Page 35

W e sleep in Quin’s chamber—Quin on his back, royally prone in bed, or stiff like he’s practicing for burial. I lean over him, peering at his perfectly aligned lashes, and trace a finger over the form of his nose without quite touching. I smirk, and—

“Get to sleep, Cael. Or I’ll send you to the floor.”

I laugh and curl against his side. I fall into a sleep so deep that I don’t notice when he leaves at dawn.

I find out when I wake to cool sheets and his message that he must meditate.

He needs spiritual power to defend against any attack that might be launched against the sick—or the healthy receiving forbidden treatment.

He orders me to eat properly and continue my work. He’ll meet me at the Amuletos manor.

I’m on my way, just stepping onto the cobbled street, when an aklo carrying a basket sinks to his knees before me. “Caelus Amuletos?”

The basket moves. In it is a white cat. I’ve seen the cat countless times, I’m familiar with every knobble of her spine and the scratchiness of her meow.

I’ve felt the softness of her fur keeping me company during the endless nights I studied at Pavilion Library.

I snap my head up. “Skriniaris Evander! What’s happened? ”

The aklo wheezes as he rises to his feet. He’s sick.

Does that mean Evander is too?

Or is he . . . could he be . . . No. “Tell me!”

The aklo regrips the basket. Other than confirming my name, he seems reluctant to speak. His gaze keeps flittering to the side as well. “He said you’d believe he needs help if you saw this cat. Follow.”

I move with him in the direction of the library. Evander... I must help him in any way I can and ease his— “What are his symptoms?” I ask over a long whine from the cat.

The aklo just tells me we should hurry.

I take the basket from him, to help ease his own suffering. The cat paws at my wrist with another long meow.

“The luminariums are now open to the sick,” I say, slowing. “Did you send him there?”

“He’s at the library. Too weak to move.”

The aklo glances away. He keeps pulling up the collar of his cloak. A drop of sweat beads at his temple.

The morning is crisp. Not warm enough for that.

Something is wrong.

I glance at the cat. The familiar weight of her settles me. She meows again, scratchy, urgent. Evander needs me.

I glance across the square, as if I might spot Quin meditating in the fresh morning air, as if I might beckon him to join me, but he’s nowhere to be seen—and there may be no time to wait.

Smoke hangs thicker in the air here. Coughing rattles from behind closed windows. And then—

A voice.

Soft. Strained.

My name?

I turn instinctively, pulse quickening, but—the aklo locks a hand around my wrist. “Hurry.”

He drags me forward as if he’s afraid I might change my mind.

I prickle at his urgency and resist his pull. Maybe I should find Quin. Tell someone about this. But Evander’s cat stretches up from the basket, paws on my chest, and meows so desperately.

If Evander is on the brink... I cannot ignore what might be his last plea.

I rush up the stairs to the library, calling his name. My voice sounds so loud among the walls of books. Too loud. Even in the silence of a library.

But there should be some movement. The rustle of turning pages. Even a cough.

“Where is he?” I ask the aklo, who prods me further into the main room.

I spy legs on the floor; someone is slumped behind those shelves. Evander’s cat leaps from the basket, hurrying there.

I take a few steps forward—

From behind the shelves, stepping over Evander’s legs, a redcloak emerges. I hiss, snapping to a halt. He drags Skriniaris Evander’s body for me to see. Blood trickles down his forehead, but his eyes are awake, aware, and they bulge as he tries to yell through the magic gagging him.

More red fills my side vision. I spin; redcloaks close in behind me too. “What is this?”

Swords, at least, are not unsheathed. Perhaps they don’t think they need them against one pitiful non-magicked healer. Perhaps there’s a chance to talk a way out of this.

But in my gut, I know there isn’t. I know why the aklo kept pulling at his collar now. He was trying to make sure the regent’s mark wasn’t obvious. That I wouldn’t piece all this together.

I did suspect, but I let my emotions manipulate me. I’d once more been impulsive. At the very least, I’m consistent to the end.

“The regent must be afraid,” I say on a hollow laugh. “Even the luminists are defying laws and listening to the king. The. True. King.”

The blow comes fast and brutal—a crack across my cheekbone that sends a shock through my skull.

My vision blurs. I taste blood before I feel it, a metallic heat spilling over my tongue.

I swallow. Straighten. And smile with the hit staining my teeth.

“He’ll never change the will of the people.

And the people are all bowing to Constantinos now. ”

Again, I’m hit.

