Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
I clutch the trunk of a pear tree. Megaera.
On King’s Island.
I recall her consumed by grief in front of the guillotine, swathed in smoky magic, devastated and angry. I recall the swish of her cloak as she left with calculated intent. Has she donned akla robes and entered the royal city to bring justice—or vengeance?
Does she know I’m still alive?
Sorrow and anxiety shiver under my skin; I slink quietly down the row of trees, following her. She cuts across the lawn towards the softly lit bathhouse, a sinister bounce in her step. The basin of rose petals—if she replaces those petals with the ones in her basket, will Quin come back late tonight or early tomorrow and bathe to his demise?
My shivers turn me to ice.
I have to stop this.
I wait in the shadows until Megaera leaves the bathhouse and when I’m sure she won’t return, I slide the door open—
A dozen redcloaks step before the door in formation, the one in front shouting for identification.
Another voice cuts over their heads. “Stand down. You may all leave.”
The redcloaks part into two lines and file out either side of me. I blink, taking in the bathwater speckled with petals and Quin, fixing his clothes into place at the other end, hair wetly framing his face. His eyes fix on me as I inch down the side of the bath to the bowl of flower petals and sniff. Spring roses. I kneel and use a protective magic filter to pull a handful of petals from the water. I inhale again.
Quin moves to my side, and my chest might as well be a firecracker the way it’s firing. I turn to look at him. “The akla who last left here may have ulterior motives.”
“I’m aware. My uncle transferred her here earlier this week.”
“You let her tend to you in the bath?”
“Keep your friends close . . .”
And your enemies closer.
“I’ve looked into her background,” Quin says. “Tell me, why was I not surprised when your name came up?”
I sigh. Official Temenos’s death was my mistake, a mistake that likely led Megaera to the royal city. “Maybe it’s you who was very bad in a past life, and I’m your fated comeuppance.” I eye him for any signs. His skin doesn’t seem discoloured. His eyes are clear, not bloodshot.
He lifts a brow and extends his forearm.
I grab his wrist and slide two fingers up it until I feel the familiar healthy thump of his pulse. I press harder, reading deeper to be sure. “Nothing tingled in the bath, did it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did anything tingle, get hot, start itching?” I clutch his wrist, frowning. His pulse has quickened. “I need to do further tests on the water.” He hooks my fingers as they slide off his skin.
I turn back to face him.
“There’s nothing wrong with the water.”
I sit back, about to re-check his pulse, but he draws his arm away. “Outside.”
We leave the bathhouse and breathe in deep lungfuls of fresh air. Nervously, I follow him past a view of night-lit palaces and moon-glittery canals, to an exposed area of grass with targets lined up at the far end. Quin snaps his cane on his way to a shelf and takes a bow and quiver to a seat overlooking the training arena. He says nothing while he prepares himself, and I watch quizzically.
He has a bowman’s physique. His shoulders, back, arms, forearms, core . . .
Did he ever join tournaments? Had he ever competed alongside Calix Solin? Could I have seen him back then, at that very tournament, if I’d paid attention to anyone else?
He pulls the string. I reach out instinctively to his straining arm and he lets the arrow fly.
It whizzes straight past the first target.
His eyes flash and I drop my hand with a flustered whisper, “You just bathed. You’ll get sweaty again.”
He blinks at me. “And yet I still have the urge to vent.”
I smile sheepishly and Quin takes another arrow. “I asked you to leave yesterday. You’re back already.”
“I came with Nicostratus.”
Quin looks pointedly at the empty space around us.
“I—I needed to take a walk.”
“Alone?”
Slowly, I drop to my knees before him, gripping blades of grass. “You gave me my soldad.”
Quin stares hard at the targets. The slightest smile stirs at his lips and a pulse-quickening thought tugs at me.
“Why such a valuable gift?” I croak. “You don’t . . .”
“Don’t what?” His arrow leaves its nock, veering far right of the second target. “And you think I’m arrogant.”
I open my mouth and shut it again. What was I thinking?
“I do have feelings for you.” At my widening eyes, Quin laughs hollowly, plucking his third arrow. “Unpleasant ones.”
Relief. He doesn’t—wait, unpleasant ones? My glare hits his and neither of us is willing to lose this battle. That a person could be this infuriating. If he weren’t the king, or Nicostratus’s brother, or the person who gifted me this soldad—