Page 16 of The King’s Man #5
T he last rune door in the glade sends us spiralling through darkness.
I wake in Ragn temple’s meditation grove. It takes a moment to makes sense of it all. The carved beams, the blueish light of dawn seeping through the shuttered windows, my veiled hat sliding off my head and Quin slowly shifting beside me on his narrow bed.
Anastasius’s son, imprisoned by a king who’d like nothing more than to get revenge.
It’s put in sharp focus just how dangerous it is for Quin to be here.
Prins Lief may have hedged his bets and kept his captive cared for, but King Yngvarr has arrived.
He must have grand plans for making Quin suffer.
I skate my hands over the mattress and under Quin’s legs as I gather the dromveske and the runestones, then scurry off the bed and towards the door.
“You’re missing one,” Quin says. I lunge for it and he closes his fist. “I must return these,” I say.
Suspicion and concern flicker in Quin’s gaze and I land my hand over his closed one. His warm fingers loosen around the rune and I wriggle mine into his hold to pluck it free. When it’s back in the dromveske alongside the others, Quin catches my sleeve. “Why am I afraid?”
“I’m doing what’s right.”
I turn to leave but he’s still holding on tight. “You are doing this for me...”
My throat is thick. “For Lumin.”
“You’re in King Yngvarr’s palm, while at your back is a regent who’ll even sooner kill you.”
“What are you telling me? To run away? Slink to the area on your chessboard that has me flanked only by pawns of the same side?”
“There, you have a chance!”
“But not where I’m surrounded by powerful pieces?”
He spins me around, but I’m prepared. Holding my breath, I toss a cloud of sleeping powder over him and he gasps my name as he crumples to the bed.
I whisper an apology as I position him more comfortably, my lips combing the shell of his ear.
“You’re my... you’re my king. It’s my duty as your subject.
” I shift back, staring at his resting face perfectly framed by his long hair and those delicate thin braids.
As long as they should be now. As long as the ones I can’t take off my wrists.
I squeeze my hands tight and step hastily back towards the door.
I return the dromveske and head to the castle, where I’m brought to a terraced garden.
It’s overflowing with frostweiss, the beautiful white flower covering the earth like snow. The king walks through the flowers and immediately I’m imagining his bloody sword dripping and staining them. This man who kills Lumins unflinchingly is the same man as the prins in those memories.
Lumin’s cruelty changed him. We’re the reason he has this hate.
I shake off my shivers and tell myself I’m safe for now; the king is simply taking in the view of the town and sea.
In the distance beyond, the craggy peak of Mount Lysippos rises.
He stares to the east of that mountain, as if he might see Hinsard, or the royal city many days beyond. He clasps his hands behind his back.
“How would you humiliate Lumin?”
“They only value magic.”
“They are too proud, too cunning, too cruel.”
“Release him and I’ll enter the Medicus Contest.”
The king’s hardened stare hits me.
“Huge numbers will be entering this year. All will be avidly watching, or waiting for the storytellers. I’ll show them how powerful alchemic healing is. ”
“How do you know about this?”
“I’m a healer. It would be concerning if I didn’t.”
The king rocks back on his heels.
“Vitalians are considered the superior healers in all kingdoms. How shocked—how mortified—Lumin would be if a non-linea team made it to the final round.”
A spark of interest hits the king’s eye.
I clasp my hands together prayerfully.
“You must like this failed king,” he says in disgust.
“He’s insignificant, powerless. A laughingstock. He’ll spend the rest of his years ducking his head in shame; he has truly lost everything. I ask for his release out of pity.” I bow, swallow down a nervous flare of bile. “In return, I’ll prove the value of Iskaldir healing to all.”
He raises his brows, laying a hand on the bejewelled handle of a sheathed dagger. “You have Lindrhalda’s touch.”
“H-her touch is powerful, of course. But magic —”
He steps close and leans in. The furs around his neck swing forward against my shoulders, my nervous heart. “Surpass it, and you have my word. Your reward for healing poxies will be the failed king’s release.”
