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S he speaks briefly to the aklos behind her, then uses her inner power to leap over the canal.

“I saw,” she says.

My stomach jumps. “Saw what?”

“The black knight. He’s the king.”

I laugh but it sounds awkward to my ears.

“Who was behind the screen? No, wait. Why didn’t he choose to play on my team?”

“Maybe he thought too close, and you’d figure it out?”

“I’d have been a better pick over that aklo.”

I grimace for her. “Does it... bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“What you saw.” Confusion creases her brow. I press on. “It bothered me , watching him flirt with that aklo.”

“Aklo?” She laughs softly with surprise and looks at me. “Flirting with an aklo doesn’t bother me.”

I stop, bewildered. “He’s your husband. ”

“Only on paper. If inks fade and paper burns, no marriage is left.”

I stop walking and stare at her.

She tugs me to keep moving. Numbly, I fall into step beside her.

“I can’t believe you’d be fine with—”

“We are fine with this. I’ll quietly take care of my own happiness. And I hope he takes care of his.”

My voice falls to a secret hush. “ Have you taken care of your own happiness?”

“Not yet. But when I do, she will be the one to get my lovelight.”

My gaze shoots to hers.

“You see? I won’t be upset if he flirts or falls for an aklo. But Cael,” concern touches her eyes, and she stares deep into mine. She looks away with a shake of her head, frowning. “Never mind.” She smiles up at me with sudden jubilance. “You and Nicostratus were laughing together after the game. You two are sweet.”

“Fate threw us together as children—I guess it’s thrown us together again.”

Veronica lets out a whooshing sigh and laughs. “So happy to hear that. And you’re friendly with Constantinos. Which is important. They’re brothers after all, you should all get on. Yes. Yes, it’s all good.”

“Veronica...”

“Let’s head that way.” She pivots towards the conservatory, but we’re stopped by her own grim-faced aklos before we enter.

“Urgent correspondence from Hinsard.”

Veronica takes the extended letter. Once the aklos bow out of sight, she opens it and sags against me with a gasp.

I wrap an arm around her.

She shakes her head and I help her to a bench under a tree. With trembling hands, she rereads the letter. “The general at the southern border has died. Forty thousand of father’s army have moved there until a new general arrives.”

“So many?”

“The treaties between border kingdoms and ours are fragile. With fractured leadership the army will be in disarray—weakness the Iskaldir army might take advantage of. Father’s right to support. It’ll keep the peace.”

“That’s good then, isn’t it?”

Veronica sets the letter on the table. “The appointment of a general has to be made in person by the king. The high duke will use this to force Constantinos and Nicostratus south.”

I tense.

“Too much is at stake for him to get rid of them before peace is secured—he’ll use the time to assume more power here.”

“Will you be safe?” I ask.

“My father would withdraw his troops if the duke moved against me or our son. No, this time we’re safe.” She lets out a relieved breath and grimaces, rising fast to her feet. “I must see Constantinos.”

* * *

Veronica’s foreboding clings to me like a shiver that won’t cease. All night and the following morning, I feel it. Even as the sun breaks over the royal city, I’m still shivering.

With bead-passes secured from Nicostratus, I lead my fellow mages up to the tower roof to watch the procession. The king and the prince ride at the forefront, their armour gleaming silver in the dawn light, flanked by disciplined ranks of redcloaks. The crowd below is one of cheers and fevered excitement. Even my companions mirror the mood—save Florentius. His frown carves shadows over his eyes. Like mine.

I grip the stone ledge, the cold biting into my fingers despite the rising sun. I once watched another man ride off on horseback, his cloak flaring behind him as he disappeared into the horizon. He didn’t look back, and I hadn’t known it would be the last time.

A thumping ache lodges in my chest and I shake my head. Quin is the king; Nicostratus has led men in battle before. They will return. They must.

And yet... watching them riding ahead into the distance has my stomach heaving and that ache deepening. It’s the same kind of ache that once made me search all the places Maskios and I had ever been together.

“Are you alright?” Florentius murmurs.

I let out a laugh, but I can’t speak for fear it’ll give me away. My gaze follows the procession and stays on it until the last gleam of silver armour is swallowed into the distance.

