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)
Before the men can close their fists around me again, I stride confidently towards the pavilion. It’s a long shot, but I must try. Hopefully I didn’t offend him too grossly last time.
Hopefully he recalls me at all.
I call for his attention a dozen steps from the shade-dappled pavilion. “Master!”
His eyes snap up from his book, dark and observant. He doesn’t so much as blink in surprise.
“That spell you wanted me to practice backfired,” I say with a pout. “It frightened this mistress and her dog, and now she thinks I spelled them intentionally.” I drop to my knees, almost knocking over the cane resting against the table. I catch and resettle it, and lift my eyes to his; I lower them in subservience as Mistress and company crowd in behind me.
I hold my breath.
Quin is quiet for a long-drawn moment, and then he laughs. His steady palm comes down atop my head. Fingers slide down my face and pinch my chin, steering my eyes to his proud ones.
He looks over my head at my accusers. “Give me your side of the story.”
She does so, elaborating extensively.
Quin raises a brow. “Almost killed you and your dog? How positively villainous.”
“He ought to be punished. Prevented from ever using magic again.”
That might be . . . worse than execution.
I grimace, my eyes fixing imploringly on Quin. His narrow on Mistress while he strokes my cheek absently. “He wouldn’t harm even the most rabid dog.”
Mistress sucks in a peeved breath. “There’s a half-fallen tree to prove his crime. Not just any tree either, the celebrated plum tree the queen consort moved from the royal gardens to celebrate the birth of her son!”
I wince. There is such a tree? I’ve inadvertently maimed Veronica’s gift to the public? Queen Veronica, now. She’s no longer the young girl, devoted to all things plum, that I once played with.
I let out a long breath. Perhaps this is fate and the news will reach her. Perhaps she’ll shake her head and remember fondly the fixes I get myself into. Perhaps the universe is allowing us to communicate again.
“Look! See, he’s smiling. Such evil needs to be weeded out.”
I drop my smile. “What tragedy has befallen you to be this vindictive?”
“You—”
“Neither you nor your dog are so much as bruised. Show mercy and drop this.”
“He dares talk back!” Mistress steps close and swings a flat hand—
Quin snatches her wrist and bends it away from me, forcing her to gasp and buckle back.
“No one touches him.”
“But—”
“This was an accident.”
“Let’s see you say that when his spell blows up in your face!”
Quin’s gaze turns icy as he slowly and deliberately rolls up his sleeve. His wrist, pale against the fine silk, stretches towards me. “Do it,” he murmurs.
The pavilion feels too quiet as I shuffle closer, my fingers sliding to the pulse in his wrist. His skin is cool, but his heartbeat ticks fast under my touch. I peek up at his face. His eyes are on me, expression one of absolute conviction as he watches me. But the pulse doesn’t lie. He’s aware he’s exposing some of his own secrets.
I swallow a tender lump and force myself to focus. His pulse is strong and steady, if a little fast. I close my eyes and feel for disruptions. Organs, fine. Digestion, regular. Bones strong. His body is almost entirely in top form, it’s only—there. A nerve blockage in his left leg. Inflammation causing extreme pain. He could walk with the aid of a cane—but painfully. Sitting would be more comfortable.
Quin flinches almost imperceptibly as I slide my fingers further up his wrist, but I catch his quietly held breath. I glance up once more, a question before delving deeper into the reading. His mask of confidence is still perfectly in place; his eyes catch mine with a short nod of allowance.
I read deeper. My stomach sinks.
Poison. Not even the magic of a lovelight could fix this. The ancient spirits in immortal bone, possibly, but finding the petrified wood of violet oak is a miracle of its own.
My quiet sigh must drift over his wrist because he shifts impatiently; I hurriedly call up cloves, capsaicin, feverfew. A simple pain remedy, but mixed with the hispid sanguinary Silvius gave me . . . its potency will be unparalleled. Most mages transfer magic through the acupoints near the inflamed area, but to shocked gasps I remove Quin’s boot and find the three nerve points I need on his sole. This will transport deeper. To the source.
The blockage will still be there, movement will remain difficult, but his pain will be temporarily relieved.
Quin inhales sharply, his eyes widening. I remind him of our audience.
“It’s what you had me practising, master.”
“There you have it,” he says to them. “Go.”
A gasp. “You should compensate—”
“For what?” Quin says quietly, eyes dark.