Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Quin stiffens, like he’s realised he’s almost given himself away. I take a seat and watch him for clues—there, a slight flush, quickly schooled. The beginning of his lie. “Father was furious at my absence that night. I was punished. I’m to heal without magic.”
“He’s tough on you.”
“He’s tough on everyone.”
He clears his throat when Chaos’s brow arches. “My brother disobeyed him too. We’re both hobbling on canes today.”
“Then let’s order sikelion lamb and emberfruit pheasant, too. And some borage tea.” Chaos grins. “With that, I can take away your pain.”
“You just want more free food.”
“We both win.”
It’s while they make their way through the dishes that soon fill the table that I notice new things, things that aren’t in my own memories of this evening; things that Chaos is completely unaware of as he points out all the healing properties of their shared feast.
I smirk as groups of pretty women whisper from the edges of the room, pointing at Chaos, sighing. That blonde hair, that perfect face! He’s here without a girl, it’s during the lovelight festival, he must be unattached.
What would it take to attach him?
How about you faint beside his table and see if he comes to your rescue?
When she tries, Quin slyly flicks spells from under the table, causing her to topple into another man’s arms.
Later, dancers are leaping and twirling around tables, the leader with her eyes fixed with fascination on my profile.
Again, Quin flicks a spell and she and her dancers fall into a great silky heap behind me.
While Chaos moans into a delightful bite of pecan puff, he flicks a spell at a woman merely gazing at me, and she spills her wine all down her skirts.
I lean in on my elbow, cupping my chin and laughing. “You’re like a king guarding his borders. Am I your kingdom, Quintus?”
Chaos suddenly puts down his pastry and looks directly over the table at Quin. “Enough.”
Quin shifts, chest puffed on a held breath, as if he thinks he’s been caught.
“Why do you keep frowning? Why are you sharing this meal with me? Why were you so upset before?”
“I was upset before I met you tonight.” Quin looks away, his jaw quivering. “My marriage has been arranged.”
There’s one last crumb of pastry left on the plate. Suddenly Chaos’s gaze is fixed on that morsel as he squirms restlessly. “Arranged?”
“But I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Is she not nice enough? Pretty enough?”
“She’s plenty nice and plenty pretty. That’s not it, Caelus. Being with someone should be intimate, passionate. Should be felt deep inside. I can’t be that with her.” He looks at Chaos, something desperate in his gaze; in the shake of his head. “Do you understand? I can’t.”
Chaos pales and I cringe at where his mind leads him next. His eyes wander down Quin’s body to where he disappears under the table, and lingers. He gulps.
I slink deep in my seat on a hammering heart. Chaos picks up the last morsel of pastry puff and pops it into his mouth, nodding. “I understand.” He doesn’t. The meal they’ve just shared . . . he suddenly sees it as part of a transaction. Payment for . . . medical help.
Quin’s eyes close on a shaky exhale, only to open to Chaos leaning over the table with a pointed downward glance and a whisper. “I can get that happy for you.”
I freeze along with Quin, and when Quin grabs his cane and hurtles to his feet, so do I. I’ve never been so glad to flee. Quin drops money on the table and I latch onto his back, arms slung around his neck as he rides the wind back to his boat. There, he alternates between hitting his cane on the bench and laughing and groaning.
I take his cane and have a whacking-groaning session myself. All these moments we’ve had, and I didn’t know it. I should have savoured each one. Instead, like this night too, Chaos will storm off irritated at being suddenly abandoned.
Why are you irritated, Chaos? Really ask yourself why.
I slump onto the bench and swallow thickly as Quin takes up his oars and heaves them through water, faster and harder, until we’re once more inside the royal city.
“I shouldn’t see him again,” Quin says finally. “I won’t.”
The air shifts, heavy with the storm of emotions not yet . . . fully realised. My feet hesitate at the threshold, my breath catching as I step through the door. The royal chambers unfold around me, draped in suffocating quiet save for the hushed voices of the vitalians huddled in a corner. Their grave expressions cut through the stillness, but my gaze snaps to the bed at the heart of the room.
Quin is kneeling beside a very pale, prone Nicostratus.
Gold-sashed Chiron steps forward and bows low. “If we can get white chryslaced fungi, he’ll have a chance. But . . .”