Page 9

A fter I’ve discharged my duties for the day, aklos escort me away from the scholarly precinct, and it’s to my shame I don’t figure out where I’m headed until I’m entering the queen’s private chambers. The resplendent tea room. And, waiting before an elegantly laid table, Queen Veronica.

My old friend. Someone I played drakopagon with. Talked to about my frustrations with Father. Secretly practiced vitalian spells on...

Once such a pivotal part of my life. A thought of her would refill me with energy, would add a bounce to my step.

My feet drag as I cross the room.

Too much has happened, and I haven’t been a part of it. Too much has happened, and she hasn’t been a part of it.

Even in this royal city, even after the shock of seeing her the first time during the wyvern attack, she’s only been vaguely in my mind. An afterthought. Behind massive tomes of vitalian knowledge. Behind daydreams of a future life with Nicostratus. Behind Quin’s annoyed and annoying quirked brows.

What a friend I am.

She smiles, lips lifting, like she doesn’t share this guilt.

Tea streams neatly into a cup and she slides it to the space next to her. Even surrounded by regal splendour, her eyes sparkle. The warmth in her eyes has me swallowing.

“Forgive me,” I say, and embrace her. “It’s taken me too long.”

She laughs and hugs me back. “Sit, sit. Tell me everything. How you got here, how you came to be close to the prince. To my husband. How is your family doing? Oh, I have things to tell you, too. It’s all quite startling. How have so many years passed so quickly?” She sighs and urges me into the seat beside her. “What’s wrong with your legs? The aklas are whispering.”

“Whispering?”

“I’ve been beside myself with anticipation. Why haven’t you healed yourself?”

I stare at my knees. “To reflect on my actions.”

“Remember to forgive yourself, too,” she says, and I wonder if this is blanket forgiveness, like she’s discerned my guilt and wants me to lay it aside. What a friend she is. “This is your favourite, I had it brought from Hinsard. Drink up. Keep talking.”

Over the delicate tea, I find tendrils of our old ‘us’ and grab on to them. We share the highs and lows of the last years and drink tea in awkward spaces of silence.

He has a wife.

After another silence, aklos inform Veronica dinner will soon be arriving, and her son is brought to her.

A smartly dressed four-year-old enters, following an akla obediently. The fear the boy had during the wyvern attack is masked under polite smiles and good manners—I can’t help but see a young version of the king.

He has a son.

I abruptly stand, wish them a lovely family dinner, and despite stiff and aching legs charge into the courtyard. It’s quiet today. So quiet, memories fill the spaces between shivering plum leaves. Screeching wyverns, blood.

Two brothers fighting to protect their people. One another.

My legs give way and I plonk onto a bench under a tree. I close my eyes briefly on a shudder and reopen them, thankful for a squabbling rustle above. A flash of movement amidst foliage. A golden dove.

It flaps its wings frantically, squawking as it struggles to free itself.

I spring to my feet, swallowing a wince of pain, and climb the tree towards the molten gold plumage. Its wings are caught in a web of thin branches.

I slip, palms grazing the bark to find purchase. I hiss at the pain and jerk my head around at a gentle tutting. Prince Nicostratus, arms folded, looking up at me. “I have to be the envy of all.” He leaps into the tree with easy, lazy grace, until his face is level with mine. “I’ve won the biggest heart in the kingdom.”

I stare. How sincere he is. How kind. How gentle. There couldn’t be a single female or other-oriented soul in the land who would not see what a wonderful man this is. He has to be the epitome of what one desires. There’s no sharpness here, no cutting edge. No gaze that dissects me, no words that leave me reeling. Nicostratus is soft, and safe, and everything I deserve.

This is what true romance feels like. This is why I’ve held on so tightly to my heart—so I can give it away to whom I choose. A man who took in a struggling young vespertine; who stayed by his mother’s side in her last days. A man who has always smiled at me.

My limbs are trembling and I lean into a forked branch, extending a hand towards the stuck bird. “Free it for me?”

The dove flaps wildly as Nicostratus’s hands work to free it. For a moment, I envy its simplicity—it knows what it wants, fights against the branches holding it back. I force my hands to steady and grip the branch. I know what I want too. Don’t I?

