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)
Aklo frowns; he pulls a blue and gold beaded chain off his belt and passes it over. “I must return. Be careful.”
As we approach the prison gates, two guards scrutinise the bead-pass, their frowns deepening with suspicion. They share a silent conversation and then hand it back to River with a curt nod. They seal us from using magic, and we’re ushered down a cold, lantern-lit tunnel.
I move quickly along the passageway, one hand trailing the stone and mud walls, the other clutching a kerchief of Akilah’s favourite cakes. More guards are huddled around a table between two rows of cells, playing dice. Behind sturdy wooden bars, some watch while others are curled over flickering candles. A man is wearing Akilah’s cloak, and Akilah—
Akilah is slumped against the far wall. I take River’s pass and emerge from the narrow passageway, brandishing it before the guards. “I wish to speak to a prisoner.”
They pause, blink a few times, and continue their play. One man grunts to make it quick. I scurry over to the cell, River at my heels. “Ilios,” I call. “Ilios.”
Akilah stirs, her swollen eye struggling to open. For a moment, confusion clouds her expression, but then she recognises us, albeit with some uncertainty. “Cae—Calix?” she whispers, voice weak.
I reach between the bars and she shuffles until she can grasp my fingers. “I’m so sorry,” I croak.
She makes it to the bars and sags against them. There’s an infected cut on her cheekbone. It needs tending, but she forces herself to smile through the pain. She pats both our arms.
River sobs. “I sh-shouldn’t have—”
“You’re barely fourteen. A child. I’m the best choice.”
It shouldn’t be about choice. If I had been more diligent . . .
Ippifras. I made this mistake.
“I believe in your magic,” she says.
I shake my head violently and clutch her arm, dropping the kerchief of cakes. “Silvius is helping us. He’ll find a way. You—you shouldn’t be here, in this— Guards! Guards,” I swivel on my knees towards the redcloaks, “move him to another cell.”
They look at me, dice clunking to a stop in the cup mid-shake, then laugh. They throw the dice.
She’s a woman. She shouldn’t be in a cell with them . . .
I crawl closer to the guards. “You must move him.”
They stop again, swinging narrowed eyes to me.
One rises from his chair, balling magic in his hands.
“You misunderstand,” I say swiftly. “Not for his sake—for your own.”
The leader sets down his cup. “What do you mean?”
“The swelling of his face,” I say, thinking fast. “It’s a sign of infectious disease.”
“So?” he growls.
“Eventually one of your guards will contract it. He’ll spread it to his family, and that family around town and before you know it, it’s the start of the next plague.”
“Plague?” A flash of terror shines in his eyes. He’s old enough to remember the devastation left by plague two decades earlier. I’ve only read about it: mountains of bodies on street corners, two years of terror, barely enough magic to treat the nobility. A third of the population dead.
I press my advantage and keep my voice cool and commanding, taking a cue from Quin. “The royal city will hear of it. If you don’t succumb to the disease, you’ll be held accountable.”
The redcloak barks an order.
I instruct everyone to cover their noses, and they do so quickly, quietly. “If you let me in I can see if anything can be done.” They exchange wary glances, but eventually the cell door creaks open. As they lock it behind us and scurry to the far end of the corridor, a nape-prickling silence falls.
“What are you doing?” Akilah hisses.
“Shush. You’re wounded.” I take Akilah’s wrist and read her pulse. It stutters. Her blood moves sluggishly. I curse silently. Whatever hit her face has left her with a nasty infection, worse than I thought. It’s poisoning her veins.
I try to call my magic but cry out as sharp pain slices through me. The seal. I can’t help that way, not until the caster, or someone willing to sacrifice a lot of magic, removes it.
We were only supposed to drop off food and leave.
“Is she really infectious?” River whispers, and I shake my head.
“He. Ilios,” I remind him with a glance past the bars. The guards sent us to the furthest empty cell, but that doesn’t mean they won’t patrol. Or that the woman in the cell next to ours can’t overhear. “He needs vitalian magic.”
With this level of infection, Akilah won’t make it to an execution. I take her pulse again, wishing I’d read it incorrectly.
My fingers dig into her wrist. The same. The infection is spreading quickly. I have to find a way; give Silvius the time to pull his strings.
The slight weight of the soldad shifts over my thigh. Silvius will pull through. He will. Please.