Back at the apothecary, we force ourselves to settle into the routine of our studies. Time drags; it’s over an hour before Chiron finally arrives. His grim expression silences even Mikros and Makarios, who usually can’t sit still for more than a few minutes.

“The complex-medius examination has been pulled forward,” Chiron announces without preamble, his voice as sharp as a dissection spell. “By order of the regent.”

Florentius stiffens beside me, his spine going rigid. My own stomach churns. We’re the only two who haven’t sat this examination.

“When?” My voice comes out steady, despite my shivers. “Into autumn?”

I need those months—desperately. With my performance on King’s Island counting against me already, every day of practice counts.

Chiron’s lips press into a hard line as he glances at his son. “End of the week.”

Mikros and Makarios jump to their feet, outraged on our behalf. I grow colder with every breath. We’ve barely grasped the basics of transplantation. We’re supposed to have another half year to perfect it.

A dry laugh. “The king leaves, and immediately he uses his power as regent to bring up the exam?” Florentius stares stone-faced at his father, unsurprised and disappointed. I know what he’s thinking. The rumours grow in the capital every day: one day, any par-linea could become an official mage. It’s making my throat seize up, my eyes water, my teeth grind. I only realise I’m growling when Chiron scowls in my direction.

“You were never going to succeed. This only affects my son’s prospects.”

“Father!”

“You have four days,” he snaps, directing his words to Florentius only. “Spend every waking moment perfecting your spell and show me your progress at the end of each day.” With that, he storms out.

Florentius doesn’t look at me.

A strange, heavy chuckle escapes me. “He’s right. Because of me, you have to take this examination early.”

Florentius stares grimly at our desks; I let out a frustrated breath. “Half the officials in the court were against me entering the palace. I—I was to expect I’d encounter difficulties.” I look at him. “You warned me as much that first night.”

My stomach clenches along with my throat and fists. “Look at me.”

Slowly, Florentius raises his gaze.

“You know this isn’t right. You feel it like me, deep in your bones.”

He looks into my eyes and there’s no hesitation, only understanding and determination. “I know.”

* * *

Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford for the next four nights.

The hours blur together in a haze of herbal teas, bursts of magic, and relentless rounds of constructive criticism.

Slowly, the spells Florentius and I craft come together with more precision, each attempt feeling smoother, more refined. I even begin to sense the subtle weight differences in the compounds I stack.

We’ve progressed from swapping toenails to toad kidneys. On the exam day, though, we’ll face an even greater challenge—live human subjects. So now, Makarios and Mikros stand bravely before us in the classroom, volunteering.

“We’ve been thinking about this for a while.” Mikros says.

“I was thinking a tattoo,” Makarios says, gulping, “But having one of your eyes...”

Mikros nods. “I’ll have a green eye from you, and you’ll have my blue one.”

“Y-you... you don’t think this will affect our marriage prospects?”

“Who’s marrying you?” Mikros swats the back of his head. “We’ll serve here a few years, then travel together and raise some abandoned child to be a medical genius.”

“I was thinking we should raise a girl.”

“Then she’ll be a medical genius. And letting Caelus here practice on us is leading the way for a girl to have a chance. Eyes open!”

We’ve practiced this; our spells are correctly stacked. This is no time for trembling hands. I steel my emotions and move with practiced fluidity, in sync with Florentius, and once we painlessly extract a left eye from each, Mikros and Makarios stop crushing one another’s hand and we move on to the trickiest part of the spell. The entire process takes less than half an hour, and once the painkillers have worn off and the curtaining layer lifts, Mikros and Makarios can see again.

They laugh upon seeing one another and then fall into a tight hug that brings tears to their new eyes.

“This is...” Makarios turns to us, choking on tender emotions.

“Yes,” Mikros helps him out. “You’re frightening geniuses. I already knew it of you—” Mikros nods at Florentius and takes a turn around me, inspecting me with squinted eyes. “But when I saw your first stacking attempts, I thought you were a dud.” He smiles brightly. “Seems I was wrong.”

“Thank you for your overwhelming vote of confidence in my abilities.”

Makarios laughs. “You thought he was a dud and you still let him gouge our eyes out?”

Mikros stretches and flings an arm around him. “As you can see , he’s emerged a butterfly after our extensive tutoring.”

