Page 14

“A re we ready to begin?”

I pull at my reins, moving around Nicostratus’s other side so we’re face to face, and beam at him.

His hardened gaze moves from the black knight and back to me with a smile. “I planned to give you this later, but now is better.” He pulls a pair of golden feathers from his belt and hands one over. “I made these. One for me. One for my Amuletos.”

The feather is a smaller version of the ones we made wishes to in the queen’s courtyard. The ones I wanted to keep. I clutch it tightly. “I love it.”

Nicostratus smiles; his gaze flashes to the black knight and then sideways to Veronica trotting over.

“Shall we?”

We play a competitive first half—Veronica and I team up to score two, with Quin missing his chance at the third by mere inches. Our attempts at the fourth and fifth are keenly batted away by the giant, giving the black knight an opportunity to score, and Aklo another.

The crowd’s cheers turn into roars as the black knight darts forward with precise, flawless movements. The weight of every gaze around the field must be on this mesmerising display of skill. It’s as if the pitch belongs to him. Even in disguise, his importance seeps from him.

We’re close to evening up the score when the whistle blows: a red flag for Nicostratus for swinging his drakopala into an opponent’s horse. I know it’s an easy mistake to make in this game, but our chances of winning have left the field with him, and my spirits deflate.

“That ugly clasp you wagered?” Aklo purrs as he passes me and tugs his metal-studded belt. “It’ll join the trinkets of the men I’ve killed.”

This guy, Quin?

By mid-game, Veronica and I are exhausted. Aklo throws me a smug smirk as he slinks his horse close to the black knight and whispers something in his ear. There’s a lean to his body that is absolutely inappropriate in front of a crowd. The king’s people .

“Cael? Cael?”

I turn to Veronica, who’s holding out a canteen for me and shaking her head. “See what I mean? Bane of my drakopagon existence.”

“If Nicostratus hadn’t been disqualified...” I glance at the stands where Nicostratus is sitting, watching us calmly. He waves and smiles.

“He wasn’t playing his best, anyway.” Veronica sighs. “How about doing some reconnaissance?”

If anyone on their team is flagging, man or horse, Veronica and I can take advantage of that weakness. The surreptitious health check is one of our old tactics. Not strictly against the rules.

I urge my horse around the arena, slowing as I pass our opponents. I close my eyes and absorb the surrounding scents. The black knight’s horse is a little salty, dehydrated, but nothing that will hinder a second half on the field. Quin himself has a sweet woody scent... he’s absorbed pain relief from my flutette; he’s in top form. Aklo has a fishy smell about him. Ridiculously healthy, fuelled by arousal...

Bitterness hits the back of my nose. My palm tingles with magic and I tighten my fist, swallowing it back inside. I urge my horse nearer the giant.

This man is sick. Very sick. Immediately, I move to his side. “What medicinal herbs have you taken?”

His eyes are glazed; he’s not focusing on me. I stack a spell in my palm—the infection in his spleen is taking hold. With my right hand, I grab his wrist and read his stagnating pulse. No time—even if he’s taken something, and this spell reacts with that, it’s no worse than not treating him at all.

I press my palm to his chest and force my spell into his swollen spleen.

The effect is immediate; he hauls in a breath, eyes focusing. He has no idea how lucky he is that I’m sneaky enough to check my opponents’ health for an edge in the game.

“What did you do?” he asks.

“Do you feel better?”

He yawns, his eyelids closing. “Sleepy.”

I wince. “Side effect. You’ll be fine after some rest—”

“What are you doing?” The black knight comes up on the giant’s other side in time to catch him as he sags. He looks over his teammate at me, mask not enough to hide his suspicion.

“I’m not cheating,” I say.

“He just happened to fall asleep?”

“He was sick.”

Quin doesn’t look convinced.

“If I wanted to cheat,” I say in a tight whisper, “I’d have knocked out the other one.” Dark eyes flash, and I raise my chin stubbornly. “For the good of the kingdom!”

I turn my horse and gallop to meet Veronica at our starting position for the second half.

“They’re down a player?”

“We might have a chance. Remember the flash tactic? You bypass Aklo.”

She gnaws on her lip, glancing at our opponents. “The black knight doesn’t look like someone who’d—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll distract him.”

I don’t distract him.

He’s impervious to all my tricks—not even balancing on my horse is enough to turn his head. I’m deflated when I slouch out of the stables, and Nicostratus’s chipper mood doesn’t help. His sparkly, contented smile is just irritating.

“You’re a natural on a horse.”

“We lost.”

He stops me making a mess of knotting my cloak back on and takes over with careful fingers.

I scowl across the arena at studded-belt Aklo. And then scowl deeper at the most irritating responsibility I’ve accepted yet, with his stupid fake voice, mysterious mask, and questionable morals.

“Don’t worry, I’ll buy you all the clasps.”

