Page 12

“ C ael. Cael!” Quin’s yell is muted behind thick stone.

He bangs against the door-wall. It doesn’t budge. I press against it, but it remains firmly closed. I shiver, jam the list of donors into my belt, and turn around in the black space. I squint; the tiniest bit of light comes from under me. Far under me. I crouch and make out the rungs of a ladder descending. If there’s light, there’s something down there.

It’s not unheard of for commanders’ chambers to have secret passages running to the outside of outposts. Many war stories tell of redcloak messengers being sent down them during battle, to gather help from neighbouring outposts. It’s not even the first secret tunnel I’ve been in.

“It may feel impossible, like there’s only floundering in the dark, but if you look you’ll see lanterns lining the way. People on your side, giving their light.”

I close my eyes on the rolling punches in my gut. I promised I’d be the light moving with him. Instead...

Stiffly, I lower myself onto the ladder, gripping the rungs hard. It’s not a betrayal. If I stay, a brighter more consistent light will go out. Nicostratus must always be there, steadfast for his brother, as he has been for decades. It’s better to give up the smaller light for the bigger one.

With a croaky voice, I call to Quin that it’ll all be alright, that he’ll be alright, and begin my descent into the cold. Each step away feels like something stretching painfully inside, about to snap at any moment. I should be worrying about refugees and murderers, but in the dark of this tunnel, I’m swimming in memories.

My soldad. Pretending to be my master. Encouraging me to fight for a place in the examinations. Giving me gloves to protect my hands. Trying to stop me from entering the bloodthirsty royal city; looking out for me when I went anyway. Cheekily suggesting I steal his pearl heart and gleefully punishing me for it. Letting me absorb his blood to infuse wyverns. Allowing himself to be publicly spanked; entering a poisonous miasma in my place; sacrificing his own healing for that of his subjects. Stealing me away. Promising to support me. Watching with wide-eyed amusement as I danced for him. Hiding with me in a coffin.

Holding me.

My eyes are hot; my throat stings, and my hands choke each rung violently. There’s a sound above, and I miss my step, lose my footing. My arm jerks with my weight and my grip fails.

The world tips—the ladder vanishes beneath my feet, and wind tears through my lungs. Panic surges, but before I can scream, I’m caught—held in a blur of motion. Warmth closes around me, solid and steady. Quin. His arms lock around me, anchoring me even as we descend. His breath is hot against my temple, his grip secure and safe. When we hit the ground, he lets go, and the chill rushes back in.

“I told you not to leave my side!”

All those memories are crammed into my throat and I’m choking on them. I shove him. “Fine. Let’s talk so that I can . Why are you angry? Because of last night?”

He growls.

“I didn’t take you for the clingy type.”

Quin slams a hand against the damp wall beside me and leans close. “Don’t test me. You must know why I’m feeling this way.”

“Because I left you, after.”

“After, what?”

In the tight confines of the narrow tunnel, I yank him close until my back hits the wall and I’m pressed in on all sides. “Why are you so infuriating?”

“After, what?”

The damp earth and musty stone are a cool contrast to the fiery heat of Quin’s body.

“After—”

I can’t take it anymore—his questions, his presence, the unbearable heat of his nearness.

I grit my teeth, grab him around the nape, and slam my mouth against his. Fire and ice and lightning. My skin comes alive the instant our lips touch. I’m a cascade of goosebumps and my heart feels like it’s tumbled over a waterfall and is rushing away from me. Slowly the rush gives way to calmer waters and as my senses return, I gasp, tremble, and shove at Quin. Quin, who has gone still under my launch.

Heat floods my face as I wait for him to tell me how I lost control like this last night too; how I couldn’t hold myself back; how I—

“What was that?” he murmurs.

“What happened last night.”

The lines of his body shift against mine, and his hand cradles my head from the hard wall, fingernails sliding with a tantalising shiver over my scalp. His sigh against my wet lips is uneven. He dips his face against my throat and his nose glides up to my ear. “Last night... that never happened.”

My hands suction clammily onto the uneven wall behind me. “But you were half naked. You usually toss me off the bed!”

“I couldn’t summon the strength. And tossing you out of my bed? Takes all my strength.”

