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The judge stammers. “I... that is... Who would dare—”

Quin hauls him close, so close the judge must see the face in the shadows of that hood.

The judge gasps. “Your m—”

“Do you admit your wrong?”

“I admit my wrong! I admit my wrong!”

Quin lets the judge go, and he sprawls over the ground. “I can turn a blind eye to this, if...”

The judge scrambles onto his knees, whirling round urgently and ordering his aklo to release the boy. The crowds disperse as the judge slinks away, and regular marketing soon resumes. I help the shaking boy to his feet and hand him the package of verdeflora, which he hugs tightly to his chest as he bows over and over.

I put out a hand to stop him. “What’s your name?”

“I... Aklo.”

I shake my head kindly. “If you have another name, you can tell us.”

“Mama calls me Niki.”

Quin calls out for Niki to be helped home.

The scarred aklo emerges from the shadows, and I startle. “How—”

“He knows to find me here if I don’t return to King’s Island.”

Right. Of course the king would have such contingencies in place.

At Quin’s request, the boy tells him where he lives and starts off with Aklo. We’re to follow shortly.

I palm the back of my clammy neck. “You should probably vacate this seller’s stall.”

Quin pushes off with his good foot, and suddenly I’m in his arms and we’re rising in the air and through the academy window. He drops me and I catch myself on my feet as he falls gracefully into an elegant armchair.

He sits quietly, his hood pulled back to reveal the strict, smooth lines of his face. His eyes seem especially dark, but not cold and determined as they’d been in the queen’s courtyard; dark and warm, with a strange intensity. As if he finds the world amazing and wants to study every inch of it.

My pulse still hasn’t recovered from the altercation with the judge; it skips madly in my veins. I release a shivery breath towards the view of the market. “With how often you go gallivanting, I’m surprised that’s the first time you’ve been recognised.”

“I’ve not released any public portraits. Nor is my injury known outside of the royal city.Heis the capital’s high judge. I’ve had dealings with him.” He pauses. “You’re versed in Goffridus.”

“Only the basics. I was reading his views on health of the mind, body and soul.”

“Cael?”

It takes me a few beats to look at him.

“Come closer.”

I hesitate and cross the few feet between us.

“Kneel.”

The floor is cold under my knees but Quin is a solid block of warmth before me, very close.

My head is tipped up, his tipped down to study my face. There’s the gentlest amazement in his expression. He produces a pouch, one I recognise: he bought it from the jewellery stall. From it, he draws out a beautifully carved clasp. Silver, and formed in the shape of an aether petal—just like in the pictures of Saint Kyrillos, the only person in the history of our kingdom to have reached the seventh level. He used the aether petal to save the life of his beloved.

I stare at the delicate grooves in the silver. An imitation of the saint’s clasp. Surely, it couldn’t be...