Page 22 of The King’s Man #5

I look at him and speak quietly. “I want to exchange thoughts about today’s last patient.

It was an interesting case.” I tell him the herbal make-up of the scription we used and note the glimmer of interest in his eyes.

Mikros and Makarios are also listening carefully, but when I’m through my explanation they act unaffected.

“Sure. Your way works.”

“What was your way?” I ask.

Makarios stiffens and wags a finger at me. “You’re just trying to learn from us!”

I reach out and gently lower his finger. “Of course I am.”

“See? Mikros? He admits it!”

“Why wouldn’t I want to learn from outstanding healers?”

“You want to use it against us!”

Florentius calms him with a hand to his shoulder. “This case will not be repeated in upcoming trials.” He looks at me carefully. “Why is sharing knowledge so important to you?”

“Do you not know the story of the old man and his mansion?”

His whole body stiffens for a few beats before his gaze sharpens on mine. Akilah notices with a frown.

Florentius murmurs, “We wouldn’t want our kingdom dying of damp while we each build our own mansions.” He holds my gaze as he rises to his feet. “Follow me. I’ll write our spell out for you.”

We leave our companions gaping after us and I follow Florentius outside and into his carriage.

He stares at me again; presses his lips tightly. He leans forward. “You’re hiding your identity, yet you risk seeking me. Why?”

“I really do want your healing method.”

“The real reason.”

I grip the edges of the bench. “I trust you.”

He waits for me to continue, and I do, my voice breaking. “She’s like a sister to me. My Akilah, right before me, and I can’t...” I swallow thickly. “I have to know... what happened? How is she? Will you continue to look after her?”

“Why don’t you ask me yourself?” Her voice is muffled from outside the carriage but it’s hers, and it’s pained. She whips the fabric back and sets her teary eyes on me. “Why are you hiding from me ?”

I pull her inside and into a fierce hold, my fake voice barely a whisper between hiccups.

“It’s dangerous. I wasn’t supposed to..

. I was supposed to leave you alone. I just.

..” I sniff into her shoulder as Florentius watches us silently, various emotions creasing his flawless face.

Things are weighing heavy on his shoulders—this contest, his brother held hostage, Akilah here in the midst of all the danger, my sudden appearance in the company of Skeldars.

And he’s noticed my lack of functioning meridians.

He wants to know what’s happened to me as badly as I want to know what’s happened to them.

Now’s not the time or place, though. I tell them where and when to meet later, but when later comes around the only one to meet me in the darkening woods is a pale Akilah.

“The regent’s detained him,” she tells me. “He keeps applying more pressure to ensure a win in this contest.”

“Pressure like holding lives above his head?”

“The regent has promised their freedom, if . . . And if not, he’s vowed to . . .”

“There’s more pressure to apply than this ?” I slam a hand on the trunk of the nearest tree.

Akilah’s voice cracks. “If there is, I’m afraid he’ll use it.”

Splinters dig under my skin where I crush the bark.

She speaks quietly. “He has to win, Cael. He must .”

I take my frustration, alone, to the library.

Skriniaris Evander seems to be waiting for me—he pours tea and gestures towards a seat at his chosen table.

Taffy prowls between our ankles and chair legs and in the light of the single lantern beside us, her shadow flickers, enormous.

“The regent grew up a paper tiger, yet now his shadow looms over all of us.”

“When a paper tiger gets set alight too many times, it must become a real one.”

“How can you still sympathise with him?”

“Sympathising and condoning are vastly different.”

My teeth ache from gritting all afternoon. “Have you made a plan to save those on the longboat?”

“Trust me, we’re working on it. But if we’re aiming to save all on board, we can’t attempt anything until you’ve completed your third trial.”

“That’s too late, they’ll be killed the moment the royal team loses.”

“We can’t set them free beforehand or risk upending the contest—with far greater consequences.”

I know this too. “We have to free them during the third trial, while the regent is watching.”

Skriniaris Evander emphasises the princessa and commander’s assessment of the risk. To win the contest at all will be a mighty challenge; to also save the hostages... it seems like I’d be asking a lot, even of the Arcane Sovereign.

“Then I’ll pray to all the Skeldar gods!”

