Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
A palm descends and hauls me up.
I yank my shoulder forward. Gappius isn’t expecting resistance—I get free and throw myself at the leader’s feet. “I can help your sister.”
He raises a booted foot and shoves it against my shoulder; I rock back, exposing my face to him. He pauses. It takes a moment before his eyes lighten. “The inn. You were spying there, too.”
Whips uncoil. A dozen eyes narrow on me. At any moment, they’ll unfurl those whips, tie me up in knots of leather, and hold a debate about whether to kill me or enslave me.
The freckled man’s lips curl tight. He removes his boot from my shoulder and waves for his men to put their weapons away. His gaze hits mine with a warning. “We can always get rid of him later.”
I’m hauled roughly into a large room full of rather uniquely frescoed walls. Like the vespertines had got bored and decided painting their triumphs over the wealthy was a grand idea. I don’t focus on the gore for long. Disease permeates the air. I find the source—a young woman, lying deathly still among rough woollen blankets.
She’s so young. Fourteen or fifteen at most. Innocent. Flashes of River’s youthful, smiling face have me curling a hand, reining in wisps of leaking magic.
I sink to the side of the bed, take her pulse. Frown. This is unusual, and yet . . . familiar—
I shift my gaze over her sharply. “Does she have an unusual outbreak?”
Eyes narrow on me. “You know what it is?”
“Show me.”
He pulls the fabric back from her shoulder. Where smooth skin should be, there’s a line of blue scales.
I check her blood. Indeed, this is what I encountered in the Crucible. Need to act fast.
But also . . .
I get to my feet.
“Can you save her?”
“I want something in return.”
The air tightens with hostility. Men hiss and start forwards.
Their leader raises a hand, stopping them. He steps forward and his shadow looms over me. “You want our captive.” His eyes narrow and his voice is a warning growl.
I force myself not to flinch and stare right back into his grey eyes. “Bring him here.”
His jaw twitches.
He takes in his poor sister.
“Also five teapots of boiling water, a grinder, and my medicinal box.”
He laughs, the sound ringing ominously in the confined space. “You’re quite bossy. Not afraid of us at all.”
I speak carefully. “I am afraid. But lives are at stake.”
He sweeps his gaze over me, deliberating. A tense moment, and he orders men to bring what I asked for.
The box, grinder, and water arrive first; I bow over them to prepare the teas I need to complete the intricate spell.
A few minutes later, Quin is shoved into the room, bound hand and foot. His knees thud against the floor and his loosened hair curtains his face. He slowly lifts a stubborn chin and freezes. Wild anger surges out of him, blasting through the room. And it’s aimed at me.
“What in the Arcane Sovereign’s name are you doing here?”
Unbelievable. If anyone should be upset—“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe rescuing the fool who left me behind!”
Heads swing from Quin to me and back again.
Quin glances at the vespertines in turn and smiles grimly. “We’re both in trouble now.”
All the curses I’ve hurled at him in my head the last day are pushing at my lips to come out. “You abandoned me.”
“Not very well.”
I knock back a tea without taking my eyes off him. “Sit there, and let me save you.”
Quin sinks stiffly onto his haunches.
He measures the men in the room and the lengths of their whips, and lingers on me, pouring more tea from the pot. “This is saving me?”
“Are you seriously critiquing the way I’m saving you?”
“Why not pay the bounty? I gave you enough money.”
I scald my tongue and try to hide behind all my pots. Quin’s eyes find mine.
Gah. “That was my first plan, but . . .” Between bitter gulps, I fill him in.
The vespertine leader doesn’t care about my incident with the high duke’s spy—he starts tapping his foot, gruffly telling me to get on with it.
“I need an assistant.”
He volunteers. I shake my head and point. “Him. He currently has no magic,” I say. “I’m par-linea, I can’t unseal him. Unless you think he’ll beat three of you with his bare hands?”
“Don’t underestimate me,” Quin mutters.
“Not helping,” I mutter back.
The leader peers down his nose at Quin. “Without magic, I could take down a dozen of him. Untie him.”
When the ropes loosen, Quin shakes them free and masks his pain as he stands.
I jerk a finger to a stool next to me and once he’s seated hand him my box of herbs. “Prepare a powdered concoction.” I meet his eyes quietly. “A back-up spell if this doesn’t work. One part noxbramble, three parts lunabloom, a dash of—”