I look at Nicostratus’s beautiful, sincere face, and my frustration ebbs. “You really are the kindest person I’ve met.”

“Decided.” He bops my nose. “You’re not allowed to meet anyone else.”

I’m laughing when a redcloak rushes up to Nicostratus, message in hand. Nicostratus reads the note and stiffens. “Has this been verified?”

“We’re waiting on official confirmation, but it should arrive tonight.”

He nods sharply and looks at me. “I’m sorry, I—”

“I understand.”

I watch him march off with the redcloak, then I slink towards the canal in the quickly cooling air. Even summer is not on my side today; it would’ve been cold in the woods, and even colder on my own. I huddle into my cloak as I watch the last boats taking spectators back to their quarters, then sigh and trek along the canal.

Someone clears their throat—I jerk my head up to the black knight, still masked, in a two-person dinghy. “Come on,” he says, his voice his own again.

For a few moments I stare, stubbornly resistant. But at a cool, possibly manufactured gust of wind, I shiver and reason I have nurturing duties to fulfil. I climb into the boat opposite Quin.

“As your light in the tunnel of darkness,” I say, and Quin’s gaze fixes firmly on mine. “I have things to say. You may not like them.”

His lips twist upwards at one corner.

It pours out of me in a big rush. “It’s not right being all flirtatious with your uncle’s aklo. Not only is it questionable on a moral level, your wife was right there —also, you have a wife. Additionally, it’s a risky choice. He might be a ploy of your uncle’s, luring you in to turn on you. Then what will our future look like?”

“Our future?”

“Your people need a wise, compassionate ruler.”

Quin pulls the oars and we glide towards a sparkling bend in the canal. “It was just another act. He showed interest, and I used that. A name. A lead.”

I blink. For Quin, this wasn’t just a game. Each of his moves was a calculation. The pitch had merely been a stage where alliances were tested, power asserted, and secrets ultimately whispered. “You did all that for information,” I say simply.

“When my uncle kills all my other leads, what choice do I have but to stoop to his level? Every move feels like a betrayal of what I should stand for... but if I don’t act, I lose everything.”

Boxed in a corner, what else could he do?

At Quin’s contemplative gaze on me, I shift and swallow. “What did you find out?”

“Under the cover of the chaos after the earthshakes, he brought the wyverns into the caves beneath the royal city.”

“If that’s true...”

“Those earthshakes likely weren’t natural.”

I recall the injured lined up at Frederica’s estate; the bodies of those who didn’t make it in piles beside the rubble; Quin using all his power to hold the dam and keep it from killing an entire village. “All that death and loss...” My voice breaks and I stare Quin directly in the eye.

He pulls the oars hard. “All I have now is hearsay. I need proof before the officials will concede to my orders to strip him of his title and exile him.”

“Proof?”

Quin nods. “I need to find the mages he used to do this.”

“Were those the names you wanted from Petros?”

“I think so. I got one from Aklo. I’ll look into it.”

“Can Aklo be your witness?”

“Partially. Though...”

“Though?”

“He has a price.”

I can piece together the nature of that price. “It’s... my gut says that’s... not right.”

Water ripples around us and birds call lazily from trees. I squirm on my seat in the silence between us.

Quin eases the dinghy up to a post alongside the scholar quarters but stops me before I spring out. He pulls the silver clasp from his pouch, and I sink back onto the seat. “I thought you gave Aklo your share of the winnings.”

“I gave him the gold.” He says it simply, like the clasp has always been, and will always be, non-negotiable. He removes the buckle on his black cloak and fuses the clasp there.

“Not going to lie,” I murmur. “I was expecting you’d give it back to me.”

“Expecting?”

“Hoping.”

“You lost it.”

I look up from the exquisite silver design to his chastising headshake. “Did you not see how hard I tried to win it back?” I fold my arms, and then frown. “I couldn’t distract you!”

“I was distracted. I just happened to be more determined.”

“To beat me?”

“To see how far you’d go to get it back.”

“I stood on my horse! On one leg! What more do you want from me?”

An answer forms in the depths of his eyes, flickering briefly to the surface before he reins it in.

I tell myself I’m here because of duty—because someone has to keep this stubborn king alive. But every time he looks at me with that guarded intensity...

He moves back.

I snatch his hands and crush them between mine, so tight I feel his pulse jump. “I won’t lose it again.”

He frees his hands, and his words sound like they’re ripped out of him, raspy in his throat. “Take off your cloak.”

I obey quickly; he hesitates, just for a moment, then takes his beautiful black cloak off and throws it around my shoulders. The clasp is a gentle weight at my chest, and I press my palm against it.

“You made the right choice.”

“I don’t know about that.”

I climb out onto the bank and he rows back towards King’s Island. My gaze follows him for a few moments before it sweeps along the canal to the bank on the other side. My breath hitches. There, in her riding gear, Veronica stands among long grasses, watching me.