Florentius looks at me and tips his head in agreement. “Even with marks against you, you’ll pass this.”

Their support is a warm blanket, but it doesn’t stop the shivers of foreboding completely. I can do this. I can. The skills are there. Not only can I do it, I have to do it. For my dream, for proving par-linea can succeed, for the hope of the people, even... for standing triumphant in front of Quin when he returns.

I swallow and smile weakly, hand gripped unconsciously around my soldad. Makarios takes it from me and gives it a good polish with his robe. “This time tomorrow, you’ll have four stamps.”

* * *

Tomorrow arrives.

With a determined knot in my belly, I rise, force down a light breakfast, have tea in my room over my notes, and don my newest black cloak.

When I arrive in the apothecary, Florentius is already there, reading calmly, waiting for the examination to begin. Mikros and Makarios are lurking about with words of encouragement that they then throw my way.

“You’re not in your uniform.”

“Underneath.” I flash them the white robe and green sash. “This cloak is... for good luck.” Along with the golden feather Nicostratus gave me. Wearing both feels like a shield. I can imagine what each would say if they were here. Nicostratus would embrace me and wish me the best of luck, and Quin would hook my gaze with his and leave. He’d simply expect me to pass.

I shake my head and scowl-grin at the imaginary image. It’s strangely motivating—exactly what I need to face something intended to thwart my progress.

Footsteps in the corridor have us swinging our heads towards the door. A double line of redcloaks files in. “The complex-medius vitalian examination will begin soon. Follow us.”

I catch Florentius’s eye as we hesitate, uncertain.

Blank faced, the redcloak leader repeats himself. “Follow.”

With each step away from the apothecary, my confidence and determination is churning into nausea.

I have enough herbs in my system to complete a transplantation spell. No matter what unfair conditions they set up, I can prove myself.

We meet a sternly anxious Chiron outside the royal luminarium. He only has eyes for his son.

“Examinees will enter one at a time. Florentius Chiron will remain outside until summoned. Caelus Amuletos, enter first.”

I glance at Florentius; he nods his stoic belief in me, and with that vote I hold my head up and follow Chiron inside.

The inner doors groan shut behind me with a puff of icy air against my back, and redcloaks shift to the side, like curtains opening to reveal a stage. I freeze at the sight. Chiron, as well.

On the throne under the glowing violet oak sits the high duke. His eyes are trained on an aklo writhing on the shiny floor, gasping for mercy. Dozens of nails stick out of the aklo’s body, piercing the most painful acupoints. The duke sends another two flying as we watch.

My stomach lurches wildly and falls through my feet as the nails go through both eyes. The aklo drops, lifeless, into the puddled blood around him.

Redcloaks move in and drag his body away, past us—

I recognise the aklo’s belt, studded with silver, and then his face—once haughty and flirtatious, now... almost unrecognisable. Those eyes that had appreciated the black knight’s form—blinded by nails. Bile climbs up my throat. It takes effort and clenched fists to swallow it down.

The high duke whispers in an aklo’s ear, gesturing to someone on the other side of the violet oak, then beckons us closer until our toes touch the smeared blood. He looks at us, at me , as a pair of redcloaks moves forward to polish the floor. “This is what happens to those I can’t trust.”

The glint in the high duke’s eyes has my stomach tightening again.

“To pass this examination, you must complete a transplantation spell. I have, therefore, designed such a test. Chiron will assess the technical aspects of your performance and determine the final grade. Should you pass, you can continue to work in the royal apothecary as a complex-medius mage. Should you fail...” He lets it hang a few beats, stroking his beard.

I glance at the floor that once again reflects the sparkling oak—as if nothing has happened.

The high duke chuckles. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to kill you.” He gives a signal, and the aklo reappears from around the violet oak. Behind him—I suck in my breath. Megaera.

My senses are on alert as she rounds to the high duke and turns her gaze on me. There’s no surprise in her eyes, just a deep, dark void.

The pulsing, numb-like pain that comes off her in waves is my fault.

“My akla has helped me design this task. I was after something... special, you see. With her extensive knowledge of your background, she provided me with the solution.”

The blood drains from my face. I feel it, along with my chest, drop out of my feet.

