Page 10

M y heart rams against my chest, and a nose brushes through my hair. An authoritative whisper. “Quiet.”

I stiffen as those other voices grow louder.

“Did you hear something? A cry?”

“What do you expect? We’re passing the island.”

Shadows glide past us; I don’t dare move a muscle until the strokes of their oars have faded.

I quietly lift the palm off my mouth and turn. Dark robes, a hood cast low. So much like Nicostratus, dressed this way. But the feel of him, the scent of him wrapping around me as we waited for the men to pass, his dominant ‘quiet’ ...

“What are you doing here?” I rush out at a whisper.

He brings his face close to mine until I can see the cool displeasure in his eyes. “That is my question.”

He picks up the oar closest to him and gestures to the other. The island looms to our right; I watch Quin’s profile for a reaction, but he stares intently at the canal ahead.

“I told you not to come here.”

My stomach hops and I grip the oar. “I needed grey spotted frogs.”

“Lying to your king now?”

Quin continues rowing, but the scent of pain belies his stoic demeanour. Not a physical pain, though his leg seems cramped in this position, but deeper. An all-consuming, emotional pain. Heartbreak.

I turn my head towards the other boat, far in front, approaching the city wall. You were ahead of them.

My mention of this island brought him out here tonight; brought him this pain. I swallow a guilty tendril; it takes me three uneven breaths before I can speak. “Are we following to stop them?”

A contemplative nod.

I whisper, “Will sentinian spells be involved?” My stomach clenches. “I’m better left behind.”

“I need you to do the legwork.”

Legwork?

“They’ll disembark at some point,” he says. “Follow and look for evidence implicating my uncle—letters, documents.”

I blink at him. “I’m a scholar .”

“Who, I maintain, is fearless,” Quin says with a familiar chastising glance.

“What if they catch me?”

“Use your shield, like you almost did against me earlier.”

I lean toward him, surprised. “It was really that strong?”

He doesn’t look at me, but his jaw twitches. His hands tighten on the oars, and the silence feels sharper than the cold breeze. I pull back, not entirely at ease. “What if I can’t do that again?”

“Channel your feelings,” he bites out.

We row to the stone wall surrounding the royal city. I gaze quizzically at Quin as he thrusts his hands toward three key stones. The wall shifts, revealing itself to be a hidden gate.

The boat glides past the cold stone into a darker, forested area. The air grows heavier under the canopy of tall, thick trees. These trees are familiar. Too familiar.

My stomach tightens, and I dig my fingers into the edge of the boat. This is the royal belt, where I often went to look for...

I clamp my teeth together and shove away the memories. Not now. Not here.

Quin rows in silence, but I feel his gaze flicker toward me.

It’s also the place where the high duke’s redcloaks tried to kill Nicostratus. That memory, at least, doesn’t make my chest ache. Strange, the things I’d rather remember...

I curl into my cloak with a guilty shiver. “Feelings, feelings,” I croak, heart throbbing, the words barely louder than the creak of the oars.

Quin glances at me, his expression unreadable. He puts more weight into his rowing, and I almost lose my oar. I frown at him.

He doesn’t look at me. “The canal forks ahead, we can’t lose them.”

Not much later we reach a tidy neighbourhood on the fringe of the inner capital. Large stone-walled manors with modest households line the canal, separated from it by a wide lane and sprawling oak trees that cast long shadows in the moonlight. The boat ahead docks at a small jetty, and we squeeze ours into a nook, long grasses curtaining us from view.

At Quin’s command, I don my hood and scrabble up the dewy bank. Wind shifts through the grass and the trees overhead. I glance back to an empty boat. What’s he doing?

I skirt the shadowy stone walls with nervous steps and pray to the heavens I’m not seen—

“Shush, something’s there.” Only a dozen yards away, a redcloak spins in my direction.

I melt back into the wall, breath held tight.

The men stride closer—

Something skedaddles past their legs and one hits the back of the other. “It’s a cat, you fool.”

