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My voice plummets to a whisper. “If I can show we are equally capable, if there is any chance to change stubborn minds...”

“At the cost of your life?”

“Should only the king live to serve the people?”

He swallows, and I reach for the vial, slide my fingers over it—

Dark eyes hold mine, filled with shadows of warning and something softer, fleeting and fragile. “Do you understand the risk you’d be taking?”

I look him squarely back. “I do.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “I won’t always be able to help you.”

“That’s not your responsibility.”

He releases his grip and I soften my tone, grinning as I snap the vial to me. “Nicostratus can teach me how to fight. Self-defence. Hopefully it’ll give me more control in other areas.” I murmur under my breath, “Maybe then I won’t break any more of your vases.”

“You broke—” Quin lets out a long cloudy breath, and it trips him into a violent cough.

Poison has reached his lungs.I leap off his lap and rummage through herbs and shards of glass, plucking up murtleberry leaves and dandelion stalk. Combined, hopefully they will mirror the nutrients from snowy silkworm excretion.

I grind it into a paste, divide into two bowls, add water to one, and tip it to Quin’s grimacing mouth. He glares at me as he gulps. “This is your bedside manner?”

“Unique to you.” I set the emptied bowl down and pick up the thicker paste. “Your wound. Strip.”

I fluff his shirt to emphasise, and dark wood peeks out from his collar. I stare at the familiar grain of the flutette I carved. Quin palms his chest over it. The same move as when I’d triggered his acupoints.Thisis what he wanted to keep me from seeing? My gift, strung on cord around his neck?

I raise my eyes to his blankly schooled face.

“It’s practical,” he mutters, shifting his gaze away.

I frown—

Bells chime outside the shed, and the door is swung open. “Hands down. Examination time over.”

I set the unused paste on the bench and wait under tight scrutiny until the judges—Skriniaris Evander and Vitalian Horus—finish assessing the nine other candidates and head towards me, heads bowed in hushed conversation.

“Remember, Evander,I’mthe palace-appointed judge. Keep your opinions to yourself. You’re only here to ensure my decisions are just.”

The redcloak shuts the door behind them. Skriniaris Evander looks up first and his eyes flicker in surprise at my patient. When Vitalian Horus registers the richly dressed Quin, he palms the wall to stop himself falling into it. “Y-your—”

“I’m just an eparch.” Quin spears him an annoyed look. “Don’t look so stunned.”

Horus shakes his head.

Quin splays his arms. “Give us your verdict, then.”

Horus frowns and searches the room for cues—

“Don’t guess what I want you to say,” Quin snarls. “Judge as you should! He’s like any other scholar.”

Horus drops to his knees, high-pitched apologies tumbling out of his mouth.

I flick the side of Quin’s head. “You’re scaring him.”

Horus gapes, eyes wide.

I offer him a hand up and lower my voice. “Don’t worry, he deserves it.”