I look at her lifeless expression.

The high duke signals again, and a redcloak drags in—

“Akilah!” I scramble towards her, heart pounding as I scan her bruised body. She looks at me, eyes glimmering before she shakes her head in warning.

“Stand back.” The high duke throws a nail, and she cries out; I move faster until—

“It’ll be her other shoulder next.”

I halt, my vision swimming with red , with the pounding need to help.

Magic escapes me, uncontrolled, earthy. I clench my fists and force it back inside. My fracturing composure is bringing a smile to the high duke’s face, a sickening light to his eyes. “What do you want?”

“You have become... obstructive.” He knows it was me who transfused the king’s blood into the wyvern. “Akla has been very good. She’s told me all about how you snuck out of the royal city with my nephew.”

My heart skips sickly. What does this mean for Quin? What should I do? What would Quin do?

Act.

I raise my chin. “I’m a green-sashed mage, of insignificant family. Why would the ruler of this kingdom sneak around with me?”

The high duke combs his beard again, muffling a sinister laugh. “You claim she’s lying?”

“Only that she’s mistaken.”

Megaera steps forward sharply but the high duke holds up a hand. “You are indeed bold. Akla, bring him in.”

Megaera stares hard at me and then pivots to the doors. I hold back a hard swallow and try to determine how badly injured Akilah is—from this distance, and without the aid of magic. Her back shudders on every intake of air. Breathing is painful for her.

Another figure enters the nave, and I sag.

“I take it you recognise the capital’s high judge?”

The judge bows to the duke and fixes his gaze on me. “That’s the brat who dared challenge me.”

“And who,” the high duke asks, looking right at me, “was this brat with?”

“Your nephew interceded.”

“Are you sure?”

“He showed me his face. Threatened me.” The judge scowls and turns back to the high duke, falling to his knees. “I deserve punishment. I have now learned that this boy is an Amuletos. Years ago, I executed an Amuletos for using banned spells during the rose-ring outbreak. He begged me at the time to spare the rest of his family; he had once saved my sister, so I conceded. This shows how wrong I was to do so.”

Anger and pain leak out of me. The high duke smiles smugly. I try to suck it back in, but I can’t. Grandfather...

I squeeze my eyes shut. River at the guillotine. Grandfather under the same blade.

“Rise. You made reasonable decisions and showed mercy. No punishment. Aklo, see the judge out.”

As the judge bows again, the duke’s eyes flash with the promise of terror, and then he lets it go and laughs. “My nephew thinks he’s clever, but you’re only clever if you get away with it.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “If his father were here, he’d be truly disappointed. Let’s get to the exam, shall we?”

Akilah is shoved onto the floor, where she sprawls and slides to my feet.

I crouch and cradle her face, checking her pulse, her pupils, combing her loose hair gently off her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She whimpers, weak from mistreatment, and tries to cup my cheek. Some of these bruises are... at least a week old. I tighten my grip on her cold, clammy body. “What happened?”

“Out camping with Lucetta...” Her eyes well up. “She’s alright. She’s alright for now.”

Anger is hot and fiery in my throat, the back of my nose, my ears. I want to throw up. I want to be strong and safe and shield Akilah.

“Touching reunion.”

I rest my head against Akilah’s and steady my breath. Lashing out will only be a faster route to death.

“Chiron,” the high duke barks, “we shall begin.”

Chiron, who has watched on in shock, snaps forward and bows deeply.

The high duke lifts his voice, and it echoes along the gallery. “Extract the subject’s lovelight and transplant it into me.”

I pull my forehead from Akilah’s and glare across the luminarium. “The lovelight is connected to the soul. If it’s forcibly removed, it’s torture.”

“Better make it quick, then.”

I shake my head. “Unless the patient is dying or unable to give consent, they must be willing.”

Chiron bows his head towards the duke and concurs uncomfortably. “This is indeed a tenet of vitalian law.”

The high duke smiles; there’s a shadow to it that has me feeling sick. “Akilah, is it? Tell us, are you willing?”

She shifts in my arms, her eyes filled with panic and pain.

“She’s clearly not—”

“I’m willing.”

“Akilah,” I gasp.

