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)
Akilah groans and drops onto the hay lining the floor. I check her pulse again, carefully stroke back a loose lock of her hair. “Hold on, hold on,” I tell her.
“What can we do?” River asks.
“If I can find something to keep her calm . . .” I say nervously as I sift through possible ways forward in my mind.
River holds up the cakes he’d saved. I shake my head, then grab hold of River with a flash of inspiration—“Songs. Do you know any?”
River casts me a wobbly smile. “Silvius taught me some to help me sleep.”
“Sing for her?”
River uses his lap as a cushion for Akilah’s head and softly hums the gentlest melody. I take out my dagger, thankful the guards didn’t think a crude weapon worth confiscating. They could easily defend against it with magic, and prisoners . . . well, one less was one less to take care of.
Many of the alternatives to vitalian magic my grandfather passed on are vague in my memory—I was a child when he died, and what I have retained I’ve never actually practised. There’s nothing of use in here anyway, but eliminating the source of the problem is the key regardless of the method used. “I need to cut out the worst of the infection.” I hold the blade to the candle at the end of the cell. Flame licks the tip and blackens it slowly. I gulp, heart hammering, and kneel before Akilah. The knife trembles in my hand, and I’m reminded of when Akilah and I first met River—each of us holding a knife in a way we never had before, afraid to hurt anyone.
I close my eyes, taking a long, shaky breath. My mind races, battling against panic. I have to remove the infection, but without magic the risk of doing more harm gnaws at me. My hand trembles as I lower the knife to Akilah’s swollen cheek—
No.
Think first. There must be something I can do, something that doesn’t mean risking more harm.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pull up old memories. One afternoon in the woods, outside an old cabin in Hinsard, grandfather is holding up a bushel of collected herbs to the sunlight.
“Plants are life. These green things, these roots, those rocks, that clump of soil, this fungi are lifesavers. Things we step on without a second thought have protected kings and revived queens. Have won wars.”
“Father says the lifesavers are the vitalians who pull magic from them. He says people from all kingdoms come here paying huge amounts for spells.”
“Spells are shiny things. They’re seen as godly, and therefore superior. People come from afar for the hope their ailment will be fully and quickly cured. Few people can turn away from spells if they are within their means.”
“What if they don’t have the means?”
“You want to know how non-linea use these very same plants to heal?”
“No. I want to offer the shiny spells, but to people who can’t afford them.”
I am like most people. I also couldn’t turn away from spells. I should have begged him to tell me all those other ways to heal. Should have listened better when he tried. Maybe then, I’d know what to do. How to ensure Akilah’s safety.
I pause, knife-tip hovering over puffy skin. River’s singing breaks too; when Akilah stirs, his boyishly angelic voice resumes.
Things we step on without a second thought have protected kings and revived queens.
I look around. The walls and floor are stone, old and crumbly. The floor is covered in straw that looks as though it hasn’t been changed in . . . a while. There must be a lot of life in it. Insects, fungi. And maybe beneath that . . .
I shift some hay and dig into the dirt that’s formed a layer below. Under the soil are old flagstones, and under the ones that are old enough to crumble—
My bare fingers smart from the cold and the rough stone scrapes my skin, but soon enough I feel something—spongy, moist. Worm truffle. Grandfather was always seeking it, hoarding it. He said the juice . . .
I lift two black lumps out of the little hole I’ve dug in the floor and cradle them against my chest. This, I remember. “I can use the juice, squeeze it onto the wound.”
“And that’ll cure the infection?”
I frown, unsure. My mind scrambles to list all the things that could go wrong. I don’t want to make another mistake like the one that landed Akilah in prison in the first place. Under normal circumstances, I’d pull out books, double check properties . . . I don’t have any books here, nor the time to find any.
“It’s all we have; if I cut the infection out, I could just be making another wound to get infected—it’s filthy down here.”