They turn while I try to recapture my gut that’s long dropped into the earth. Fearless my foot.

From somewhere above, I feel Quin’s penetrating eyes on me, silently demanding I keep moving. I glare into the night and edge along the wall.

“This is the place.”

They leap onto the wall and drop out of sight; I grit my teeth and curse Quin silently as I clamber up and belly-slide over, then tumble into a bush.

“What’s that?”

“How did you become a guard if you’re this easily spooked?”

“I heard—”

“It’s that damn cat. His chambers are west of the main building. We’ll search the rest of the house once we’ve dealt with him.”

I have to search the house for documents while these men commit murder? My stomach roils. I should be saving lives, not letting someone die, but... I have no fighting skills. Quin’s doing heaven knows what else. There’s nothing I can do against sentinian magic except cast a volatile shield—

Or...

I slip through shadows, climb through a window left partially open, and grab the first scrolls I find. Never mind if they’re incriminating or not.

I rush through the cold, quiet manor, fling open the door and run towards the west. My heart hammers, my footsteps make heavy clomping sounds against the earth, my fingers choke the paper in my hand. I trip over a prone body in the grass, surrounded by wine jars. The man shifts only to snore sharply.

A life is on the line. I scramble to my feet and spy the redcloaks ahead, closing in on a semi-detached cottage. My ears ring from my rapid pulse.

This can be considered a ward. Preventing death. Grandfather would’ve approved.

I haul in a breath and call out at the top of my lungs. “Stop. Don’t move.”

They spin, drawing metallic spells to their palms. “Who are you?” They creep closer, and I step back, raising the paper.

“I have the evidence.”

The redcloaks exchange glances and fork towards me. Clearly, they think they can get rid of me and get the evidence. Clearly, I did not think all this through. I’ve only delayed a death with what might be my own.

“If I don’t return,” I say, hoping my voice isn’t shaking, “I have orders for it to be distributed.”

They pause.

The paper trembles in my hand and the beefier one narrows his eyes on me suspiciously.

They rush forward, magic swirling in their raised hands; I drop the paper with a yelp and throw my arms over my head, too terrified to—

Something whizzes past my ear to the right, then to the left. Through the thin gap between my arms, I see the charging men freeze and plunk backwards to the grass like boulders.

I unwrap my arms from my face and stare at their motionless bodies. Were they...? I hop towards them, fighting the instinct to flee, and check their pulses. Not dead . Unconscious. I find stiffened grass blades piercing the knockout acupoint.

Insane accuracy—the depth is precisely enough to keep them under for a whole day.

I judge the angle the blades hit them according to their height, and trace the trajectory back to a giant oak sprawling over the back fence.

Quin is perched on a branch at the origin, his hood thrown back, moonlight bathing his face through the leaves. He meets my eyes with a calm that has me swallowing.

“I asked you to collect evidence, not audition for martyrdom.”

“I couldn’t let someone die.”

Quin’s gaze drills into mine. “So you threw yourself towards them without so much as a crude weapon?”

I glance towards the blank sheets of paper I abandoned.

Gusts surge up under me, his magic a steady force that cradles me mid-air. Quin’s hand twitches at his side, as if he wants to grab me, but he chooses to lock his eyes on mine instead. “Foolish,” he murmurs and yanks me closer, until I can see a flicker of softness. “Brave.”

For a fleeting moment, the air around me feels brighter, warmer, gentler. Then the magic vanishes and I plummet, the ground smacking me to my senses. “Don’t try that again.”

I pick myself up off the grass, rubbing my banged-up elbow. “I won’t accept anyone dying—”

“I never intended to let them kill anyone.”

“They were near the door!”

“There’s not a soul in this manor, save that drunken porter.”

Now that he mentions it, the house does seem quiet. And dark, at barely nine-thirty in the evening. Compared to other lantern-lit manors along this canal, the lifelessness here should have been immediately telling.

And it was telling, to Quin.

“You mean I risked my life for an empty room?”

Quin’s laugh rumbles and a startling snore interrupts my returning glare. I whirl around to the drunken porter bolting up in a stupor.