The dove whooshes through the air, two of its loosened feathers fluttering to the courtyard.

Yes, this is it. This is love. This is as light as a heart can ever feel. Isn’t it? My stomach twists, but I shove the feeling aside. Love isn’t complicated—it’s safe, kind, steady. Nicostratus is all of these things. He’s everything I should want. Everything I do want.

Whenever Nicostratus takes a step in my direction, I’ll take a step in his.

He picks up one of the feathers and I pivot to the other side of the tree after the other. My hands shake as I pick it up.

Love.

Yes. I couldn’t be more sure.

The feather grazes my other hand, a teasing tickle that sends an unexpected shiver through me. Excitement, surely. Not anything else.

My hand shakes as I press the feather into the soil, grounding myself in this choice. My choice. I let my wish take shape for true love, for a future unclouded by piercing stares and impossible standards. A future with Nicostratus, with nothing else but his steady kindness.

Nicostratus peeks at me and I force myself to meet his eyes.

I smile. “What did you wish for?”

He laughs. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

A breeze bends our feathers as if to blow them into the queen’s residence. “Do you think they’ll come true if we steal these back? They’re so pretty—”

He gently smacks my outstretching hand and laughs. “Let’s not risk it.”

I gulp and pull him to the bench, where I carefully roll up his sleeves to bruised skin.

My stomach takes a dive. This is my fault.

I can’t look at his face, but I feel his gaze on mine.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“The risk you took was touching.”

“I should’ve been more careful. I hate that they did this to you.”

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you they got swift comeuppance?”

I jerk my head up.

“My brother swept in the next morning for a spot inspection. Interestingly, every redcloak that’s ever laid a hand on me was found guilty of breaking one rule or another. Fifty lashes each, in front of the men.”

My gaze finally darts towards the queen’s residence. “Quin did that?”

“There’s nothing he hasn’t done or won’t do for me.”

He pulls me half onto his lap and I fold against his firm muscles and breathe him in. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Family dinner.”

At the mention, we hear the joyous cry of the little prince in the distance.

“I should let you get in there,” I say, shifting, and he tightens his hold.

“I could steal an hour before dinner a couple of times of a week...”

My heart thumps. “Really?” I squirm in his arms to look at his smiling face. “Would you teach me to make a shield? Could you take me and Florentius to the other island?”

“Only my brother or the duke can issue bead-passes for that.” Oh. “But I can help you to defend yourself.”

I find his armband, and kiss it. And kiss it again, because... love.

* * *

“Cael? Did you hear me?”

I shake off my contemplative frown and look over the garden table at Veronica, dressed in plum—to reference the plum trees surrounding us, swollen with ripening fruits. She is beautiful, with a fragrance to match. Fit for... the queen she is.

She picks up a teapot to pour. “Every time we have tea, you’re distracted.”

“Forgive me,” I say, turning all my attention to her forgiving smile. I hand her a spoon. “Whack me with this next time.”

She laughs, like the tinkling of fine crystal. “Is something the matter?”

I rub my temples. “Between health checks and studying,”—and revelling in these deep feelings for Nicostratus—“I barely get a moment to dwell on other thoughts.”

She smiles into a sip. “You’re at peace to think with me.”

“You’ve always offered calm and insight.”

“Flatterer.”

I smirk and say cheekily, “You think I’ll get in trouble with the king?”

“I think you are in trouble with the king.”

I jerk back in my seat. “What?”

“I’m not sure why, but when he watches you and Nicostratus practice—”

“He’s been watching us?”

“Whenever he comes to visit his son, he observes you both, frowns, and leaves abruptly. Something about you bothers him.”

I swallow. “He’s very protective of his brother. He wants to be sure I won’t get him in trouble.”

Veronica cocks her head and hums. As if she’s aware of my role in the last time Nicostratus got hurt. “I’m sure you won’t intend to.” Her gaze absorbs mine like she’s piecing me together, bit by bit, trying to get a clear picture of all the possible outcomes I might have now I’m back in her life.

My stomach tenses.

