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 worry my bottom lip with my teeth.
He’s returning to the palace, to live. Will he be my next Veronica? Will I hope to hear from him and eventually give up, knowing we’ll forever be stuck on opposite sides of those giant stone walls? The beads at my belt feel heavier, their weight a silent reminder not to merely dream but to take action. If I don’t want this separation, I must earn a place in the palace.
The final examination is my chance.
Again, hooves clatter. It’s the wrong direction; it can’t possibly be—but . . .
I hold my breath.
The horse is first a shadow along cobbled stone, and then—
I throw a laugh towards the heavens. “Of course.”
The horse and its rider come to a tight stop, Quin a proud silhouette against moonlight. Only the readjustment of his reins hints at his surprise. The horse’s tail whooshes and Quin claps her neck. He eyes me approaching with a shake of my head.
His gaze sinks down and shoots to my face again. “What happened to your foot?”
“It’s nothing. I had a drink and rolled it.”
“You shouldn’t be walking.”
I grin. “Since when are you the vitalian?”
I hobble forward some more, and he growls. “How in all the kingdoms did you pass today? Stop!”
“It’s the lovelight festival, I can’t see much from here. I want to head up the hill and then I want pecan puffs. It’s all about priorities.”
“Wait.” Quin moves his horse to a tree at the side of the street and tosses the reins over a low-hanging branch, quietly chastising me with his eyes as I limp over. He unhooks his bad leg from the stirrup and sits upright, hands dancing delicately as he calls his magic. His gaze ticks upward to the sky.
The air whistles around us, stronger and stronger, and magically arranged gusts lift us into the air. I lurch upwards with it, one hand latching onto Quin’s sleeve. “Wait, Quin! A bit of warning next time.”
“You said you wanted to see.”
“Yes, from something solid. You know, like land?”
He doesn’t respond. The wind propels us higher.
A pale cloud floats in our path and Quin draws it towards him with his magic. “Sit.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I mutter.
His mouth twitches, just barely. Not quite a smile.
My stomach hops . . . because with the almost-smile is a gleam in his eyes. Like he really, really wants me sitting on his cloud.
Quin perches on the apparently—impossibly—firm cloud.
I’m still balancing on air currents, half bent, still tightly gripping his sleeve.
He pats beside him with a beckoning, teasing brow.
I shake my head. “I don’t trust you enough to sit on a glorified puddle!” I glance down and shut my eyes at the very long fall below. “Please?”
I only whisper it; I barely let it seep from my mouth. Wind pockets me and slowly, carefully sinks me downwards. I ping my eyes open. The cloud is floating off above us, and Quin is descending with me toward tiered rooftops.
I drop to the frosted tiles with a relieved sigh. Quin deposits himself neatly onto the ridgeline, garnet-red cloak fluttering under him like a blanket. I curl mine under me and around my bent knees. “Thank you,” I murmur, again just barely.
He looks at me and his gaze sweeps down. “Your foot,” he says.
I blink at him.
He gestures to my shoddy boot. I continue gaping until he reaches for it himself, setting it upon his knee. I suck in a sharp breath at the tenderness in my ankle and his fingers lighten around it, carefully tugging off the leather.
“Instruct me,” he demands.
“The alcohol will wear off soon, I can do it then.”
He gives me a sharp look and I stare at him, socked foot still perched on his warm lap. Under my guidance, he funnels healing magic into my ankle, and the steady warm flow eases my ache.
I glance at his leg. Surely I’m pressing against his pain. Yet when I try to shift, he holds me in place, his focus entirely on me.
As soon as his magic fades, I swing my foot off him and shove it into my boot. “You’re a quick study,” I tease. “You could have a career in healing.”
“Good to know I have options.”
We shift our gaze to the view at the same time.
Heavens.
The entire snowy capital can be seen from up here; thousands of street lanterns, and lovelights—blossoming out of couples along the canals. Every light shines uniquely, some a bright flash, others a slow steady burn. One couple’s burst like a fountain, sparkling down on them.
“To love and be loved like that . . .” I murmur.
Quin’s profile softens in the silvery moonlight. His lashes are thick and long, his eyes reflecting the dance of lights below. He looks almost wistful, beholding the capital like this. Like these lovelights are an unattainable joy.