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)
When Quin pulls his horse to a stop at my side and demands the cat’s release, they snicker. “Who do you think you are, the king?”
Chaos bites back. “Who do you think you are, rich bullies with nothing better to do?” He ducks the swipe of a drakopala from one of them as another puffs out their chest.
“We’re all first-born sons of high-ranking officials! We’ll be running court someday!”
But in short order the youth carrying the bundle collapses onto his horse under a sleeping spell, and the cat is safe in Chaos’s hands.
He turns his horse, but he’s met with a barrage of nasty spells from the rest and Quin is kept busy blocking each one. “Get to the woods.”
While Chaos makes his escape, Quin faces the fight. Six against one, all well-trained in sentinian magic, spell after spell. One slices through his sleeve—his shield blasts at them, but they keep coming. He becomes a challenge; someone who must be taught a lesson. He sweats as he holds them off until, finally, redcloaks interfere. Only when the young linea are gone, escorted to their homes, does Quin sag into his saddle. He gnashes his teeth as he spells the cut on his arm.
By the time he emerges into the clearing, Quin is calm and collected. At least, on the outside. He moves his horse forward and faces Chaos tightly, the flash in his eyes hinting at what’s roiling inside.
Chaos shifts his horse until he can nudge Quin’s foot from its stirrup. He slides his own foot in and puts weight on it as he leans over, carefully tucking the sling he’s fashioned for the cat to lie in around Quin’s neck. “There-there. Maskios has money. He’ll take care of you.”
When he’s resumed his seat and his own stirrups, he cocks his head at Quin and pats the bundle at his chest. “Why are you still glaring at me like that?”
“That was dangerous. You risked your life. For a cat.”
“They might’ve killed it!”
“You can’t save everyone!”
Chaos turns his horse so they’re facing the same direction, side by side. “I can try.”
“Sometimes you shouldn’t. Sometimes, you just have to make hard choices. Not everything can be saved.”
“How defeatist.”
“They’d have spelled you from your horse. You’d have been trampled. Killed. And in the end, it wouldn’t matter. You’re just par-linea.”
Chaos’s horse shifts with him as he recoils. “Just par-linea.”
“That is the truth.”
Chaos slides off his horse and hands Quin the reins without looking at him. Leaves rustle, and the cat against Quin’s chest gives a faint meow.
The expression that Chaos doesn’t see is one of yearning—yearning to explain, to make him understand. But Quin has no words. He grits his teeth and watches as Chaos leaves.
Next door. A chamber in Pavilion Library, the very chamber I once used when I pretended to be Calix Solin myself.
I groan quietly, banging my head against the side of the mirror that memory-Quin is looking into as he magics on his Calix Solin mask.
Skriniaris Evander is bent over a table behind him, gushing over a small white cat in a basket. “Since your father won’t let you keep her, how about she stays here with me?”
Quin joins him at the table, cooing over the fluffy creature.
“What shall we call her?”
“Taffy,” Quin says quickly. Too quickly. Skriniaris Evander looks at him with a questioning brow.
Quin clears his throat, his jaw too stubbornly set. “Taffy is sweet. The cat is sweet.”
I sneak around his side and inspect his cheeks for the faintest hint of pink. Perhaps he reimagined himself with this subtle flush to make his thoughts back then visible—clear to me. I touch his arm as if he can feel me, and whisper as if he can hear me: “Did you choose Taffy because I said I love it?”
Skriniaris Evander hums. “You got this cat while you were with Caelus, didn’t you?”
Quin looks over sharply.
Evander murmurs, “Does he know who you are?”
“I don’t want him to feel obligated. Wouldn’t want him to feign his feelings.”
“You want to keep this secret until you’re sure he genuinely likes you.”
“Take good care of Taffy,” Quin says, rubbing the cat’s white head as she butts against him for more.
Evander smiles. “Of course, your highness.” He pauses. “Please be safe during the archery games.”
Quin laughs. “Every year, the same warning.”
“Your magic will be sealed for a full day! What if—”
“Only those who love me can see through my mask. I’m safe.”
Skriniaris Evander grimaces. “Just be careful.”
I follow Quin into the stables, where he mounts a lightly armoured horse. I squeeze in behind him and lean snug against his back, my head at his shoulder for the duration of the ride.
When we reach the base of the cliffs on the outskirts of the capital—with that treacherous path curving and winding up into ever-present clouds—Quin is ushered into the fenced-off area where the games will be held.