Evander keeps shaking his head violently, willing me to stop. I could stop. But I won’t. I know what these redcloaks will do. They’ll use me to lure Quin in, and Quin will come, without the aid of his army.

Evander’s hands tremble. The redcloak kicks at him to keep still. I see the magic gagging him tighten.

The same magic that’ll be locked around Quin’s throat. The same magic that will steal his breath. His voice. His power.

They will bind him. Drag him before the regent like an offering.

And he will come willingly. Because of me.

I cannot let them. I will not let them.

If I goad these soldiers into killing me now, there’ll be no bait. Quin will grieve, he will be unfathomably furious, but he will wait for the king’s men. He will storm the royal city with the power he needs to win it back.

I hesitate on a lurch of fear, on a voice in my head that says if I let them take me, at least I’ll see Quin one last time. At least we’ll die together.

But I grit it away, raise my chin, and force out a dark laugh. “Your regent is nothing but a coward. You’ve dedicated yourself to the whim of a sad, selfish man—”

“Let me go!” The yell is frightened. The yell is behind me. The yell is from Akilah.

It comes at the same time as another ringing slam to my face.

My vision spins, my head rattles, and I collapse to the floor.

But where I promised to let go of this life, I find myself clawing to it.

They have Akilah. Why? What will they do to her?

I cling on through stuttering vision and weak limbs and stagger to my feet.

Her form comes in and out of focus. She’s straining against redcloaks that have her bound tight.

“Found her shouting after him. Must’ve followed.”

“What do we do with her? Get rid of her?”

No! I stretch out an arm, clawing the air, lurching unsteadily through it toward her.

“Caelus!” she cries, and then snarls. “Let. Me. Go!”

She jerks her arm free just enough to scratch at the redcloak’s face. A short, vicious strike.

They curse, tighten their grip. Then a spell flares between them, and she goes still.

Another redcloak, murmuring thoughtfully, “Seems like he wants to protect her.”

Magic binds my arms, yanking me away from her, and then a voice sails past my ear. “Take her too. She could be leverage for our regent.”

I lunge, blind with panic—

The next blast slams into my back.

The last thing I see is her limp form; the last thing I hear is an order for Skriniaris Evander to inform dead-walking Constantinos.

Then—nothing.

A surge of vitalian magic slams through me, yanking me from the void.

I splutter awake. I’m crumpled on a slick, gleaming floor.

My limbs shake as I push myself onto my knees, taking in the sight before me—the grand luminarium of the royal city.

The dome glows brightly today, too brightly, and under it, the branches of the violet oak unfold, stretching in all directions across the circular hall.

Under that, the regent sits on his throne.

Through the haze, I make out a figure in bright robes.

Magic hums in the air and sharp metal nails hover—waiting, shifting, aiming.

Akilah!

She dangles from a branch, wrists bound in twisting magic. Her head slumps forward, her feet twitching—a final protest before unconsciousness swallows her.

I lunge forward. The nails snap toward her—fast, predatory. A warning.

I freeze. So do they.

The regent coughs, a wet, rattling sound, and slowly turns toward me. My vision sharpens. His face is pale, waxy, his breath laboured. Scales coil up his throat, creeping, strangling.

But his eyes burn with something that refuses to die. “So eager to save an akla.”

I grind my teeth. “Her name is Akilah.”

The regent smiles, his cracked lips curling. “I have the akla in my hands, you’ll do best to follow my instructions.”

“Instruction! You only need me here until he arrives,” I snarl. I know his game. I know I’m a pawn in his hands, for his easy disposal.

“Don’t undersell yourself, healer. In fact,” his eyes flash with anger, “I’m to congratulate you on finding a cure for the plague.”

“I’m also here to be rewarded?” I laugh, knowing well this is not the case. “If so, let Akilah go.”

He waves a hand and the magical binds stringing her up sever. She crashes to the ground. The slam has her yelping to life and scrambling, afraid, to the tree trunk where she curls her knees to her chest and shakes.

The regent’s nails snap back to his palm. His voice gentles. “I can be merciful. Work for me, and I’ll ensure your loved ones live long, peaceful lives.”

A slow coil of dread knots in my stomach. I grit my teeth and say nothing.

The regent dances his nails casually around me and back to him. “I know he gathered men. I know they scattered again. He’ll come today all alone. Your only real chance to save yourself and”—he glances at Akilah—“your loved ones is to pledge allegiance to me.”

Never in a million years. I squeeze my fists. “I’m a healer without magic. You have the best vitalians in the kingdom.”

“But you have the cure.”