A zap of more electricity. “Y-you were upset this morning. I thought—”

“Why would I be upset at you kissing me?”

I fluster. “I was drunk.” I close my eyes to the image of his open and rumpled shirt, the flute askew against his bare chest. “I acted without thought. I snuck out in the morning, afterwards. Mostly, I thought you were hurt that... I don’t remember.”

Quin is quiet. Still a warm weight against me.

I swallow, whisper, “Why are you upset?”

A soft sound scuttles down the tunnel, shattering our fragile moment. Quin’s gaze snaps towards the noise, while mine stays stuck on him—on the way his chest rises and falls as if he’s been using magic for hours. His lips are still slightly parted, and I wonder—

Reality slaps into me with a chilly breeze and I shove Quin away and straighten my cloak, growling. Trembling. “This—” my voice cracks and I force it steady “—this is the last conversation we should be having.”

“It’d better not be,” he mutters, and follows alongside me.

Our footsteps are quiet shuffles as we head deeper underground. The air begins to thicken with the scent of herbs, a rich concoction that has all my senses on alert. Caelumradix, sylvestrisa, auroraroot... someone is seriously hurt, possibly near death.

My steps quicken. Quin stops using winds to support his leg—it might give our presence away—and hobbles, using the wall for support. My nape, my entire body, is a web of shivers from his touch and I’m afraid to pluck the web again, but he’s put too much pressure on his leg lately. His pain will worsen.

I hook a supporting hand around his elbow and try to ignore his gaze on my profile as we follow the scents.

We’re led to a hidden chamber, glowing with lantern light and vitalian spells. In the corner of the room is a bed, and on it rests a figure in red. His breathing is shallow, laboured, and it’s only the spells swirling around him that keep his blood pumping, keep him tethered to this life.

“Paxos,” Quin murmurs.

Our missing redcloak.

Who, the night before his abrupt disappearance, attacked Nicostratus near the canal.

Across the room, through an arched doorway, I glimpse an apothecary-like space. Shelves line a wall with jars of fungi and herbs, and there’s the distinct sound of something bubbling. A place to craft healing spells? Or to test poisons?

Before we can move nearer, a swish of white lace precedes the figure of Eparchess Juliana emerging from the room—without a mask. Her hands are aglow with a life-prolonging spell, and it lights up her flawless, youthful face. She halts briefly when she sees us and calmly continues towards the body. “I wondered when we’d meet,” she murmurs.

I’m a myriad of half-formed questions and I want to start asking, but pause. Eparchess Juliana is not looking at me at all, but at Quin. Quin, who she has been avoiding since we’ve been here. Because he was a constable, I’d thought, but...

I frown, and glance between the two of them. Quin’s expression flickers, and he barks out a short laugh. “It’s been a while, cousin.”

“Cousin?”

They glance at me.

Quin says, “This is Princessa Liana, the high duke’s daughter.”

Eparchess Juliana— Princessa Liana —stiffens at the mention of her father, and my mind pulls at a few threads and puts them together.

“You’re the one Lucius taught? The reason he was sent to that island?”

“The reason I was cast away myself,” she says, briefly shutting her eyes. When they reopen, she settles her gaze on me. “You’ve seen him? How is he?”

“Trapped. Helping others as best he can.”

She lets out a heavy breath.

I steer Quin to a stool, which he reluctantly lowers himself onto, and I catch the dawning understanding in his eye. His sharp wit is already piecing things together. But I still have questions. “May I ask?”

He inclines his head and I step towards the princessa. “You knew King Constantinos was here, acting a constable. You purposely avoided him.”

“I glimpsed him the first time you visited the outpost. I was behind the commander’s door. I admit, I was shocked at the time.”

My mind races, and I nod. “You were at the refugee camp—”

“I wanted to hear their story, to help build a picture of him.”

“They were sick that day. You couldn’t be sure what kind of man your cousin is. So at the dance house, aware Quin—Constantinos had followed, you left him to the commander to feel out.”

“Blood is thick with betrayal in my experience. I’m unsure who in the royal court I can trust. Including the king.” She eyes me sharply. “You were at the dance house?”

“Feeling you out.”

She laughs dryly. “And?”