“Surpass it.” The words taste hollow on my tongue, even as I try to believe them.
I can surprise many with combined vitalian and alchemic knowledge, but surpass magic?
After all, I have none. Surpass the vast power of skilled vitalians.
Florentius will be there too. I’ll be up against my former comrades, who are the best of the best. Insurmountable .
King Yngvarr follows the bulging swallow in my throat and narrows his eyes.
My skin prickles, and I can feel the weight of his judgment pressing against my ribs, squeezing the air from my lungs.
There’s a deadly flash in his gaze as he rips off my curacowl to inspect me more carefully.
I’ve never been so relieved I have blonde hair and take after my mother’s Skeldar side.
I hurriedly show Lindrhalda’s ‘mark’ on my arm. “She’ll help me. She will.”
But as I say it, doubt creeps in like a shadow. What if I fail? What if my words—my promise—become the nail in Quin’s coffin?
“Of course.” He smiles and I shiver. “Or I’ll make you watch as I put his head on a stake.”
I want to throw up, but I can’t. I want to leave, but the sudden appearance of stormblades stops me.
“Your majesty. We found this wyvern in our waters.”
“Wyverns?” King Yngvarr smartens. “So far from Lumin?”
They present a stretcher carrying a lifeless creature, and I immediately recognise the sewn wound on its belly.
It takes all my effort to keep my expression unaffected, as if I’ve never seen this wyvern in my life.
Beneath my still facade though, I’m battling a thickening throat.
The king can no longer get word in or out. He’s cut off. He truly only has me.
I bow when I’m dismissed and concentrate on keeping my limbs from shaking as I leave.
I’m escorted to my abode and ordered to pack. A royal envoy will see me to Hinsard .
I rush through the courtyard, calling for Megaera, Lykos and Zenon to collect their things. “I’ve a way for you to return home,” I whisper to them. “Take only what you need.”
They don’t need telling twice. Lykos and Zenon exchange a look of deep relief and are ready in under a minute. I need a few more to gather a chest of equipment and another of herbs, potions, and poisons, some extra robes, and... yes, I must take my clasp.
Prins Lief is awaiting our arrival at the ship, along with Captain Kjartan. I make sure my veil covers my face and stiffen as Megaera and the others flank me.
Prins Lief comes down the gangway and meets me with quiet words. “He’s my man. He’s no threat. The rest of the crew are unaware of your identity.” He eyes my companions and I step forward.
“You promised they could leave, given the opportunity.”
He stares hard at them and waves them aboard first. He’s about to speak again when a call has his gaze snapping over my shoulder.
I turn. Beyond the dozen armed soldiers, running along the dock in a dazzling dress without so much as a shawl, as if she’d left in haste, is my aunt.
The sight of her graceful sprint and glittering skirts and beautiful face has Prins Lief audibly hauling in a breath.
He gestures for the soldiers to part, and my aunt rushes through the gap to haul me into a hug. “Impetuous boy.”
I can barely gurgle her name she’s holding me so tight. And I’m holding her even tighter, the child in me terrified to let go. What if I don’t have the ability? What if I can’t even get past the first trial? What if I’m the reason Lumin loses its true king?
What if I’m forced to watch as . . .
I slam my eyes shut and she holds me through the shaking, before whirling around to grab Prins Lief by his robe.
Fervently, she pulls him towards her, making the soldiers all rush forward until he flings a hand up for them to cease.
“Please,” she says. “Protect him.”
He slides his hand over hers, and she shakes her head like this isn’t enough. “Vow he’ll survive, and I’ll make a vow in return.”
Prins Lief stiffens in her hold and looks hard into her eyes. His voice is a whisper, “What did you say?”
“If he survives all this, I’ll be yours.”
He stares and stares, as if he can’t trust what he’s heard. My aunt pushes herself onto her toes and whispers it again, in his ear, before turning away with a prayer to the gods to watch over us.
“You’ll obey all of my commands,” Prins Lief says sharply when she’s gone and he finds his voice. “Your fate is my future.”
His future, and my king’s freedom.