“Who’s there? This is my drink, get your own.”

Like he did with me, Quin uses his magic to lift the man to his feet, and the porter gasps into instant sobriety.

“Who sleeps there?” Quin demands.

The porter squirms and stutters, “The second master, Petros Tornikes. My master’s younger brother.”

“Where is he?”

“The family spent the spring in Hinsard. They were due back yesterday but bad weather slowed their return.”

“When will he arrive?”

“Tomorrow evening, all going well.”

Quin sets the porter on his feet. “You’ll strip the uniforms off those two redcloaks and hire a boatman to send them south.” Quin plucks a chunk of gold from a pouch and tosses it to the porter. “Don’t tell anyone about this evening.” He eyes me. “Take their passes and head back to the boat.”

When I slide down the bank to the boat we arrived in, Quin is already perched on the seat, oar in hand.

I sidle in beside him and grab the other oar. “You let them go?”

“They won’t come back.”

“How do you know?”

“They failed tonight,” Quin says. “If they return, it won’t be me who kills them.”

His words send a sharp shiver through me. I use my oar to push from the bank, then dip it into the water and pull us in the direction from which we came. The rowboat twists as Quin moves his oar in the opposite direction. I glance at him quizzically. “We’ll stay at my academy,” he says, “and re-enter the royal city tomorrow evening.”

If we’re in the capital... “Can I stay with my family?”

“My uncle may have eyes about. I’d prefer we stick together.”

“Stay with me then. I haven’t seen them in months, and you did promise me a reward...”

He rows two, three strokes while I eye him pleadingly. “Fix your cloak, it’s coming undone.”

“Is that a yes?”

He hums low in agreement, and I hand him the oar so I can fiddle a knot that will hopefully hold.

“Your clothes won’t do,” I murmur. “Too fine. My family will have questions.” I eye the passing manors and hold out a hand in front of Quin. “Pull up to the bank and give me some coin.” I pause. “Why do you have money on you, anyway? Were you always planning on sneaking out?”

“I confiscated this. Redcloaks caught gambling.”

“Their stupidity, your serendipity.”

“Quite like your ending up here.”

I leap out of the boat, flushing, and return soon after with a simple aklo’s uniform. I take over the oars while Quin shifts behind me to change. He casts a wavering reflection in the water as he slips off his cloak and pulls at his shirt; his gaze flickers toward the canal, and I dunk the oars into the surface with a rippling splash.

“There,” he says, “Happy?”

I immediately set the oars in the boat and turn.

The boat sways gently under us as I raise my fingertips towards his face. He jerks back, only a fraction, but enough to notice. I pause and meet his dark eyes, then reach out quickly, tugging the jewelled fastening on the end of one of his braids. “Aklos would never wear valuables in their hair like this. Nor would they wear braids.”

Quin’s hand comes up, stopping my fingers at the fastening. His voice is low, soft. A warning. “Are you really going to undo my braids?”

I pause. Aklas and aklos might braid the hair of their master every day, but never do they undo those braids. The undoing of braids by someone else is a significant act. Usually a parent would do it, or a spouse.

Even those from poorer classes, who don’t braid, have similar customs. A wife covers her hair only for her husband to uncover at night, and a husband only lets his wife comb his bed-knotted hair. Even I don’t let Akilah undo the playful braids she sometimes knots into my hair. Something about coming undone under someone else’s hand is very... intimate.

I pull my hand away from under Quin’s. “Take them apart. I’ll tie it in a simple knot.”

When Quin has finished, he turns his back to me, and I hastily gather his hair. It’s still too long for an aklo; if anyone looks twice, I’ll tell them his master the king commanded it.

Quin resumes a seat facing me and I get my hands back on the oars. “You seem adept at lying—I mean acting. Have you played the role of aklo before?”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

We dock at the jetty closest to the manor, and at the familiar chime of a spiritual bell, I tug Quin down low in the boat. His breath skitters under my ear. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding from a luminist.”

