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)
The high duke’s fingers dance in the air, six iron nails hovering at his palm like sinister puppets. Their sharp tips glint in the light, glowing faintly red as he heats them with a casual flick of his wrist. “They say you saved a half-dozen children, Florentius,” he murmurs, his smile curling like smoke. “Tell me, how does it feel to be a hero?”
The nails shift again. Did he use these to brand the napes of his followers? Does he use this to punish?
I shiver.
Florentius is expressionless. Lethally quiet.
“I said,” the high duke repeats, “you’re lauded as a hero.”
When Florentius doesn’t acknowledge this, Chiron rushes from the sidelines and drops to his knees. “My son was ambushed by water wyverns on his way to help Official Monomachos. The redcloak with him attempted to save the children and was killed. My son had to protect them, and himself. He’s been in shock since. Forgive his lack of courtesy.”
“But of course. In that situation, what else could you do?” The high duke looks to me and back to Florentius, the nails leaping from his palm in a lethal dance. “Did your fellow mage help you? Was he the one who saved the king in such a wildly creative manner?”
Each word is a threatening shiver down my spine.
Florentius speaks. “I don’t know the king’s saviour; he wore a mask. He had a southern accent.”
The high duke shifts his attention to me. “Was it you?”
I pull my gaze away from the menacing nails and stare at the oak above. “I was undergoing the Crucible.”
“Could you have escaped and attended the gala?”
Chiron laughs. “Your highness, I am the highest ranked mage in the kingdom. The cure that would allow his release took me three days to figure out. This boy is par-linea; his foundation is a mess. Overcoming this trial in less than two days is simply impossible.”
The high duke snaps his fingers and the nails return to inside his sleeve. He scowls and waves a dismissive hand; blindly, I follow the others out, stumbling as the truth slams into me. The king anticipated this, down to Chiron’s disbelief.
His response gave my story credibility.
Otherwise . . . would I have become intimately familiar with those nails?
The heavy doors slam shut behind us, but they don’t seal in the high duke’s threats. Those linger as my legs carry me away from the luminarium.
The others are already on their way down the canal, their hushed voices trailing into the distance.
Chiron and Florentius climb into a small rowboat and I quicken my stride to catch up, but slow once more as I come in range of Chiron’s hushed, angry words.
“I said no mistakes.” He glares at his son. “At this rate you’ll end up like your brother.”
Florentius turns his head away from his father and closes his eyes upon catching sight of me. No point trying to hide myself now. I slap my feet against the wet wooden boards, announcing company to Chiron. The boat is uncomfortably silent all the way back.
When Florentius opens his door once he and I have made our way wearily underground to our rooms, I sneak in behind him. He makes a small sound of surprise when I make myself at home and sling myself into his chair. The teapot he stole from me sits in the centre of his tidy desk. I run a curious finger over the lid.
Candles flare to life as Florentius sighs and shuts the door. He perches stiffly on the edge of his bed, staring at his long, elegant fingers.
“You want me to explain,” he says.
“I want you to know I’m here for you.”
He looks sharply at me. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you’re prickly and aloof.”
Florentius scoffs.
“I also know you’re intelligent, determined, and kind hearted.”
He lowers his gaze.
Also surprisingly modest.
“I don’t want you here for me.”
Aaaand honest to a fault.
“Why not?” I ask.
He’s quiet.
“Because I’m par-linea?”
“Yes.”
I open and shut my mouth. Frown.
No, this isn’t the Florentius I’ve quietly observed. He keeps using this excuse, but there is something behind it. I feel it. I lean forward and pinch his chin. “When will you learn I won’t be pushed away like that? I’m par-linea. So what?”
His sigh slides over me, spiced with fear. “Most of the kingdom’s officials are against you. You’re only safe from their schemes to get rid of you because my father believes you’re a joke. If they saw what I’ve seen . . .” He looks me in the eye. “You’d terrify them.”
“You don’t want me to be here for you, because you think—”
“What I want will only bring you more to their notice.”
“What do you want?”
Florentius rises from the bed and touches the teapot.
“I found a matching teacup,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing the handle as if it might shatter under his touch. “It’s part of a set I gave my older brother when he moved to the palace.”