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)
“Y-you . . . you don’t think this will affect our marriage prospects?”
“Who’s marrying you?” Mikros swats the back of his head. “We’ll serve here a few years, then travel together and raise some abandoned child to be a medical genius.”
“I was thinking we should raise a girl.”
“Then she’ll be a medical genius. And letting Caelus here practice on us is leading the way for a girl to have a chance. Eyes open!”
We’ve practiced this; our spells are correctly stacked. This is no time for trembling hands. I steel my emotions and move with practiced fluidity, in sync with Florentius, and once we painlessly extract a left eye from each, Mikros and Makarios stop crushing one another’s hand and we move on to the trickiest part of the spell. The entire process takes less than half an hour, and once the painkillers have worn off and the curtaining layer lifts, Mikros and Makarios can see again.
They laugh upon seeing one another and then fall into a tight hug that brings tears to their new eyes.
“This is . . .” Makarios turns to us, choking on tender emotions.
“Yes,” Mikros helps him out. “You’re frightening geniuses. I already knew it of you—” Mikros nods at Florentius and takes a turn around me, inspecting me with squinted eyes. “But when I saw your first stacking attempts, I thought you were a dud.” He smiles brightly. “Seems I was wrong.”
“Thank you for your overwhelming vote of confidence in my abilities.”
Makarios laughs. “You thought he was a dud and you still let him gouge our eyes out?”
Mikros stretches and flings an arm around him. “As you can see, he’s emerged a butterfly after our extensive tutoring.”
Florentius looks at me and tips his head in agreement. “Even with marks against you, you’ll pass this.”
Their support is a warm blanket, but it doesn’t stop the shivers of foreboding completely. I can do this. I can. The skills are there. Not only can I do it, I have to do it. For my dream, for proving par-linea can succeed, for the hope of the people, even . . . for standing triumphant in front of Quin when he returns.
I swallow and smile weakly, hand gripped unconsciously around my soldad. Makarios takes it from me and gives it a good polish with his robe. “This time tomorrow, you’ll have four stamps.”
Tomorrow arrives.
With a determined knot in my belly, I rise, force down a light breakfast, have tea in my room over my notes, and don my newest black cloak.
When I arrive in the apothecary, Florentius is already there, reading calmly, waiting for the examination to begin. Mikros and Makarios are lurking about with words of encouragement that they then throw my way.
“You’re not in your uniform.”
“Underneath.” I flash them the white robe and green sash. “This cloak is . . . for good luck.” Along with the golden feather Nicostratus gave me. Wearing both feels like a shield. I can imagine what each would say if they were here. Nicostratus would embrace me and wish me the best of luck, and Quin would hook my gaze with his and leave. He’d simply expect me to pass.
I shake my head and scowl-grin at the imaginary image. It’s strangely motivating—exactly what I need to face something intended to thwart my progress.
Footsteps in the corridor have us swinging our heads towards the door. A double line of redcloaks files in. “The complex-medius vitalian examination will begin soon. Follow us.”
I catch Florentius’s eye as we hesitate, uncertain.
Blank faced, the redcloak leader repeats himself. “Follow.”
With each step away from the apothecary, my confidence and determination is churning into nausea.
I have enough herbs in my system to complete a transplantation spell. No matter what unfair conditions they set up, I can prove myself.
We meet a sternly anxious Chiron outside the royal luminarium. He only has eyes for his son.
“Examinees will enter one at a time. Florentius Chiron will remain outside until summoned. Caelus Amuletos, enter first.”
I glance at Florentius; he nods his stoic belief in me, and with that vote I hold my head up and follow Chiron inside.
The inner doors groan shut behind me with a puff of icy air against my back, and redcloaks shift to the side, like curtains opening to reveal a stage. I freeze at the sight. Chiron, as well.
On the throne under the glowing violet oak sits the high duke. His eyes are trained on an aklo writhing on the shiny floor, gasping for mercy. Dozens of nails stick out of the aklo’s body, piercing the most painful acupoints. The duke sends another two flying as we watch.
My stomach lurches wildly and falls through my feet as the nails go through both eyes. The aklo drops, lifeless, into the puddled blood around him.
Redcloaks move in and drag his body away, past us—