“I may have slightly offended our local once or twice.”

He shakes his head, and I flash him all my pearly whites.

When the bell fades into the distance, Quin manipulates the air to lift himself out of the boat and onto the path at the top of the bank. He waits for me to hurry alongside, wind whirling around his leg to prop him up, whipping strands of hair free around his face.

I flick his arm. “Stop showing off.” Not only will he drain his magic too fast, but it’ll give him away. “Few can wield power like that—you’re an aklo, remember?”

I wrangle an arm around his waist and hold tight.

Quin raises an eyebrow.

“Use me as a crutch. There are spare canes at home—not as fancy as yours, but they’ll lend support.”

He presses his lips together but drops his weight against me, solid and warm. I fight to keep my steps steady.

“Better,” I croak.

“You’re trembling.”

“You’re heavy,” I fling back, cheeks burning as I tighten my grip. His warm breath brushes against my temple, and I hobble harder the hundred yards to my home.

I locate a cane in the darkened storeroom and Quin grips onto it. I spare a minute to squabble with him about using his flutette against the pain throbbing from him, and in the end, he lets me win.

I stuff the wood into his mouth and offer him a patronising “good boy, your majesty” that has his eyes flashing.

I am a fool. Still, I can’t help laughing.

The main hall is brightly lit and drunken chatter leaks through the thin walls. I glance at Quin before we enter, and shake my head. “Can you slouch more?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re too... regal. Straight-backed. A commanding presence is...”

“Enviable?”

“Un-aklo-like.”

He shrivels around his cane and I lead us into a warm room stuffy with the scent of ale. My brothers are huddled at one end of the table, throwing cards on a pile, and my father sits in an armchair in front of the fireplace, deep in thought.

They glance up, my brothers first, and then my father when they call my name in startled surprise.

Father stands, gaze cutting over the room towards me and Quin. A wave of confusion and relief crashes through him, making his shoulders droop. He steps in our direction but stops himself, forcing a small nod instead.

I gesture Quin towards the table and take a seat beside him, my father watching my every move like he’s not sure what he’s seeing is real.

“The king awarded me one night at home.”

My brothers lift up their glasses and welcome me back with pointed glances at Quin.

I clear my throat. “He’s my aklo for the evening. He’s... part of the reward.”

“Reward?” my eldest brother asks.

I preen. “His majesty was most effusive in his praise.”

My brothers laugh rambunctiously while under the table, a hand covers my knee and pinches. I prod Quin’s fingers off me. “Where’s Akilah?”

The door flings open and little feet scurry into the room. Lucetta latches onto her father, giggling. “I want to stay up.”

Akilah falls through the open doorway, flushed from running. “Lucetta,” she gently chides. “You’re supposed to be in bed—”

Akilah spots me and gasps. “Cael?”

Lucetta flicks her head around and squeals. Within seconds, I have her arms around my neck as she climbs onto my lap. “Uncle Cael, you’re home!”

I resettle her and give her a hug. “Missed you too.”

She peeks at Quin shyly; Akilah registers him too and blinks rapidly, stunned. Imagine her reaction if she knew it’s not rich merchant Quin at our table in disguise—as if that weren’t bizarre enough—but the crown of our kingdom, Constantinos Quinlaus Galliot.

Lucetta whispers, “Who’s that?”

Quin glances at me, awaiting my introduction, and I explain to Lucetta that Aklo is here to help me for the evening.

Father’s cool voice cuts across the room. “An aklo and a night at home? You’d have been better off with a piece of gold. That at least would be useful.”

I shift and clear my throat. “It’s an enormous privilege to leave the royal city.”

“I’m sure.”

I cringe as Quin stiffens in his chair. “Father,” I say over Lucetta’s head, “I believe, in time, you’ll see things getting better.”

I can feel Quin’s gaze on my profile, and I flush. “I-I mean, the king has his problems but his principles are not among them.”

Father raises a brow, intrigued.

