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, who had observed all this quietly, steps into the middle of the room with the snap of his cane. The air around him shimmers with authority, and even Zenon’s father, leader of the crusaders, seems to hold his breath.
Megaera watches with a glimmer of respect in her eyes, and even Lykos looks on with curious admiration at the man demanding their attention.
“And who are you?” someone rasps.
In a second, Nicostratus joins Quin in the centre of the room, prepared to fight if needed. Two brothers, side by side. Quin looks at him—steady, searching. A thousand words unspoken. Nicostratus inclines his head. Quin rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezes, a quiet declaration of trust. “This is Prince Nicostratus Aetherion, general of King Constantinos Quintus Aetherion’s army, and the king’s most beloved brother.”
Gasps ripple through the hall. Nicostratus steps forward, his grip firm on Quin’s shoulder. He turns to the room, voice ironclad. “Bow.” He lets the command settle. “This is your king.”
Shocked expressions and worried glances give way to hurried bows.
During their murmured—gritted—exhalations, Bastion sidles next to me, letting out a deep breath of appreciation. “I might have to divorce you, Husband. This prince is looking pretty.”
“Don’t you dare fool him with your wish-washy feelings,” I warn under my breath. “Or I’ll use you to practice the crude technique of prick removal.”
Bastion slinks away, gaze nevertheless riveted to Nicostratus.
Olyn snickers on my other side, muttering about lost causes, and Veronica glances at her, a bright twinkle in her eye that she quickly hides behind the kiss she drops onto her son’s head.
A small wave of fatigue rolls through me, but I brace through it as Quin speaks. He declares his disdain for the crusaders’ past ruthless actions; says he will not tolerate harm to any of his people. But he also promises, if they acknowledge the fault in their unmitigated violence, he will listen to the cries that have fuelled their desperate actions. He will do his best to redress the inequality running rampant throughout the kingdom. He will help those without magic to pursue an education.
Quin’s gaze flickers to me, holds for a beat, then sweeps over the crusaders. “Right now, we face a crisis. This plague does not discriminate—it does not care if you are linea, par-linea, or not. It strikes rich and poor, strong and weak, old and young. This illness is blind to power and status. And we must be too.
“You speak of risk, of fear. I know fear well. I have struggled under the thumb of my uncle too long. I have walked death and humiliation, and have dragged myself through it, fought through it, and I have led through it. And now, I will do so again.”
He whips off his cloak, his sleeve rolled back in a single, decisive movement. “If there is a way to protect the healthy, we must try it. But words are not enough—we must act. Do you have the courage to follow? If you fear, then let that fear rest on me. Let me lead the way.” His voice hardens. “Caelus.”
I’m about to step forwards when Queen Veronica rises, setting her child down upon the chair with a glance at me to stay close to him. I rock back and remain at the boy’s side as she crosses the hall and yanks down the king’s sleeve. “I will do this here. You will need to demonstrate before a much bigger audience.”
She rolls up her sleeve and glances at me. “I’ve known the healer who developed this since he was young. He has dedicated his life to helping others. I, Queen Veronica of Lumin, will stake my life on it.”
Olyn turns to me with a questioning look as she plucks the necessary vial from my healing bag. I blink and nod, and she takes it, along with her needles, and faces the queen before all eyes in the hall. With careful movements and permission to touch her highness, she skims Veronica’s sleeve higher up her arm and gently holds her steady as she cuts a small cross into her skin. As a pearl of blood begins to dribble, Olyn dabs pus over it while the crusaders catch their breath.
Veronica boldly looks around the room before landing her gaze on Olyn. “If I am well by morning, you will treat my son next.”
Morning mist clings to the valleys, our horses kicking up damp earth as we ride. My breath comes easier today; the tightness in my lungs is easing, the scales on my forearms fading. I had Quin shield me, but I believe it’s the last shield I’ll need.
On the wind comes the distant tolling of luminist bells, muffled and eerie. The capital looms ahead, still a half-day’s journey away.
We’ve left the queen and Quin’s son under the protection of the crusaders, away from sick, frightened, angry people. Away from being forced to take their blows. Away from the regent and his wrath. Lykos, Zenon, and Megaera vowed to protect them, and Olyn and Bastion remained as well. Not only to treat the queen and her son, but to take responsibility for Kastoria and all their neighbouring villages.