Page 45

A wooden ceiling above; I turn my head. Dozens of emptied teacups and upturned books.

The Crucible.

I blink, and freeze. Across the room on a stool, a white robe chased with gold, dark head bowed over... my case notes.

Quin.

He stirs and I slam my eyes shut.

“You’re finally awake,” he drawls.

I say nothing. I’ve died, and he’s brought me back from the dead to make good on his promise.

Snick, snick, snicktowards me, accompanied by a cloud of pain.

Quin settles onto the edge of my bed.

I keep my eyes closed, don’t twitch so much as a finger.

A shadow shifts over me. “Stop pretending.”

“I’m not pretending,” I murmur.

A low laugh. “Then what are you doing?”

“Indulging in vanity.” I open my eyes a fraction to peek at him. “My head looks good where it is.”

“Whether it looks good is up for debate, what’s not up for debate is how. Good. It. Functions.” He emphasises each word with a sharp tap of his finger against my temple.

I rise up onto my elbows, glaring, and he raises a brow.

The source of the earlier snicking comes into focus: his wyvern cane, now propped at the end of the bed. The pain emanating from him is fiercer than usual.

But apparently he’ll swallow that pain to climb the stairs and personally behead me.

On second thoughts, glaring might not be my best tactic. I smile at him, the most charming smile I have.

Dark eyes grow darker, and I seal my lips tight. I see flashes of floating bodies in the canal; hear Chiron’s voice in the back of my mind.No living thing can enter.

After a few false starts, and a strange hop in my stomach, I try again. “Your uncle took all the gold and silver-sashed mages.”

Quin looks away, jaw twitching.

“You told me if I could help, I should. No matter what. Why are you so angry?”

He swings his gaze back to mine. Air catches in my chest at the profound frustration in his eyes.

He draws away from me and stares across the room. “Nicostratus watched you fade in my arms. He was poisoned getting you to a mage before it was too late.”

Quin and me, plummeting to the courtyard. Nicostratus cradling me against a frantic heartbeat as he raced to Florentius. Quin exhausting the last of his strength to command the wyverns from the palace and away from his people.

My heart hammers.

“You’ve been asleep for hours,” Quin says. “In that time, we’ve made my uncle furiousandrecovered most of our mages.”

“Is Nicostratus—”

“He’s been called back to the barracks.”