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)
Akilah is shoved onto the floor, where she sprawls and slides to my feet.
I crouch and cradle her face, checking her pulse, her pupils, combing her loose hair gently off her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She whimpers, weak from mistreatment, and tries to cup my cheek. Some of these bruises are . . . at least a week old. I tighten my grip on her cold, clammy body. “What happened?”
“Out camping with Lucetta . . .” Her eyes well up. “She’s alright. She’s alright for now.”
Anger is hot and fiery in my throat, the back of my nose, my ears. I want to throw up. I want to be strong and safe and shield Akilah.
“Touching reunion.”
I rest my head against Akilah’s and steady my breath. Lashing out will only be a faster route to death.
“Chiron,” the high duke barks, “we shall begin.”
Chiron, who has watched on in shock, snaps forward and bows deeply.
The high duke lifts his voice, and it echoes along the gallery. “Extract the subject’s lovelight and transplant it into me.”
I pull my forehead from Akilah’s and glare across the luminarium. “The lovelight is connected to the soul. If it’s forcibly removed, it’s torture.”
“Better make it quick, then.”
I shake my head. “Unless the patient is dying or unable to give consent, they must be willing.”
Chiron bows his head towards the duke and concurs uncomfortably. “This is indeed a tenet of vitalian law.”
The high duke smiles; there’s a shadow to it that has me feeling sick. “Akilah, is it? Tell us, are you willing?”
She shifts in my arms, her eyes filled with panic and pain.
“She’s clearly not—”
“I’m willing.”
“Akilah,” I gasp.
“I am willing,” she says to me, but there’s tension in her body that betrays her words. I don’t believe them. I can’t.
“There you have it,” the high duke says. “Willing.”
Akilah is my person. Closer than a best friend; a sister. I gather her against me as tightly as I can and laugh quietly, hollowly. “There is only one outcome allowed here. That’s for me to fail.”
“Are you saying you can’t perform the transplantation?”
“I’m saying I won’t.”
“Chiron.”
Chiron clears his throat. “Not attempting the task is deemed failure.”
At Akilah’s strangled sob of sympathy, I kiss her forehead and murmur that it doesn’t matter.
“Then,” the high duke says, “that result will be made public.”
I slam my eyes shut—
“Chiron, perform the transplant.”
—I ping them open. “I’ve already failed. You’ve won. Please—” I shuffle on aching knees towards Chiron, Akilah sobbing wetly into my shirt. “Don’t do it. You’re a teacher. Stand up for your principles. Ethics.”
“I’ve already lost one child,” he says gruffly.
“Now,” the high duke says, “or your son’s test will be just as special as this one.”
I cover Akilah with my body, struggling against two redcloaks as they try to pull me away; they bind me with metallic magic as the spell plumes into Chiron’s palm, changing colours as he stacks it. He’s fast, proficient, and he schools his face as he steps up to us.
Akilah cries out in agony, body arching under Chiron’s forceful, obtrusive magic. I fight against the redcloaks’ restraints, screaming her name. Her only lovelight—
The doors burst open; Florentius skids inside and halts, his shocked gaze shifting from me to his father to Akilah. “Father! Stop—” He shifts his hand, readying a spell to break his father’s, but he’s seized and restrained alongside me. He shouts at his father again, horrified, as Akilah’s lovelight rips away. It bursts from her, swirling in beautiful aching beauty around the violet oak, before sinking easily into the high duke’s chest.
He breathes in and out slowly, absorbing everything with a wistful curl of his lips. Closes his eyes and murmurs a name.
I shout, straining to get to Akilah.
Finally, the high duke rises, his robe billowing with his shadowy magic. “Everyone out. Not you,” he says, eyes pinned on me. “Not her.”
The magic binding me falls away and I scramble to Akilah, prone from pain, and gather her in my arms. With just the three of us here, the vast luminarium feels like a tomb. A tomb for a king, perhaps. But a tomb nevertheless.
I caress her face and stare past the high duke. “If you hate me so much, just kill me.”
“I thought about it.” He circles us in his ridiculous boots, clip-clopping like this is merely a dance for him. “You’re far more use alive.”
I yank my head up to his smirk.
“Akla did well following you, you see. She reported unusual closeness to not one of my nephews, but both. She says they seem fond of you. You spend considerable time with them.”
He crouches and tips my chin with the end of one of his crude nails. “I want to use that.”
“I won’t—”
He covers my lips with a finger. “Don’t speak rashly without knowing the rules.” He leans in. “If you refuse, your Akilah will be the first to go. If you refuse again, it’ll be the little girl she fought so hard to protect.”