“Nice to hear your enthusiasm for our gods,” Prins Lief says, stepping into the room alongside Captain Kjartan. “But it’s not the gods who will be risking their lives.”

“We need all our men to aid your retreat,” Kjartan says bluntly.

“Then, if we’re to win this contest, I’m condemning a boat full of people.” My stomach lurches into my throat and it’s sickening to swallow. “How am I supposed to perform with this on my shoulders?”

The prins grimaces, but Kjartan looks sternly ahead, unmoved.

“Please,” I say. “You must join hands and save them.”

“They’re a boat full of people I don’t know.”

“Should one not help a boat full of strangers?”

Kjartan stiffens and his chest rises as he lowers his dark gaze to mine.

His flickers as he stares at me. Perhaps he recalls his own men, his stormblade family, saved from burning at sea.

Helped by a stranger. Slowly he raises a fist to his leather breastplate.

“If our Prins agrees, you have my pledge to help.”

I swivel my gaze to the prins.

His jaw flexes and he stares at the painted ceiling. When he looks at me again, it’s with a glint in his eye that says I’m trouble indeed. “This may not save everyone.”

As long it saves enough people . . .

There’s guilt and wrong in all directions. This way at least... holds the brightest light at the end of the tunnel?

I clutch the clasp at my belt as the six remaining teams gather in the woods for the next trial.

We’re escorted to a circular clearing, banked on one side by dark rocky cliffs with two even darker cave mouths that seem to breathe icy air over us.

On the other side of the clearing there’s sunshine, and, bathing in it surrounded by redcloaks and the contest orchestrators, the regent.

Beyond him, on an overhanging branch with a good view, sits Akilah, watching us intently, her gaze seemingly swinging from me to Florentius.

My eyes pull away from her to the rising regent, who welcomes all to the second trial, promising the crowd it will be a treat, “...full of poison and peril! Only true healing masters will be able to both save and survive. Let us begin the separation of the sharp from the weak.”

Six orchestrators come into the clearing and station themselves before a team, each bringing a patient. I glance wistfully at Team Orange, who have Skriniaris Evander as their judge, but recall his words. He must not rouse the regent’s suspicion.

He glances briefly our way though, and inclines his head. Then he announces the rules of this trial.

We’re told that our patients were wandering these caves when they suddenly fell ill. We’re to determine the cause, and administer the appropriate treatment. This time, from the table, each team is allowed to pick only one item .

“The first three teams to complete the trial successfully will go forward.”

Handheld bells are lifted into the air and rung to commence the race.

Unlike the others, who first head for the table, I check our patient’s pulse and body and ask questions to determine their state of mind and form a history of their illness.

Our patient is delirious, hallucinating; I get Olyn to immobilise him for his safety.

“We’re three,” I murmur. “One must stay at all times with the patient, to monitor and to measure the time between changes. Olyn—” I glance at her, and she nods “—massage any acupoint that will help relieve his pain.” I look at Megaera.

“Go to the table and find us something we can use for light in the cave.”

She runs off and Olyn helps me position our patient on his side, using her cloak to pillow his head.

Megaera returns with a fire-starter wedged inside her belt.

I rise. “We need to find the plant that poisoned him.”

Megaera starts for the caves and I snatch her arm, gently pulling her back, shaking my head. “We need to prepare.”

Her gaze sweeps over the other teams; all but the royal team are racing towards the caves. I look over and Florentius catches my gaze. We both know what kinds of plants and animals may lie in wait in these caves, and we both know the importance of protecting ourselves first and foremost.

To murmurings in the crowd, our two teams don’t run to the caves but turn into the woods. “What are you doing?” Prins Lief hisses as I push past our attending stormblades.

“Trying to win this.”

I scramble to collect useful plants, and have Megaera grind them into powders and pastes that we store between waxy leaves or in our emptied pouches. Our handkerchiefs I use to tie around our mouths and noses, and after finding cane-like sticks, we race for the caves.

The royal team are about to enter the left cave mouth when we arrive; they glance at us as they enter. Megaera and I careen into the other cave. Icy air instantly curls around us like rope and drags us deeper inside. Megaera takes the fire-starter from her belt and blows on it.