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)
“Hurry.”
His eyes narrow.
If he knows, he might lock me in a room until I recover, but if I’m to die of this—and my chances are fifty-fifty—I want to go doing everything I can to save Quin’s people. I want to turn the horse pus into protective paste; I want to get it to the people; I want to head back to the capital and help spread the scription for warding there.
I add quickly, “You didn’t see anyone sick. But I think I did. I need to check.”
A beat. Then, with a sigh, Nicostratus raises his hands and strengthens the shield.
The glow brightens instantly, but for all the magic around me, it doesn’t dull the throb behind my eyes, the fever pulsing just beneath my skin. I force my shoulders to relax, schooling my features into something neutral, something that doesn’t betray the way my body is burning from the inside out.
Then—
“Using magic, here? Have some respect!”
The deep voice crashes through the doorway I forgot to close. My pulse lurches as I spin around—
The sudden movement sends a fresh wave of dizziness through me. I barely steady myself before Lykos smirks at me, shaking his head.
He doesn’t wait for a greeting. He hauls me into a hug that lifts me off my feet.
“Good to see you.” His grip tightens before he sets me down, a glint of something unreadable in his eye. “And good you made it just in time.”
I eye him warily. “In time for what?”
His grin grows, all mischief and something I’m not used to seeing on this gruff man: delight. “You’ll see.”
I see sooner than I expect. I’m barely one breath in, and Zenon joyously yells my name in the distance. I emerge from the chambers into the vined hallway only to crash into silk and gold embroidery.
My hands reflexively grip the bride’s delicate dress before I jerk shakily away. A laugh tickles up my throat—over the heat and tightness building there—as I take her all in. Golden silk skirts with fine jewels studding the shoulders and delicate chains dangling into sleeves. Her hair is extravagantly braided, sparkling with pearly clasps. Her clothes are traditional and not too dissimilar to when she was first dressed up this way, but she looks more radiant today: she’s smiling.
She’s marrying someone who wants to marry her this time.
“Megaera,” I murmur.
Her dark eyes dance, and her smiling lips open to let out a laugh. Behind her Zenon is grinning. “Good surprise, right?” he says.
I swallow. “You’re getting married today?”
“We’re aware of the plague. We decided it wasn’t worth waiting.”
Married. First my aunt during war; now Megaera during plague. Troubled times put things sharply into perspective. Love should be celebrated as much as it can be—one never knew when it could be taken away.
My hand grips the dromveske at my belt.
“We did the rites this morning,” Megaera continues, spying Lykos slipping out of the room behind me. Her eyes narrow playfully at him. “I was just hunting down my husband who left me to welcome our guests at the banquet.”
Lykos gulps audibly behind me. “I heard Cael had arrived, you see. Had to make sure he was treated right, or you’d poison me for sure.”
I pivot to see them staring with quiet smiles at one another.
Her golden chains jingle as she faces me. “Thank you for running out on our wedding. Today, I got to marry my ideal choice.”
In a blur, Lykos snatches her up over his shoulder and starts marching off. “I have business to attend,” he calls out to us, and says quieter to Megaera, “and it’s not the banquet.”
“Wait,” Megaera laughs and pulls something out of the folds of her dress. She lifts up, bracing against Lykos’s back, and throws a small vial that Zenon neatly catches. “For Caelus,” she says, laughing. “I’ve perfected this poison!”
They round the corner out of sight and Zenon hands me the vial. Poison! How typically Megaera. Not a gift I need at all.
I roll the vial between my fingers, bemused. It’s lighter than I expect, or maybe I’m just unsteady.
The fever flushes just under my skin again, pressing harder, along with an unfathomable itch up my arms. I force myself to ignore it as I move back towards the horse pus and scription, and focus on Megaera’s vial. She’s not the only one who gives terrible gifts. Quin had once looked at me the same way when I pressed a vial of amorous spores into his palm. He’d hated the spores as much as I hate poison. But he hadn’t let me take it back. A gift was a gift after all.
I sigh softly and at the same time shiver hard.
Wait—I forgot to ask Nicostratus. I turn, but it’s too sudden. My head throbs so hard my vision turns white and I lose my balance, stumbling blindly.