I blow out a breath and my tension eases. “He’s a man of many faces—” I swat Quin’s fingers off the side of my thigh and Akilah snaps into action, coming around and pulling Lucetta off my lap. “Come, I’ll read you one more story in bed.”

She eyes me as she leaves and in this unspoken communication, we agree we’ll talk later.

“I’ll doubt until I witness change with my own eyes,” Father says. “Forever, if you don’t leave the palace in one piece.”

My brothers raise their glasses at this; but my father’s eyes keep shifting to Quin and I know, just know, he’s suspicious. It’s the hair. Too long for an aklo.

I catch Father mid-observation and palm Quin’s head like I own him. “You’re curious about his long hair.”

“It’s unusual, is it not?”

I toss off a laugh. “He’s one of the king’s aklos.”

“What does that mean?” one of my brothers inquires.

I feel Quin tense, as if he’s guessing how I’ll explain this.

“Does he have a fetish ?” another brother asks.

I say nothing. Just ask for cards to be dealt my way on the next round.

My brothers inhale sharply; Quin pinches me the hardest he has yet and his glance my way is absolutely lethal.

“ I didn’t say it,” I mouth back to him. Still, the look is making me shiver. I quickly change the topic of conversation, and after an hour my father and brothers retire.

“Get some sleep,” they tell me. Mother has to leave to collect herbs from the mountains in the morning. I’ll have to wake early to see her.

“Your aklo can clean up in here. Put him to good use.”

They go, and Quin’s glare turns on me in full force.

I shuffle out of reach. “You do seem the type—”

One swish of his hand has me whipped towards him. I catch myself with an oof on the back of his chair, my knee braced between his legs. He flicks my forehead, his mouth a grimace.

I pull away from him and pointedly scan the glasses and empty bowls on the table. He returns this with a dry expression, one elegant eyebrow arched.

I grin, clear the table hurriedly, and ferry the dishes to the scullery to wash. Quin gives a hand drying with the wave of his fingers, then I lead him to my bedchamber and light the candles at the window and my bedside.

The knot at my throat gives way and my cloak plummets to my feet. I scoop it up, fling it over my arm, and rummage around the room for a fresh shirt and pants. Quin waits at my bedside, taking in the painting I made on the wall there. The violet oak, and two huddled boys in its hollowed trunk. The lids of his eyes lower like he’s lost in thought.

As he quietly soaks in each line of ink, I speak softly. “Your flutette is made from that tree.”

“My brother’s armband, too, I believe.”

I stare wistfully at the painting. “I wish he remembered.”

Quin turns to me, his focus broken. “Would it change anything?”

Would it? Nicostratus is... a genuine kindness, wrapped in strength, with a smile that warms my heart. I look away from the violet oak and meet Quin’s eye. “It doesn’t change anything.”

He nods and snaps his cane closer to the bed. “Take the floor.”

“You can have the whole room. I’ll sleep with Akilah.”

“What?”

“She’s stargazing on the roof. I’ll join her.”

“Wait.”

I pause, halfway to the door.

“You’re male, she’s female. It’s inappropriate.”

“We’re practically siblings. Plus, it beats the floor.”

“You—”

The door shuts behind me. I hurry across the yard, drop some extra blankets in Akilah’s room, and climb the ladder to the roof, where she’s lying starfished under the clear sky. I sit beside her, breathing it all in: that ticklish feeling of my forefathers and River looking down on us.

After a few minutes, I ask her to take off her boots.

She lifts one foot after the other and I undo them.

“I should probably ask why, but I figure I’ll end up without boots either way.”

“You’ve always been the best test subject. Now hold still—I’m going to practice swapping your toenails.”

She raises her head, looks down at her feet and my glowing hands, and reclines again. “Put them back in the right place after.” She lazily traces stars with her fingertip while I rearrange her nails—mostly successfully—and then she freezes and turns her head to me, whispering, “Why is he pretending to be an aklo?”

“Probably because he’s actually the king and doesn’t want anyone to know.”

She snaps upright. I slip on her boots and sigh a foggy breath into the night.