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)
“Is that a yes?”
He hums low in agreement, and I hand him the oar so I can fiddle a knot that will hopefully hold.
“Your clothes won’t do,” I murmur. “Too fine. My family will have questions.” I eye the passing manors and hold out a hand in front of Quin. “Pull up to the bank and give me some coin.” I pause. “Why do you have money on you, anyway? Were you always planning on sneaking out?”
“I confiscated this. Redcloaks caught gambling.”
“Their stupidity, your serendipity.”
“Quite like your ending up here.”
I leap out of the boat, flushing, and return soon after with a simple aklo’s uniform. I take over the oars while Quin shifts behind me to change. He casts a wavering reflection in the water as he slips off his cloak and pulls at his shirt; his gaze flickers toward the canal, and I dunk the oars into the surface with a rippling splash.
“There,” he says, “Happy?”
I immediately set the oars in the boat and turn.
The boat sways gently under us as I raise my fingertips towards his face. He jerks back, only a fraction, but enough to notice. I pause and meet his dark eyes, then reach out quickly, tugging the jewelled fastening on the end of one of his braids. “Aklos would never wear valuables in their hair like this. Nor would they wear braids.”
Quin’s hand comes up, stopping my fingers at the fastening. His voice is low, soft. A warning. “Are you really going to undo my braids?”
I pause. Aklas and aklos might braid the hair of their master every day, but never do they undo those braids. The undoing of braids by someone else is a significant act. Usually a parent would do it, or a spouse.
Even those from poorer classes, who don’t braid, have similar customs. A wife covers her hair only for her husband to uncover at night, and a husband only lets his wife comb his bed-knotted hair. Even I don’t let Akilah undo the playful braids she sometimes knots into my hair. Something about coming undone under someone else’s hand is very . . . intimate.
I pull my hand away from under Quin’s. “Take them apart. I’ll tie it in a simple knot.”
When Quin has finished, he turns his back to me, and I hastily gather his hair. It’s still too long for an aklo; if anyone looks twice, I’ll tell them his master the king commanded it.
Quin resumes a seat facing me and I get my hands back on the oars. “You seem adept at lying—I mean acting. Have you played the role of aklo before?”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
We dock at the jetty closest to the manor, and at the familiar chime of a spiritual bell, I tug Quin down low in the boat. His breath skitters under my ear. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding from a luminist.”
“I may have slightly offended our local once or twice.”
He shakes his head, and I flash him all my pearly whites.
When the bell fades into the distance, Quin manipulates the air to lift himself out of the boat and onto the path at the top of the bank. He waits for me to hurry alongside, wind whirling around his leg to prop him up, whipping strands of hair free around his face.
I flick his arm. “Stop showing off.” Not only will he drain his magic too fast, but it’ll give him away. “Few can wield power like that—you’re an aklo, remember?”
I wrangle an arm around his waist and hold tight.
Quin raises an eyebrow.
“Use me as a crutch. There are spare canes at home—not as fancy as yours, but they’ll lend support.”
He presses his lips together but drops his weight against me, solid and warm. I fight to keep my steps steady.
“Better,” I croak.
“You’re trembling.”
“You’re heavy,” I fling back, cheeks burning as I tighten my grip. His warm breath brushes against my temple, and I hobble harder the hundred yards to my home.
I locate a cane in the darkened storeroom and Quin grips onto it. I spare a minute to squabble with him about using his flutette against the pain throbbing from him, and in the end, he lets me win.
I stuff the wood into his mouth and offer him a patronising “good boy, your majesty” that has his eyes flashing.
I am a fool. Still, I can’t help laughing.
The main hall is brightly lit and drunken chatter leaks through the thin walls. I glance at Quin before we enter, and shake my head. “Can you slouch more?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re too . . . regal. Straight-backed. A commanding presence is . . .”
“Enviable?”
“Un-aklo-like.”
He shrivels around his cane and I lead us into a warm room stuffy with the scent of ale. My brothers are huddled at one end of the table, throwing cards on a pile, and my father sits in an armchair in front of the fireplace, deep in thought.