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)
His lips tremble. His fingers twitch—reaching for me.
“Help me,” he gasps.
I watch him.
“I don’t have a cure,” I murmur. “If I did . . .”
I hesitate—just enough to give him hope. Then, softly: “Even though I hate you, I’d give it to you.”
His breath hitches.
“I’d destroy your meridians. I’d make sure Quin expels you from the kingdom, never to return. But I’d give it to you.”
I meet his gaze—firm. Unwavering.
“Do you want to know why?”
A shudder racks his body. He leans forward. Clinging.
“Because no matter how much I grieve . . . No matter how much I hate . . .” I steel my voice. “I will not become you.”
The truth hits like a killing blow. His eyes widen. His hand falters.
“I’m a healer.”
A long, rattling breath escapes him.
“I will heal.”
It is the only mercy I have left to give. I reach for my bag—relief, at least, for the pain.
But with his last energy, he surges. A burst of raw, violent anger—herbs scatter, a final spell twists through the air—
Aimed at me.
A killing curse.
Quin moves faster.
Light explodes between us—his magic collides with the regent’s in a booming blast. The force sends the regent skidding across the fractured marble to the very spot where the violet oak once stood. Where, long ago, he met his only friend. His first love.
His final breaths come ragged. And then—a sob.
He stretches out his hand—as if someone stands before him.
Perhaps, in his last moments, he sees Liandros.
His fingers tremble—falling through air.
Then stillness.
The regent is no more.
The last of his men have fled.
Quin stands before me—shield still shining, body shaking. His breaths are shallow, laboured. His legs falter.
But still, he protects me.
Gently, I slip my arm around his waist.
And this time, it’s me who holds his weight.
We stagger out into the chaos of rebellion. A storm of redcloaks, magic flaring in desperate bursts, steel clashing against steel. I stop short, a cold weight dropping into my stomach. I hadn’t thought there’d be more fight to come.
And Quin—Quin has nothing left.
I tighten my grip on him, feeling the faint tremor in his limbs.
“The gong,” Quin murmurs, his voice raw.
I move towards it, half dragging him as I scan the battlefield. Then I freeze again.
“Who are they fighting?”
Quin lets out a low, breathless laugh. “You don’t see him yet. But I feel his magic.”
A surge of power ripples across the courtyard, slamming through the luminarium, the palace—through us. It’s so strong that Quin and I grab onto a column, bracing against the force, while the redcloaks collapse in waves below.
And then I see him.
Soaring from the palace wall like a falcon cutting through the sky.
Quin’s lips curl into something like a smile. He grips the baton, his fingers white around the wood, and slams it into the gong.
The sound explodes through the royal city, reverberating off stone and steel, swallowing battle cries. Every head turns. Redcloaks freeze, blades faltering. Even Nicostratus, mid-flight, turns his gaze toward us.
Quin’s voice rings clear across the courtyard. “The regent is dead.”
A ripple moves through the redcloaks—not of defiance, but something heavier. Relief. Some sag to their knees, others cover their eyes.
“Stop this fight,” Quin commands, lifting a hand to the thick black smoke curling above us. “We have a bigger one to win.”
Some of the regent’s men break, scattering into the alleyways. Others linger, pale-faced, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. Will they face a sword? A guillotine?
Quin raises his voice again. “Anyone who testifies against the regent before the king’s court will be granted clemency.”
Hesitation. Then, one by one, they bow.
Nicostratus lands on the platform in a sweep of motion, barking orders to lead the surrendering men away. Then he turns to Quin, chin high.
Quin shakes his head. “You were supposed to go west.”
Nicostratus doesn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t risk the kingdom’s people. But I couldn’t risk you, either.”
Quin’s exhale is sharp. “How did you know?”
Nicostratus holds his gaze. “A spy. I got word last night and turned back with five men.”
Only five.
How reckless. How close it had been.
Quin and I—we had no more fight left in us.
I step forward, still supporting Quin’s weight, and bow my head toward Nicostratus. If he hadn’t been here . . .
Nicostratus swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he nods.
Quin shifts in my grip, muscles tightening against quietly swallowed pain, and pulls free.
Then, without a word, he embraces his brother.
Quin and I make our way to King’s Island, where the breeze carries the soft rustle of pearl heart bushes, their white-speckled leaves bowing in welcome. A cheeky greeting. A whisper of the past.
The sight tugs at something deep in my chest. Quin teased me mercilessly the first time I set foot in the royal city—pretending he wasn’t the king, watching me grumble about the crown making me coax these bushes to life.
Without magic.
It feels like a lifetime ago. I was a lifetime ago. A Cael with endless cheek and little experience. A Cael who thought magic was everything. A Cael who hated the king.