammers hard against my chest and my teeth snap together at the sight of the iron chains around his wrists, his ankles.
King Yngvarr follows my gaze and clicks his fingers. Quin lifts a pot, pours dark liquid into a fine cup, and holds it out to the king, who tsks. “Do it on your knees.”
Quin obliges, emotionlessly.
I force myself to keep walking, but my fist is curled tight behind the folds of my cloak. King Yngvarr motions towards me. “Pour another cup.”
I stop just behind Quin’s stiffening back and bow to the throned king, holding out the letter Prins Lief instructed me to deliver.
The king snatches it and reads. He gulps back his tea and laughs. “I heard rumours of your tremendous feat in Hinsard. This validates them.” He gestures Quin to hurry and hand me my tea. Slowly, Quin turns. His gaze meets mine calmly, as if to tell me he’s fine. It flickers with warning. Tread carefully.
I take the tea and another laugh bursts out of King Yngvarr. “Haldr, Haldr. I’m so pleased you’re my man.”
Quin’s fingers freeze around the cup. For a long beat, all calm bleeds away. His eyes are a frenzied flash hitting mine, and it’s my turn to cool him. I take the cup, brushing our fingers together, pausing a fleeting second—a message of my own.
Slowly his mask slips back into place and his fingers slide along mine, leaving a wake of shivers as he drops his hand and steps back.
I sip hurriedly and chains clank and clatter as Quin returns to the king’s table.
King Yngvarr leans forward. His smile seems soft but his eyes are hard. “This contest certainly tested your ability. I’m satisfied. I have another patient for you to heal. A challenging one. Are you willing?”
His hand tightens on the arm of his throne, a reminder that I must agree, or . . .
I press my hand against my chest and incline my head. “Before I submit to this request, may you please deliver upon your promise.”
I glance briefly in Quin’s direction. The King looks his way too.
“Your triumph in Lumin indeed impressed me. The mortification rolling through their kingdom right now! I’m truly pleased. But promises . . .” He sighs and it has my stomach tightening. “Promises are merely motivators. When they’ve served their purpose, they can be abandoned.”
“With a philosophy like that,” I reply, “they won’t work as motivators for long.”
“Ah, but you see I do fulfil the ones that are harmless; the ones that offer me more advantage.” He sweeps a hand in Quin’s direction. “I’m afraid he is too smart. Letting him go will infuriate their regent, and I cannot afford his wrath at my borders right now. Wyrd armies threaten war from the west.”
“What if . . . what if you give this king your support? What if he becomes your puppet? What if he can take down the regent and become your ally?”
From the corner of my eye, I glimpse Quin shifting, trying to snag my attention, probably with a clenched jaw. I don’t look. I can’t. I keep my gaze steeled on King Yngvarr, who chuckles in amusement before narrowing lethal eyes on me.
“Lumin and Iskaldir will never be allies.” He pauses, calming his voice. “Fighting on two fronts weakens us. I must keep him here.”