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)
The aklo regrips the basket. Other than confirming my name, he seems reluctant to speak. His gaze keeps flittering to the side as well. “He said you’d believe he needs help if you saw this cat. Follow.”
I move with him in the direction of the library. Evander . . . I must help him in any way I can and ease his— “What are his symptoms?” I ask over a long whine from the cat.
The aklo just tells me we should hurry.
I take the basket from him, to help ease his own suffering. The cat paws at my wrist with another long meow.
“The luminariums are now open to the sick,” I say, slowing. “Did you send him there?”
“He’s at the library. Too weak to move.”
The aklo glances away. He keeps pulling up the collar of his cloak. A drop of sweat beads at his temple.
The morning is crisp. Not warm enough for that.
Something is wrong.
I glance at the cat. The familiar weight of her settles me. She meows again, scratchy, urgent. Evander needs me.
I glance across the square, as if I might spot Quin meditating in the fresh morning air, as if I might beckon him to join me, but he’s nowhere to be seen—and there may be no time to wait.
Smoke hangs thicker in the air here. Coughing rattles from behind closed windows. And then—
A voice.
Soft. Strained.
My name?
I turn instinctively, pulse quickening, but—the aklo locks a hand around my wrist. “Hurry.”
He drags me forward as if he’s afraid I might change my mind.
I prickle at his urgency and resist his pull. Maybe I should find Quin. Tell someone about this. But Evander’s cat stretches up from the basket, paws on my chest, and meows so desperately.
If Evander is on the brink . . . I cannot ignore what might be his last plea.
I rush up the stairs to the library, calling his name. My voice sounds so loud among the walls of books. Too loud. Even in the silence of a library.
But there should be some movement. The rustle of turning pages. Even a cough.
“Where is he?” I ask the aklo, who prods me further into the main room.
I spy legs on the floor; someone is slumped behind those shelves. Evander’s cat leaps from the basket, hurrying there.
I take a few steps forward—
From behind the shelves, stepping over Evander’s legs, a redcloak emerges. I hiss, snapping to a halt. He drags Skriniaris Evander’s body for me to see. Blood trickles down his forehead, but his eyes are awake, aware, and they bulge as he tries to yell through the magic gagging him.
More red fills my side vision. I spin; redcloaks close in behind me too. “What is this?”
Swords, at least, are not unsheathed. Perhaps they don’t think they need them against one pitiful non-magicked healer. Perhaps there’s a chance to talk a way out of this.
But in my gut, I know there isn’t. I know why the aklo kept pulling at his collar now. He was trying to make sure the regent’s mark wasn’t obvious. That I wouldn’t piece all this together.
I did suspect, but I let my emotions manipulate me. I’d once more been impulsive. At the very least, I’m consistent to the end.
“The regent must be afraid,” I say on a hollow laugh. “Even the luminists are defying laws and listening to the king. The. True. King.”
The blow comes fast and brutal—a crack across my cheekbone that sends a shock through my skull. My vision blurs. I taste blood before I feel it, a metallic heat spilling over my tongue. I swallow. Straighten. And smile with the hit staining my teeth. “He’ll never change the will of the people. And the people are all bowing to Constantinos now.”
Again, I’m hit.
Evander keeps shaking his head violently, willing me to stop. I could stop. But I won’t. I know what these redcloaks will do. They’ll use me to lure Quin in, and Quin will come, without the aid of his army.
Evander’s hands tremble. The redcloak kicks at him to keep still. I see the magic gagging him tighten.
The same magic that’ll be locked around Quin’s throat. The same magic that will steal his breath. His voice. His power.
They will bind him. Drag him before the regent like an offering.
And he will come willingly. Because of me.
I cannot let them. I will not let them.
If I goad these soldiers into killing me now, there’ll be no bait. Quin will grieve, he will be unfathomably furious, but he will wait for the king’s men. He will storm the royal city with the power he needs to win it back.
I hesitate on a lurch of fear, on a voice in my head that says if I let them take me, at least I’ll see Quin one last time. At least we’ll die together.