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At Nicostratus’s questioning look, I smile. “Tired. I performed a dozen medius spells on the queen’s aklas today and was up most of last night practicing transplantation on my toenails.”

Nicostratus looks curiously towards my booted feet.

“They’ll grow back.”

He smirks and takes up the oars; we lurch forward with his powerful stroke. “I have a question for you, Amuletos.”

“Go on.”

“All that tea you drink every day...”

I smirk. “You want to know how often I have to pee?”

His eyes dance, and I can’t help but laugh.

“The same as a typical person. Vitalian spells often need substantial amounts of water, and what’s not absorbed through the spell comes off in the exertion of delivery.” I raise my brows. “Any other questions?”

“Yes, one more. May I kiss you again?”

My stomach lurches giddily; I hold my breath, then let it out unevenly. He leans forward, but the shield expands to stop him.I’d have to go to him.

My stomach bubbles. I can’t move.

Our boat bumps into the bank at the scholarly precinct, and it breaks us further apart. Nicostratus smiles. “Next time.”

I watch him go, then head to the apothecary library.

An hour later, the glow fades from my skin and I laugh at a stray thought. Quin said the shield would help me keep my distance. I’d thought that meant from him, but...

“What areyouthinking?” Mikros sinks into the space just beyond the book I’m gazing past.

I jolt, and... rivet my eyes on the pages before me. “This. It’s interesting.”

“Study away, study away,” Mikros says, and perches himself on my desk. “But it’d help to do this.” He flips my book right way up.

I blink and focus on his amused expression. My cheeks flush and I hurriedly flip through some pages. “My... first transplantation spell didn’t work out.”

Mikros leans casually against the desk with a teasing grin. “You’d be a genius if it did!”

From behind a bookshelf, Makarios’s head appears, his scowl playful. “It took him a hundred days. Me, much longer.”

Mikros smirks. “To your everlasting chagrin. Florentius might only need a couple of months, though.” He pauses, letting that fact sink in. “His father is the great Chiron, after all.”

Makarios mutters grumpily before vanishing behind the shelves with a sigh.

“Even Chiron,” Mikros says, grinning after his friend, “needed four weeks of daily practice before he could perform a transplant.”

I nod and vaguely hear myself hum an answer. “I’ll keep practicing.”

“Grey spotted frogs,” Mikros says. “They carry a lot of disease, so you can practice transplantations and cleanse them of transmittable pathogens at the same time.”

Makarios lumbers towards us with a stack of books up to his chin. “We can give you a pass for collecting some.”

Mikros nods. “There’re loads up the canal, around— Ah... around theotherisland.”

I lurch to my feet. “What?”

“We can get you a pass.”