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)
“Wait, Quin—”
But he’s already rising.
Magic crackles in his palms, the very air thickening with the intent to kill.
Before him, the regent forces himself upright. His breath comes ragged. Uneven. But his hands—
His hands slam into the earth.
The floor jolts. A deep, unnatural rumble.
A fissure splits the marble beneath me.
Quin’s voice is low, lethal. “You were behind those earthshakes.”
The regent wrenches his glowing hands from the cracking floor—
And the violet oak rises.
Not just lifts—is ripped from the earth, its ancient roots tearing free.
Higher. Higher. The whole tree is suspended.
And then—
The regent slams his hands into the tree.
All the centuries of linea power it has absorbed, the very magic of kings long dead, condenses—racing toward the heart of the wood.
A pulse shudders through the luminarium.
A pulse that doesn’t fade.
It forges.
It solidifies.
And then the regent draws a sword from the violet oak.
Not just a weapon. A living force.
A single, devastating arc of its blade sends Quin and me flying.
I don’t even feel the impact.
Just the shock of Quin’s magic shattering.
He barely manages another shield—a desperate one. Weak.
The regent laughs.
“You feel it now, don’t you?” His voice curls with satisfaction. “What it feels like to be pitiful.”
Quin doesn’t answer. But I see the strain in his arms, the wild flicker of magic trying to weave back together.
It’s not enough.
Not against this.
I reach for him. Above me. Somewhere close, but not close enough.
“Quin—”
The regent swings the violet oak sword again.
A ripple of power yanks us forward.
I gasp—the world lurches, and we are dragged toward him, helpless.
“I lured you here for a reason, Constantinos.”
Quin digs his heels into the cracked ground, but the pull is too strong.
Behind the regent, the remains of the violet oak finally topple.
The weight of it shakes the luminarium. Branches crumble to ash.
The tree has fallen.
My chest tightens, my world lurches—
Quin will be next.
“Please,” I beg the regent. “I’ll do anything. I’ll cure you.”
I try to raise my arm to Quin. Try to reach for him. But my muscles cave. My limbs are useless. I cannot move.
Quin’s shield flickers—weakens.
Then—shatters.
Quin plummets.
The regent swings his sword.
“NO!”
The violet oak blade strikes first.
Quin gasps—a sound sharper than any blade. Blood erupts from his stomach. From his mouth.
His body suspends in air—held there by the regent’s magic. For a single, agonising moment, he’s still.
Then—
The spell releases.
He drops.
A lifeless, crumpling fall. A thud against marble. Red spilling onto white.
He doesn’t move.
Why isn’t he moving?
I claw, scramble, heave— but the regent’s spell snaps tight around me.
“QUIN!”
My voice fractures. The floor tilts. My vision blurs. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
The silence is unbearable. No struggle. No ragged breath. No single twitch.
I twist, fight, try to pull free, but the spell crushes me down.
“Chiron.” The regent’s voice has me seething. I’ve never truly hated before, but I do now. I’m a healer, but I wish I’d never stepped forward out of pity. I wish I’d killed.
Chiron steps forward. Bows over Quin. Presses his fingers to his pulse.
Once.
Twice.
He pauses. Then casts a spell. Once. Twice.
He doesn’t speak.
Too quiet.
Far too quiet.
The regent’s voice sharpens. “Well?”
Chiron rises. Bows. And speaks.
“Dead.”
Dead.
The word slams into me.
My chest hollows. My breath doesn’t come. My heartbeat struggles too.
“No.” No, no, no, no—
Something inside me cracks.
My lovelight pulses violently. My chest burns. My limbs shake.
I lurch against the regent’s constricting spell, thrashing. My knuckles slam against the marble.
Quin is—
Chiron steps toward me. His boots clomp against the floor. His face is hard, distant. “That’s right,” he says. His voice is flat. Unfeeling. Absolute. “He is dead.”
But his eyes . . .
They stay on mine. Too long. Too steady.
And suddenly—
My body remembers.
I was dead once, too.
And Chiron had given the same proclamation about me.
My stomach clenches. The realisation hits so hard, I nearly choke on it.
Chiron lied to save me.
And now—
He is lying to save him.
A single, sharp breath stabs through my lungs.
I know what to do.
I wail. A long, raw sound. I thrash against the marble. My voice twists with agony.
“YOU KILLED HIM!”
The words tear from me. My body convulses, shakes, as if it’s rejecting the very truth of it.
“I said I’d cure you—” My arm lunges forward, muscles burning against the spell’s hold. My fingers claw for Quin—let me go, let me—
The regent laughs.
His spell dissolves.
The moment I’m free, I lunge.
I collapse over Quin, fingers scrambling for him. My hands find warm arms, still but not cold. I press down, feel for a pulse—
A faint beat, barely there.
A sob rips from my throat.
“No, no, no—” His name catches in my chest. My breath heaves. My fingers clamp on tighter, digging into his skin, as if I can pull him back from the abyss.
My arm wraps around him. A lover’s tragic, breaking embrace. My forehead presses against his. A tear falls, rolls down his cheek.
“Wake up. . . You can’t be—”
I reach blindly, shaking, fumbling. My hands dive into my healing bag, searching—something, anything.