“The puzzle I first put together has come apart and is reforming rapidly.” I frown. “The commander...”

“What about me?”

I swing around and my gaze narrows on his confident gait into the secret room and to Princessa Liana’s side, where he quietly asks if she’s well. She nods, and I look between them to the redcloak prone on the bed, and back to the stacked life-prolonging spell swirling in Princessa Liana’s cupped hand. The commander hovers his hand over it and uses his magic the same way Florentius did when testing the quality of my spells. I recognise one of the layers. The essence of echowisp seeds. I recall Eparchess Juliana buying them; the same flower used to frame Nicostratus. But of course, apart from its poisonous petals, its seeds are well known to increase strength and stamina. It would aid someone suspended between life and death.

Commander Thalassios nods, lowers his hand, and gestures for the princessa to continue.

Not the behaviour of a murderer. Unless this redcloak’s death had been accidental.

The commander looks over my shoulder at Quin; he inclines his head respectfully. “No doubt you have questions,” he says.

Quin returns, “Caelus here is quite capable of asking them.”

The commander looks at me; I square my shoulders, step forward, and speak bluntly. “Your father was killed by the town the refugees came from.”

His reaction, as intended, is sharp. His gaze darkens. “He was.”

Dark wisps leak from him.

“Did you poison the refugees in retribution?”

“I was extremely angry, but not at the townspeople. At my father.”

I bolt. “Your father?”

“He was a cruel, vicious man. I was barely twelve, and he’d nearly killed me multiple times. When the townspeople found out how he’d torture me, they worked together. A secret they’ve kept since.”

That’s why no one mentioned it voluntarily. They must keep their mouths shut, or be held accountable for this death. “You donated porridge out of respect for them? Thanks?”

“I’ll do more.”

“Like inviting them to watch this game?” Was my intuition wrong? Are the refugees here out of gratitude?

“I didn’t invite them.”

My relaxing shoulders stiffen again. I pull out the list of donors from my belt. “Why do you have this list?”

“I copied it. Like you, we’re trying to get to the bottom of this.”

I look from the commander to the princessa, who’s pouring the last of the spell into the redcloak. “How did he end up down here? Why are you working so hard to keep him alive?”

“We were too late to save the others,” the commander said. “Juliana had come to the outpost to discuss something with me. We were walking the perimeter when we saw them on the ground. The others were dead, only Paxos was clinging to his last breath. When he coughed up her real title, we went cold. No one is supposed to know her identity here. There’s a reason she wears a mask; why she’s designed a mysterious background. It became imperative we save him. We suspended him like this, between life and death. We’ve exhausted ourselves trying to find a cure. We must find out what he knows.”

He stops suddenly.

“Or?” I ask.

Princessa Liana staggers back from her spell and the commander steadies her. She lifts her head and stares at Quin.

“Or all the witnesses involved in the earthshakes that I’ve found and hidden may be compromised.”

Quin sucks in a sharp breath. “My lead to find the commander was to find you .”

“I knew that’s what you’re truly after.”

“I must force him out of the royal city.”

They stare hard at one another. Princessa Liana speaks first. “It’s not the right time.”

“He’s actively ruining our kingdom. Compromising border security. Tearing families from their homes. Confiscating food and medicine from the people.”

“Are you any better?”

“Yes.”

“Such confidence. That’s why he’ll be trying to kill you. Destroy your power.”

I step into the mounting tension between them. Their words have sent a shudder through me. “Let’s discuss saving the kingdom after we save the refugees.”

Tight nods.

“The game has already begun,” says the commander.

Princessa Liana retreats towards the apothecary. “Let me get my mask.”

Mask.

The word rattles through me. Constables, demanding how I got into Eparch Valerius’s place . Dress up, did you? Delivery man? Aklo? Vitalian?

It all comes crashing together in my head. I ball my fist.

“The culprit has indeed been masking himself.”

Quin uses magic to support himself as he leaps off the stool. “You know who it is.”

“Worse. I don’t think we’ll have enough vitalians, even with a proper antidote.”

“What are you talking about?”

I see a flash of the welcoming stall, those continuously refilled jugs...

“The entire audience has been poisoned.”