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 gold-sash glances at Quin, as if he suspects . . . jerkily, I shuffle forward, drawing his attention back to me. “No one else was involved.”
With a furrowed brow, the gold-sash liaison slowly unravels the parchment he carries. “You will grow ten more pearl heart plants in this garden bed, by the king’s command.”
My jaw drops. “Grow them? From scratch?”
The gold-sash’s lips twitch. “Would you prefer a more traditional punishment?”
My cheeks burn and I lower my eyes.
As the liaison leaves, I call out, “Uh, do you have seeds for me to plant?”
But he doesn’t spare me a backwards glance. I flop heavily on my haunches and throw my head up in a thankful prayer to whatever deity has taken pity on me.
Quin comes to a halt beside me.
“So. The king may not be as terrible as you believe.”
“Maybe he knows who I am. Maybe he’s being generous, for Nicostratus’s sake.”
Quin stares blank faced at the only-very-slightly denuded pearl heart plant.
I grin, using Quin’s cane to pull myself up. “Where does the royal city store seeds?”
“I heard no such provision in your sentence.”
“That’s a chicken egg predicament.” I settle my hands on my hips and contemplate the garden bed. “Never mind, I have an idea.” I wink at Quin. “Just you wait and see.”
I stare at the gold-sashed liaison, perplexed.
The aklo, the same one as this morning, smiles mockingly and rereads the king’s message before he saunters off again. Indeed, the king is fastidious. And thorough. My cuttings of his pearl heart must take and grow to twice the size before he’ll be satisfied.
I shove my shirtsleeves up my arms, muttering.
“What was that?”
I jump at Quin’s voice. “Finished your meetings for the day?”
“Only to have more tomorrow.”
“I’d swap places with you. I’ve been rushing between akla check-ups and propagating this plant all day. Thank the heavens for these gloves or the thorns would’ve torn my hands to shreds—” I stop abruptly, flushing. Quin stirs, his cane shifting, but I don’t look at him. “My feet though, I tell you. I feel for the aklas.”
“Why not use the pearl heart for yourself?”
“Oh, Quin. I’m impudent, not actually fearless.”
He laughs softly. “If you don’t dare take new leaves, use the ones from yesterday.”
“How many aklas do you think are on this island? There was barely enough for them.” I wave a hand. “Never mind.”
Movement at the window above me catches my eye, and I look up in time to see an elegant robe glide past in the shadows of the king’s bedchamber. I tense, steadying myself against Quin’s shoulder as a sudden swoop hits my stomach.
A long breath tickles the skin at the top of my glove. “What are you doing?” Quin drawls.
“The king is spying on me.”
“Undoubtedly. You think he’s judging his brother’s questionable taste?”
I flick a finger at him and he bats me away.
“He’s not judging his brother,” Quin says confidently. “He’s playing with you.”
“Playing with me? Why?”
“He wants to. He can.”
“How . . . unexpected.” I’ve hated him for the injustices I’ve seen on the streets, but . . .
“Why?” Quin murmurs.
“It’s nothing.” I flash him a weak smirk. “I have a spell for hair growth that should work on plants. Let’s see how long his play lasts.”
I jerk a finger to the pearl heart bed, ignoring the very obvious problem in front of me. Still, it’s worth a shot. “They’re thrice the size of yesterday.”
The gold-sash liaison does not seem amused. “Your . . . method has caused weeds to multiply here and through all the beds nearby. You must remove the weeds—without magic.”
Outrageous. “Why without magic?”
“The king fears you’ll ruin his beloved garden.”
How very vexing. And possibly very accurate. That hair growth spell is still the bane of my existence. Also not meant for gardens. I suspect I haven’t stacked the spell correctly. These internal scales are challenging to master.
I gaze at the sea of weeds engulfing this bed—and all the others—and grimace.
The pink-bow akla helps me locate tools from a shed tucked into the cliffs. I haven’t seen her since infusing her with warmth at the fountain a few days ago. She seems calm, though a bit quiet.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“The tea you saved for me helped this morning. Thank you.”
“You only had it this morning? It begins to lose potency after a day.”
“I couldn’t take it any earlier. I just got back.”
I look over at her, surprised. “You managed to leave?”
She nods suddenly, brightly, her bow bouncing. “I was allowed out yesterday, to give my brother a burial.”
As she hands me a box of trowels and forks, another akla interrupts, asking Pink-Bow to welcome the transferring aklas at the pier. They leave, and I head back to the mammoth mission of digging out every single weed in the flower beds, while also tending to my patients.