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)
My stomach churns.
I gave them everything I had.
Silvius hums like he’s read my expression. The sympathy is kind; I don’t want to come across ungrateful. I smooth on a smile. “It’s a borrowed boat,” I say and change the topic. “Why are you here?”
His eyes shift to the moon-silhouetted trees passing gently by. “Not all my family gets along. I had a falling out with my uncle; my brother thought it best I leave for a while. I’m on my way back.”
“Your uncle’s cooled down?”
Silvius’s hollow laugh cuts through the tension. “My mother’s ill. I need to be by her side.”
“I hope she recovers swiftly.”
“And I hope whatever happened to your niece, she will be well.”
As Silvius’s aklos steer the boat, he and I discuss River. The boy huddles, tense and anxious, in a corner of the cabin. River has no family, no place. He’s young and vulnerable, and Silvius seems . . . especially prone to being attacked. My experience of Silvius is . . . not encouraging, not when considering the welfare of a youth barely out of childhood. But there’s no denying he has resources, and I . . . my situation in life . . . Finally, it’s decided.
“Consider him adopted, Amuletos,” Silvius says, beckoning the boy over. Something about the ring of my family name on his tongue spills sharp shivers into my stomach. He seems, somehow, more familiar than our acquaintance really warrants. But perhaps it’s only that he’s mysterious—
Akilah clears her throat.
I blink at her.
“You have hearts in your eyes.”
“I’m just grateful! Who wouldn’t be?”
She huffs.
I’m still smiling when the boat bumps up to the jetty, but the tang of home in the air quickly has me coming to my senses. I grab Akilah’s wrist and we hurriedly disembark—
“Wait,” Silvius calls. I turn around on the bank.
In one smooth motion, he pulls a pouch from his waist and tosses it to me. I catch it against my chest and start to protest but he shakes his head with another kind smile.
“We’ll meet again, Amuletos.” His voice lingers as I clutch the weighty pouch. He is kind, indeed.
Father’s forgiveness . . . There could be enough in here.
But that will have to wait.
What matters most is healing my little Lucetta.
We race up the bank and along the cobbled road. I push myself so hard I’m barely breathing, and sweat rolls down my temples. Akilah can’t keep up. A pebble is stuck on the sole of my boot and every pounding step jars.
I splash through a dirty puddle and skid through our gates.
“Caelus!” The call comes from Mother, who races out from her chambers.
My stomach squeezes. “Take me to Lucetta.”
At a glance I can see Lucetta’s leg has been crushed. Blood has soaked through the crude attempt at bandaging. I fly over the small chamber and drop to her side, knees hitting the wood floor with a thud. Her big blue eyes are full of fear as they find mine and hold tightly. She whimpers. Her tiny hand reaches for me as she stumbles over my name.
“I’m going to put you to sleep first, okay?” I say, my voice cracking. “When you wake up, you’ll be better.”
Glowing purple shimmers gather, sending her quickly into a deep, pain-free slumber.
“Your brother’s roof collapsed in the earthshake,” my mother whispers. “She got trapped under a beam.”
“I need cradlebloom in a tea, with borage. Please.”
She darts out. Only a minute later, the door squeals open again. I turn, but it’s not my mother who’s returned.
My father’s gaze flitters from me to Lucetta as he steps into the room, his face all tight lines. I feel a burning anger expand in my chest and grit it back, teeth grinding together. I’d dreamed of his forgiveness, but now . . . now I don’t want it.
Father sees my look and flinches, his hands curled at his sides. “Where would I have found the funds for a vitalian?”
My throat tightens with frustration. “You could have healed her yourself—”
“The luminist heard about her injury. You know he has his eyes on us.”
“She’s three years old.” My eyes sting and I steady myself against the wall. “Your own granddaughter!”
Her sweet laugh echoes in my mind—bright, innocent. Now, she lies broken, whimpering. A searing ache ripples up my throat. “How can you stand there and watch this.”
I turn back to Lucetta, but Father grabs me by the shoulder and hauls me to my feet. “You think this doesn’t make my heart ache too?”
“If she’s not healed, she’ll have a permanent limp. She could die of the infection.”
“We’d need proof we used official magic.”
I want to scream in his face that I don’t care about official or not. Why should Lucetta have to suffer? But the roar inside me breaks into a hiccup. Why do we have to make these choices? Why am I constantly on the run, when all I want is to help?