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A wound like that from an icicle dagger.Not any icicle dagger, one with spores from the breaths of frost-bats, a rare breed living only in the Chrysargos mountains. The pain must be incredible. I snap, “Why did you take his place?”

He unclenches his eyes and hooks my gaze, teeth gritted. “Quit.”

I yank off his boot and trigger the acupoints to help against the pain. “Do you have your flutette?”

His eyes snap to mine and hold, and then he steers his gaze away and grunts, “Why would I always carry it on me?”

I shake my head.

He shifts, and the scent of his pain overpowers my frustration. I take his pulse again.

I’ve only read about icicle dagger poisoning, and only in ancient texts. It’s an ailment that hasn’t infected anyone for centuries. If only my Poison Halting Miracle could target poisons based on animal spores. I squint into my memories, seeing the heavy book in my hands, the ragged paper and worn ink...

Alas. This needs the excretion of snowy silkworms. Which are also extinct.

What herbs could mimic their effect?

Quin’s heart rate drops again. I quickly skate my fingers off him.

First mend the wound.The spores may be deadly, but they take much longer to infuse into the blood—they simply aren’t a priority.

“Don’t cure me yourself.”

I ignore him, call a stitching spell, and surge it into his wounded side. He throws his head back with a sharp hiss. His laboured breathing evens out and he pulls himself stubbornly upright, fighting the cold seeping deep into his bones. Blue lips move as I call a warming spell to my fingertips. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous in the palace.”

“Turned into my mother, have you?”

“Listen to her.”

I urge my spell towards him and he blocks it with a shift of his fingers. I glare at him, and try once more. He glares back at me as he blocks it again.

“You said I have no chance.”

“Ofcourseyou have a chance.”

“Then why did you—”

“You’re competitive.” He thwarts another of my attempts. “You’re bent on annoying me. Proving me wrong.”

“Thenletme prove you wrong!”

“Can’t. Not now I know who you...” He rips his narrowed gaze away.

I take a calming breath.He’s one of the few in the royal city who is on Prince Nicostratus’s side.He’s concerned.

“Isn’t it better I get into the palace, where his uncle can see his every move, than risk him sneaking out to me and causing suspicion?”

His jaw clenches, his words slowing as the cold in him deepens. “If anyone finds out... Even if they think you’re just friends... You are an enemy.”

“How threatening can a par-linea be?” I sneak-attack him with a spell, but even half-frozen he’s too quick, reflecting it back my way. I duck and it blasts into the shelf, shattering a dozen jars.

“You’re someone to get rid of.” His teeth start chattering; the sound makes my stomach clench.

Not on my watch.I plant my knees either side of his on the chair and he jerks his head back so fast it whacks against the frame. I jam my fingers against the soft skin at his throat, at the acupoint to paralyse him momentarily. His gaze is dark but there’s a streak of surprise and respect in it.