Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
She startles upon seeing them and rubs her eyes before nodding to herself. This is Chaos; it probably does make sense to her.
“We’re safe,” Chaos says with a relieved sigh. “Dismount.”
Quin rises slowly, placing his weight on his good leg and massaging the other. I wince in advance and then wince again as Chaos sits back, knocking poor Quin off balance. He stumbles and I see the flash of agonising pain he tries to hold back behind gritted teeth. He snags hold of the nearest tree trunk but still falls. Chaos turns around to this, immediately apologising and holding out a hand to help him up. “Hurt anywhere? Let me read your pulse—”
“No,” Quin says firmly, pulling himself up with the aid of the tree. He turns away from Chaos and his face contorts with pain. I swallow and glare over his shoulder at Chaos frowning and folding his arms.
“Why not?” Chaos asks, lifting a stubborn chin.
Quin schools his pain and faces him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not. I can sense it.”
“Just . . . leave it.”
“I can—”
“I said leave it!” Quin snaps, and I understand him now. He’s in desperate pain and trying to hide it, and Chaos doesn’t know when to stop.
“I helped you out back there,” Chaos says, while I groan and thump a palm on my head. “At least let me prove I can do it again.”
“Just leave him,” I whimper. He clearly doesn’t want you to know; doesn’t want you to see him weak and in pain; doesn’t want your reaction to him to be pity.
Chaos, the idiot, tries to grab Quin’s arm and Quin roars, “I’ll heal myself!”
“How ungrateful,” Chaos mutters.
Quin presses his lips tightly and glares. Chaos, without the slightest sense of self-preservation, steps right up to Quin braced against the tree and breathes him in deeply. “This isn’t your true face, is it?” He sniffs again, nose barely missing Quin’s hair.
“What are you doing?” Quin utters, and clears his throat with a growl.
“I recognise these herbs.”
Quin’s nose flares.
I notice his fingers trembling on the tree.
Chaos gasps. “Were those redcloaks chasing you? Are you a wanted criminal?”
Quin lashes out sharply, “What if I am?”
Chaos jerks back at this before steeling himself again. “Then I guess I’ve become an accomplice—”
But Quin is already being swallowed up by the forest, having turned away in disbelief.
As Chaos huffs off to fume over this rude young man and vow never to help him out of a tight spot again, I shake my head and follow after Quin. He limps from trunk to trunk until he’s out of sight, then uses magic to hoist himself into the air. He doesn’t ride the wind long—around a few trees he finds his horse drinking at the river and gratefully settles upon its back. He picks up the reins, stares at them, and suddenly laughs; laughs so hard birds flap into the air and squirrels scamper. He presses the leather against his forehead and massages with a groan. “Will I ever look at a horse the same way again?”
With a heart-warming chuckle, he starts to make his way through the woods. He’s too fast. The scene is blurring around him and I struggle to keep up. When he pauses a moment, navigating a fork in the forest path, I grab hold of his arm and hoist myself into the saddle behind him. He carries on unaffected—he is a memory, after all—but I slip my arms around his waist and breathe against his soft cloak all the way into the capital.
He dismounts, slides out his cane, and snaps his way quickly into Pavilion Library, leaving his mount in the care of an aklo. I shadow him through the library and outside again to the garden of pavilions. A slightly younger Skriniaris Evander occupies one, piles of books open before him but no cat in sight.
“Your highness.” Evander bows and eyes Quin shrewdly. “You’ve come to tell me something.”
“That Caelus Amuletos. I bumped into him again. No—rather, he bumped into me.”
“Will you settle on a laugh or a scowl, your highness?”
Quin’s scowl turns into another laugh before he forces himself to school it again.
“It was surprising?” Skriniaris Evander asks. “Perhaps enjoyable?”
“It was . . . interesting. Infuriating.” Quin plunks himself onto a chair and tips his head towards the pavilion roof. “I should try harder to avoid him.”
Evander pauses, shuts the book in front of him, and looks intently at Quin. “Why? You’ve followed him for years. You’re fascinated by him.”
Quin closes his eyes. “I can’t be.”
“Can’t you?”
“Name a single king who has had a genuine lasting friendship.”
Skriniaris Evander taps a pondering finger over his mouth and then leans in to share a secret. “You’re not king yet.”
I gape at him and sidle around the table until I’m close enough to bop his nose. “Seriously, that’s your answer?”