She smiles at me, too brightly. “Nicostratus speaks of you with a fondness I haven’t seen in him in years. Constantinos? Well, let’s say you bring out his sharper edges. He’s protective of his brother in ways most don’t understand, and you... you’ve added more concerns.”

I gulp down the last of my tea.

She looks up, a sparkle in her gaze. “They’re both good people. They mean well. They tell me everything about you.”

“Including clinging to the king’s leg at bath time?”

“Including that.”

I croak, adding a laugh that feels feigned. “I can never look you in the eye again.”

Veronica watches me for a few heart-pounding beats and then smiles. “They ask many questions about you. I do have fun telling them all your misadventures.” Her eyes twinkle and she gestures to the plum tree closest to me. “Remember how I tricked you into learning drakopagon?”

“You told me the first ripened plum of the year was magical and could make any wish come true. You told me I could have it if I learned drakopagon and helped you win against your brothers.”

“You really believed it. I’ve never seen someone master a sport so fast.”

“I wished to become a healer!”

“Looks like the plum was magic after all?”

I clear my throat. “Ah, did you really tell them that story?”

“It’s part of the reason I love plums so much.” She gazes at each tree, smiling. “I love this garden. I used to have another tree, right over there, but I donated it to the capital when the little prince was born.”

Heat sneaks up my throat. “I—I’m familiar with it.”

Her gaze descends to me. “You are?”

“I may have, sort of, accidentally destroyed it?”

“Cael!”

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to.” I peek at her through the gap between my arms, which are shielding my face. “Let’s call it... payback?”

Veronica tuts. Forgiveness and understanding. I hope, but I’m not sure, I deserve it. She looks over my shoulder, past my flushed cheeks. “Prince Nicostratus is approaching. Practice. I’ll visit my son.” She stands, and pauses before pivoting away. “Don’t hurt any more of my trees.”

To make sure of that, I guide Nicostratus deeper into the garden. The air is thick with the scent of violas and the tang of upcoming rain. It mingles with Nicostratus’s familiar smell: metallic and sharp, a trace of the long days he spends training. Letting them abuse him.

Then he comes here to train me.

He curls behind me to correct my hand motion and slides an arm around my waist, the flat of his palm on my abdomen. “Breathe in.”

“You must be tired,” I murmur. “Maybe we should stop for the day.”

He presses me closer, hand a hot imprint on my stomach. “The deeper you call your shield, the stronger it’ll be. Try to connect it with an emotion.”

“Emotion?”

“Haven’t you wondered why people leak magic when they get angry, upset, or even happy?”

I’ve leaked magic like that, of course. We all do. “It comes naturally.”

“Exactly.” His nose brushes my ear. “Feelings amplify magic.” He leads my hands into a dance that fires up nervous shivers. “They strengthen your attack, and your defences.”

The earthy shield before me pulses, thickening with bursts of colour like flower-heads before whizzing up over my head, behind me, to my side—

Nicostratus laughs softly, pleased. “Of course the stronger the feeling, the harder it is to control.” He turns my hands out and tells me to breathe in. I regain hold of the shield and keep it steady around me.

“Oh look, there’s Constantinos.”

I snap my gaze across the courtyard to Quin’s stubborn cheekbones and poise. The sight is a slice of light cutting through the dimness of the garden, enough to make me blink. He’s not just Quin. Not just Nicostratus’s brother.

He is the king.

My shield jerks and expands with vines of shimmery blue roses, then fires out in a multiplying boom into the courtyard.

Nicostratus steers my hands and helps me rein it in. “I’m perhaps not the best person to practice with in this instance. Constantinos!”

I drop my shield and the roses burst into petals that disappear in a waft of perfume as they hit the ground. I palm Nicostratus’s knuckles at my stomach, my palms sweaty as I clutch him tight. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

I dare another glance at this new figure before me and murmur under my tongue, “It looks like he’ll use the opportunity to kill me.”

Nicostratus’s laughter is as genuine as he is. “He’ll do no such thing.”

Across the courtyard, Quin raises a daring brow.

“Nevertheless,” I say.

“Calm, calm. I want to grab some crude weapons to test it. Constantinos, help out for a minute.” Nicostratus lets go of me and whisks away.