“I am willing,” she says to me, but there’s tension in her body that betrays her words. I don’t believe them. I can’t.

“There you have it,” the high duke says. “Willing.”

Akilah is my person. Closer than a best friend; a sister. I gather her against me as tightly as I can and laugh quietly, hollowly. “There is only one outcome allowed here. That’s for me to fail.”

“Are you saying you can’t perform the transplantation?”

“I’m saying I won’t.”

“Chiron.”

Chiron clears his throat. “Not attempting the task is deemed failure.”

At Akilah’s strangled sob of sympathy, I kiss her forehead and murmur that it doesn’t matter.

“Then,” the high duke says, “that result will be made public.”

I slam my eyes shut—

“Chiron, perform the transplant.”

—I ping them open. “I’ve already failed. You’ve won. Please—” I shuffle on aching knees towards Chiron, Akilah sobbing wetly into my shirt. “Don’t do it. You’re a teacher. Stand up for your principles. Ethics.”

“I’ve already lost one child,” he says gruffly.

“Now,” the high duke says, “or your son’s test will be just as special as this one.”

I cover Akilah with my body, struggling against two redcloaks as they try to pull me away; they bind me with metallic magic as the spell plumes into Chiron’s palm, changing colours as he stacks it. He’s fast, proficient, and he schools his face as he steps up to us.

Akilah cries out in agony, body arching under Chiron’s forceful, obtrusive magic. I fight against the redcloaks’ restraints, screaming her name. Her only lovelight—

The doors burst open; Florentius skids inside and halts, his shocked gaze shifting from me to his father to Akilah. “Father! Stop—” He shifts his hand, readying a spell to break his father’s, but he’s seized and restrained alongside me. He shouts at his father again, horrified, as Akilah’s lovelight rips away. It bursts from her, swirling in beautiful aching beauty around the violet oak, before sinking easily into the high duke’s chest.

He breathes in and out slowly, absorbing everything with a wistful curl of his lips. Closes his eyes and murmurs a name.

I shout, straining to get to Akilah.

Finally, the high duke rises, his robe billowing with his shadowy magic. “Everyone out. Not you,” he says, eyes pinned on me. “Not her.”

The magic binding me falls away and I scramble to Akilah, prone from pain, and gather her in my arms. With just the three of us here, the vast luminarium feels like a tomb. A tomb for a king, perhaps. But a tomb nevertheless.

I caress her face and stare past the high duke. “If you hate me so much, just kill me .”

“I thought about it.” He circles us in his ridiculous boots, clip-clopping like this is merely a dance for him. “You’re far more use alive.”

I yank my head up to his smirk.

“Akla did well following you, you see. She reported unusual closeness to not one of my nephews, but both. She says they seem fond of you. You spend considerable time with them .”

He crouches and tips my chin with the end of one of his crude nails. “I want to use that.”

“I won’t—”

He covers my lips with a finger. “Don’t speak rashly without knowing the rules.” He leans in. “If you refuse, your Akilah will be the first to go. If you refuse again, it’ll be the little girl she fought so hard to protect.”

She was protecting Lucetta . I let the tears fall. That’s why she said she was willing.

The high duke sighs. “I do get sentimental over great shows of love.” He stands and returns to his throne with a majestic sweep of his cloak. “Akla!”

Megaera appears with a bow and drags us to our feet with magic; I fight to keep hold of a stirring Akilah while the high duke uses the tip of a steel nail to clean under his fingernails.

As the nave doors close behind us, he muses, “I wonder how long it’ll take them to return, once they hear?”

Anxiety is spilling out of Florentius when he comes to our side. Akilah’s eyes slowly focus on him and she smiles. “Don’t come too close. I’m a real mess today.”

Her head lolls back to my shoulder, and Florentius snatches her wrist to read her pulse.

“I need swiftleaf to treat her,” I say, voice breaking. “I haven’t...”

Magic pours out of him and into her, but his spell is interrupted.

“Enough,” Megaera says. “Get moving.”

At Megaera’s direction, redcloaks drag us to a mouldy boat and we’re dumped on a rocky shore. I look around us, pulse tripling, and laugh. It echoes off damp rocks and toad-infested water. I keep laughing until there’s no breath left in me.