Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“He’s gone the moment he wakes.” He slams the cup onto my stack of books. “Get rid of all these and kneel in the courtyard.”
“Please, don’t! Don’t take—”
“You’re a magical outcast,” he says firmly.
He waits for me to acknowledge this, but . . . I ball my hands and keep my chin up.
“Rebellious, aren’t you?” He grabs the books, the cup atop them falling and smashing. “Ten strokes and watch me burn them.”
Akilah drops to the floor between us, collecting broken shards, tears streaking her cheeks. I want to fall with her. Instead, I’m unmoving, except for a tremble.
My voice is raw. “Father—”
“You threaten to ruin us all.” His angry eyes punch mine. “Twenty strokes. And you’ll throw them on the fire yourself.”
Knees protesting and splinters stinging my palms, stripes of heat burn across my back. I yelp at each one.
My mother cries for Father to stop, and he sends her away, promising this is for the good of us all. When she’s gone, he speaks to me. “You threw away our chance with the Temenos family; they’ve demanded we return Megaera’s dowry. All of it, by the end of this month. How will we ever— It’s unfathomable.”
I bow my head and accept the next burning stripe and then wait for the following one—
It doesn’t come. There’s a sudden ruckus at the gates; aklos are running towards Father and me with pale faces. “Luminists. They’re searching for something. And someone.”
I stiffen. The tithiscar. And the spell I used.
Father staggers back, clutching his chest, fear not just a flash in his gaze this time but a visible, tangible shudder.
The luminist’s handbell chimes, each ring heavier than the last. A shiver races up my spine. Father’s warning comes into sharp focus. If they find I have that tithiscar . . . if they discover Silvius, after complex spellcasting . . . that’s the guillotine. For the whole family.
I feel around my robes for the little coffer they’re after, but . . . I left it, and Silvius, in my chamber.
Father quickly regains his cool and gathers the books; no time for burning now. He shoves them into my arms. “Go!” he hisses, “Hide them—”
I rush the books back to the vitaliary, into the wall, and slide a shelf in front.
As I finish closing the curtains around the bed—and Silvius recovering there, his pulse much stronger now—I hear movement at the door and my heart leaps, but it’s not a luminist. It’s my mother.
I don’t know how much she knows, how much Father has told her. Probably not everything—he’d want to spare her poor nerves. I clutch the curtain shut tight behind me as she approaches.
Her hair, bound before, is loose now and cascades around her worried face. “I saw you come in here . . . those luminists are looking around.”
She pulls me into an embrace and I wince at the pain rippling from my back. She quickly gentles her fingers and combs through my hair instead. “Cael. This will only lead to pain.” She spies my splintered hands. “What if you try helping without magic? There are other ways—”
She moves us towards the curtained bed and I quickly steer her to the table and chairs instead. “Crude medicines are inferior to vitalian spells.”
“Different,” she murmurs, finding some borage on my table to help against my pain. “You could go south, to Iskaldir; learn from my systra. You’d be safe there.”
Safe, but useless. “I won’t let them hurt you,” I say. “Don’t worry.”
“But I care about you, too.”
Ignoring the sharp throbbing in my back and ribs, I wrap my arms around her. “I’ll lead them to the farmlands and lay low there. Read nighttime stories to Lucetta for me, alright?”
She starts crying, and I feel a sharp pang of guilt. But right now, luminists are prowling our courtyards. I must leave here, and take the tithiscar with me.
“How will you get out?” Mother sniffs.
“I can help with that.” The deep voice is followed by the quick shift of the curtain and Silvius rising from the bed. He tosses the violet oak coffer lazily, catching it with practised ease.
My mother gasps, her gaze darting to the tithiscar; her hand shoots to her chest as she stumbles backward, her voice squeaky with disbelief. “You—you have a— Arcane Sovereign help us—”
She sways and crumples.
I barely catch her before she hits the floor. Silvius quickly helps me settle her on the bed; her eyes ping open but at Silvius’s deep “My apologies,” she promptly faints again.
I call up a calming spell, but I don’t have time to give it to her. A shadow passes the back window, accompanied by a chime from the luminist’s bell. Silvius’s grip on my wrist is surprisingly steady for someone just woken from the brink of death. “Time to go,” he says, voice low.