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)
“So you’re afraid of the regent.” I lean in, lowering my voice. “You don’t think he’s already incensed?”
King Yngvarr tenses.
“Perhaps it’s in your interests to let him go. He may provide a distraction. As you say, fighting on two fronts weakens.”
He uncrosses his legs, laughing, but there’s a strain to it. My palms sweat with hope—
“Losing a mere contest, and losing the upper hand on Lumin’s true king . . . The magnitude of one significantly overshadows the other. He’s embarrassed now, but so long as I don’t unleash my captive on him, he’ll not push at our border.”
My lungs deflate, my knees buckling in desperation. I do not want to reach for my last resort. I do not want to betray Quin like that. “An enemy of my enemy is a potential ally. Release him, let him gather his forces, rally support, and fight against the Wyrds with you.”
“What gall, to suggest political manoeuvres on behalf of kings!”
I do dash a look Quin’s way at this. I expect him to be glowering at my ruthless negotiation attempts, but he’s watching me thoughtfully. King Yngvarr, though . . . his head cocks as he eyes me with suspicion. Tread carefully. Already he’ll wonder why I fight this hard for Lumin royalty when I’m supposed to be a Skeldar healer—one, even, with the goddess’ touch. I bow again. “I am merely a healer. My desire is simple: for no one to be hurt; to heal those who become so. My suggestions are not to interfere with the games between kings but merely to save this man’s life—and perhaps more, if these strategies are employed.”
“I’d let any other captive go. Why this man?”
I twist slightly to avoid Quin’s upcoming glare. “Quite frankly? He’s pitiful.”
“So are others.”
“Pitiful but full of potential. I truly desire him to be used to bring peace between our kingdom and his.”
After a moment’s deliberation, King Yngvarr accepts this. “I suppose someone touched by the heavens would hold bigger aspirations.”
I clutch this straw, even if it does mean Quin finds out the depth of my deception, the risk I’ve taken. “Indeed, I’m afflicted with dreams of peace and the wellbeing of our people. They never stop; nor will they, until the gods are satisfied.”
A cup drops and I glance to Quin, who’s quickly straightening the mess of tea he’s made; his grimacing gaze slaps mine and though we don’t speak, we’re conversing. Caelus!
I had to don this mask. I’d do it again.
We’ll talk about your beheading if we ever get out of this!
I shift on a shiver and refocus on King Yngvarr.
He nods. “I will fulfil one part of my promise to you. I won’t put his head on a stake.”
I sag to my knees.
I only have one thing left.
“In my dreams, releasing this man is crucial to establishing this divine peace. This is why I’ve been so bold before you.”
“Boldly living the will of the gods can be forgiven.”
“Then I boldly ask you to forgive me for intruding on your past.” I touch my head to the ground.
“What do you mean?” King Yngvarr says tightly.
“I discovered your dromveske; I entered your memories.”
An unsettling silence follows and I dare not raise my head. One step, two steps towards me—
A hand clasps my shoulder and King Yngvarr steers me upright to face him. His eyes should be angry, but instead, they’re damp. “My son gave them to you.”
He already knew.
King Yngvarr continues, “He too has always yearned for peace, always intercepted my wrath towards Lumin. He wanted you to understand me. Do you?”
“I feel for Kronprins Yngvarr.”
“Kronprins Yngvarr is me.”
“Is he?”
King Yngvarr rocks back on his heels.
“I brought you a gift from Hinsard,” I say quietly, and his eyes shoot with hope and anxiety towards the main doors. “It comes with conditions. May I have it brought in?”
The king croaks out the order, and a woman wearing my veiled curacowl enters the hall.
King Yngvarr staggers to a stand and stares at her, and with a sickening lurch in my stomach, I glance at Quin. I expect to see his horror and hurt and what I’m doing, but once again, his face is well controlled. He appears calm and collected, ready to face whatever twists and turns will follow. His gaze shifts from his mother to me and I struggle to hold it. I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me. Or maybe do. Maybe that is the best result.
“Remove your veil,” King Yngvarr says, almost a whisper, when Casimiria has come to a stop beside me.
“A gift is meant to be unwrapped,” I say, “but is first delivered with a few words.”
“Your conditions.”
“His freedom in return for her.”
“I’ll have them both!” King Yngvarr snags the veil and rips it off Casimiria, revealing her elegant frame and her keenly intelligent eyes.
She smiles at him and King Yngvarr most clearly buckles. “Haldr,” she says, glancing at her son and to her first love again, “please continue.”