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)
I slow down to spell her mind clear, the familiar surge of vitalian magic calming me too. As much as I can be calmed before meeting the man I keep dreaming about . . . “The masks will have to stay.”
“He won’t recognise you.”
“I’ll find him.”
She strokes her moustache, clears her throat, and swaggers off into the market, only turning back to throw me a giddy grin.
I turn sharply and a floral teacup drops to the ground, cracking down the middle. My forehead collides with that of the teacup’s owner as we both hurry to scoop it up.
“Fool. Look where you’re going. You’ve ruined—” He stops rubbing his head as he looks over at me.
His eyes widen. Mine too.
“You!” He snaps, clutching the shards of porcelain.
If the chicken bone incident wasn’t enough . . .
Florentius’s cloak is like soft, golden leaves today. He’s as pretty as he is annoyed. He rises elegantly to his feet while I dust dirt off of myself and apologise on my way up.
His eyes narrow as he jerks his head towards the stall. “Replace it,” he demands, his voice raw and strained.
I was at fault. I should compensate, but . . .
I pull my money pouch off my belt and peer into it. Not enough. “I can’t—”
Someone grips my elbow. Quin? I twist and my breath fizzles out. Not him; another pair of dark eyes, without quite the same tense edge. I shake off a shiver. Silvius’s smile is gentle, kind. And he’s coming to my rescue. “Allow me. If I hadn’t caused the distraction, he’d never have bumped into you. I apologise.”
He smiles, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, as he pays for a replacement cup. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and luring.
We squeeze past stalls of paper and books, needlework and delicate, brightly coloured paintings, around a bustling corner, into an alleyway, and through the side door of an inn. How did he recognise me? The freckle on my hand? The scent of my magic?
The soldad at my belt?
I bite my lip on a smile and let him pull me into an airy room overlooking the market. The steadiness of his grip is different—not crude and commanding like Quin’s. Silvius’s calm is like a complex spell, superior in every way. Enough to soothe any storm inside.
Surely.
He lets me go, and his smile brightens in the dust-speckled light as he pushes his hood back.
“What in all the kingdoms . . .” He shakes his head at my disguise, amused, and flings a spell at me to reveal my true face.
I spare him a raised brow. “When it comes to disguise, aren’t you king?”
His smile fades, brow briefly creasing. He glances down at the colourful market, and I move to stand beside him.
“I’m currently Calix Solin, magical scholar, candidate in the upcoming examinations.” I eye the sharp lines of his profile, his fashionably knotted hair. My voice trips into a whisper. “Will you finally share who you are?”
He closes his eyes.
I step back from him. It’s like Maskios all over again. “You don’t want me to know?”
‘Silvius’ turns and clasps my shoulders, keeping me close. His voice rumbles between us. “It’s not that.” His thumbs sweep up to the base of my neck. “It’s safer for you this way.”
Safer.
I swallow. I should demand to know, should put some distance between us, but . . .
He’s kind. He took care of his mother in the last year of her life; sent thoughtful gifts; wrote gentlemanly letters; took River in and cared for him. He saved me on multiple occasions . . .
I palm my soldad.
If he stole this, he risked his life for my dream.
“Your identity is your business. Just”—I look up urgently into his eyes—“promise me you’d never hurt the innocent.”
His cheek quirks with a reassuring smile and he pulls me into an embrace. It’s quick, sudden, tight. And almost as soon as it starts, it’s over. A rap on the door; a black-cloaked aklo enters smartly. His eyes fly over both of us, but his step remains steady.
“What is it?” Silvius says, an edge of annoyance in his tone that’s . . . pleasing. Butterflies flap in my chest.
“The head of the Temenos family died last night.”
The butterflies freeze and drop out my feet.
“The life-shortening tea—”
“No. Bad vitalian magic. They’ve taken River. It seems he had some contact with the spell.”
I stumble back against the window frame, the room spinning around me. Silvius’s strong grip steadies me, but I barely register it. My voice breaks as I stare past him, my words shaking. “It can’t be. He can’t be . . . dead?”
“Discovered during the night.”
I imagine Megaera weeping, yelling, a cloud of red darker than the dresses she wears. “No.” I snap my eyes to Silvius.
His grip on my robe doubles, his eyes tightening.