The ground seeps cold through the soles of my boots. A few drops of rain pelt my face and my breath is a large cloud clawing after Quin, who is—who is turning away.

Relief is a bubbling shiver rolling up from my feet to my chest and back down again. Except, wait. What am I doing? He might be king, but he’s also Nicostratus’s brother. Also just Quin. There are things I need to ask Quin.

Ignoring a lurching hop in my belly, I chase after him, sliding over stones to his side and landing a hand under his around the cane.

He slides his fingers up from brushing mine; I catch my breath and fumble a short bow. “I haven’t seen you.”

“Entirely intentional.”

“I know you’re worried about your brother, but I’ve been careful—”

“Watch how close you are.”

“Sorry?”

“Our uncle surely has spies about, and you have your hands all over one another.” He pivots towards the entrance to the queen’s palace.

“He’s teaching me to hold a shield. Anyone can see that it’s innocent.”

Quin pauses for a moment and continues striding away with a hollow laugh.

He summons magic to open the doors ahead and they rattle and slam against the outer stone. My stomach jumps like an echo. My teeth rattle. I grit them. I haven’t seen Quin since the night spent on my knees. I’d approached him with a good attitude. Why is he acting like this?

“ Wait.”

The air tightens. It’s so quiet the frustrated thump of my heart pounds in my ears. Slowly, Quin turns. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

There’s a new glimmer in his eyes—cold, stubborn.

I drop to my knees, forcing reverence. “Your majesty.”

He draws back, boots and cane crunching over grit. He’s about to leave. Urgency has me scrambling forward on my knees. “What about taking me out of the royal city with you?”

Quin pauses; the rich scent of uncertainty leaks from him.

“Or—or better, a pass to visit my family?”

Cool words prickle against my downturned head, race over my scalp and neck. “My uncle might have dismissed your part in recent events, but he’s a suspicious man; he’ll be keeping tabs on all of you. If he finds you’ve irregular permission to leave the city, he might decide to play safe instead of sorry.”

I snap my head up.

I’ve spent the last month hoping I might soon get to visit Mother and Father, Akilah, my brothers and nieces. It seems that’s out of the question. I sink onto my haunches.

Quin shifts slightly, uncomfortable, grip white on his cane. I rein in the impulse to check his leg and offer him relief. He’s too volatile; the thought of sliding my fingers along his wrist and reading his pulse... He’d snatch my hand and his gaze hitting mine would be terrifying.

I suppress a shiver. “May I ask for a different reward?”

“You hurt my brother. That’s not something I can forget easily.”

I swallow. “I accepted punishment for that. I didn’t heal myself, either.”

Quin frowns. “You didn’t—you knelt all night, on hard ground. It rained !”

“Please?” I murmur.

“What?”

“Grant permission for Florentius and me to go to his brother. On the other island.”

A streak of fear and pain lances through Quin; his hand shifts and whitens around his cane. “No.”

I raise plaintive eyes to his.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” Quin throws out a spell. It first hits hard against the clasp on my cloak, which breaks and clatters to the ground along with the fabric it had held together. The spell slides over me like a blanket, suctions close until my body is enclosed in a quiet, glowing hum.

“What is this?”

“A reminder. Keep your distance, or you’ll find my patience has limits.”

He pushes into the palace; his son screeches his name, rushes towards him, and pounces into his arms. Veronica follows, gently chiding the boy as Quin sheds the sternness he had with me and lifts him over his head, using magic to spin them around. “You’re getting heavier every day.”

“Soon I’ll be as big as you!” He giggles. “When can I visit? I miss Generalus.”

At Quin’s fatherly-warm reply, I pick up my cloak and tie a knot to keep it in place. Nicostratus was right. I just... Florentius...

“Shield!” Nicostratus yells from behind, and I whisk on the spot and freeze—

The sword doesn’t land. I’m sure it wouldn’t have anyway—Nicostratus would have pulled back. But something stops his sword before he can. The glow around me booms outward at the attack and punches his weapon away.

“That’s not your shield,” Nicostratus murmurs. He tries to come forward, but the aura around me stops him coming any closer than a foot.

I frown. Nicostratus can’t reach out and touch me, but I seem to be able to reach through and touch him. I pull his sleeve. “Your brother did this. What is it?”

“A cloaking shield. Some use it when they fear poison; it won’t let anything harmful in. Nor out, for that matter, so if you were planning on poisoning anyone, best not to while wearing a shield like this.”

“Poison anyone! I’m a healer.” I pause. “Some medicines are poisons though.”

Nicostratus nods.

I ask him to try to touch me again; he can’t. “Couldn’t you wear this all the time? Instead of armour?”

“Magic is mighty, but it’s fickle. What if the shield dissolves mid-attack? You’d be left with no protection. It’s always better not rely on it.”

I shake my arm, but the glow doesn’t waver. “How long does it last?”

“My brother’s shield will last longer than most. Perhaps, though,” Nicostratus grins, “not as long as mine.”

I laugh. “Are you trying to impress me?”

“That depends. Are you impressed?”

He laughs and I follow his footsteps to the canal on a hummed sigh. His kindness is always a warm blanket, a safe space. Cozy, comforting. Definitely not sharp with a propensity to utter harsh truths.

“Let me take you to your quarters,” Nicostratus offers.

I glance along the water to a boat of retiring aklas. Any one of them could be a spy for the duke... “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“It’s a stop on my way.” He steps into a small boat and reaches out to haul me in with him. Blocked. I reach through the shield and grab hold of him. He smiles and helps me aboard.

I sit with a relieved sigh and roll my shoulders.

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 are you thinking?” 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 the other island.”

I lurch to my feet. “What?”

“We can get you a pass.”

“If you’re quick,” Mikros adds, “you can catch up to Florentius.”

I eye them, pulse racing.

Makarios drops his books onto my desk and draws a wooden pass from his belt. “He requested one too.”

“When?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes ago?”

I grab the pass and race through the gardens to the canal. Florentius is already making his way there... What if he’s caught sneaking onto the island? What if he’s unable to get there, distraught, bobbing in a rowboat alone?

I’ll catch up, follow quietly. Be there if he needs support.

See why Quin fears us going near the island.

With a lantern pilfered from the apothecary, I take a wobbly step into a damp boat. Redcloaks stop me at a lit checkpoint below the grand duke’s palace and cold eyes look me up and down, inspecting not only the narrow wooden pass but my boat, person, and belongings. Finally, the pass is handed back with a sharp nod and I row through the dark depths beneath the palace, out into the mist shrouding the north side of the royal city.

Moist air clings to my face and seeps quickly through the layers of my clothes. I retie my cloak, closer around me, and lift the lantern. I see only the dark, still water and moonlit mist a few feet in front of me.

Florentius, where are you?

A soft splash. An oar breaking the surface of the water? Is he close? Ahead? Dark, imposing stone walls and a crumbling cliff face rise from the mist as I head in the direction of the sound.

The other island. The one no one speaks of. Or leaves.

It looks like it might be as big as King’s Island, but it’s colder here. Wind whistles through broken windows. It’s dark, but for the hazy glow of light in one of the towers.

Another splash.

I lift the lantern to the water ahead, straining my eyes for a glimpse of the boat. “Florentius?” I call out softly.

A shadow shifts in the mist.

“Florentius?”

Low murmurs drift, barely louder than the soft lap of water against the boat. I freeze, lantern swinging in my grip as I search for the source, straining to catch the words. The voices are muffled, harsh—a conversation through clenched teeth. One not meant for others.

“But they’re allies. Why?”

“He’s no longer useful. The dead don’t talk.”

“Will we become loose ends too?”

“Shut your mouth and do your job.”

They draw closer; I can see their hulking forms through the gloom. My gut tightens. Quietly, I dip my oars into the canal and move towards the thicker mist. Better not be seen; better they not know they’ve been heard. My boat glides silently through the water, closer to the bank, and—

Bumps into another boat.

I let out a startled cry and wind gushes around me. In a blur of movement, a figure drops onto the seat beside me and crushes my back to their chest, an urgent palm pressed over my mouth.