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)
I grab clean clothes and follow a few minutes after. He’s immersed in steaming water, arms outstretched along the rocks, head thrown back towards the sky. Peaceful, quiet.
The air is cool around me when I strip, and I quickly hop to the other side of the bathing pool and leap in with a splash.
Quin jerks his head up and spots me waist deep and wading towards him. He thrusts up a hand in a spray of water. I halt. “Out of my bath.”
“It’s communal.”
He swims to the adjacent side, further away. “From now on, I have a rule. Only the person I give my lovelight to may share the bath with me.”
“But—”
The set of his face tells me he means every word.
“It’s not like I haven’t seen—”
“Out.”
Alright, alright. I flee and return to the room damp. Neither of us mentions it when Quin returns later in fresh clothes.
I pull out the wanted poster, studying it before holding it up against his face. “Why is this picture better?”
Quin’s withering stare makes my insides prickle.
“Ah, that’s why.”
“Give it here,” he demands.
I tuck it away. “What will we do about redcloaks? Our vespertine friends? Megaera?” I cast my eye towards the skirt, gloves and headcloth.
Quin steers my face in another direction.
“You need a disguise!”
“As much as I enjoyed being your wife, any closer inspection and we’d be caught.”
“Let’s get my feather back and run away.”
Quin opens the traveller’s chess set I saved and pours river water from it into a teacup. “You’re forgetting we have no money.”
I slump on the other stool. I slap the table, brightening. “Staying here is better. They won’t be expecting that.” I snatch his hand holding the stone king, and infuse a spell into him. His dark hair greys and whitens.
Quin eyes a strand and blows it away from his face, staring at me.
“Hear me out,” I say. “A wizened version of yourself is your best disguise.”
He plunks the white king onto the board.
“This way, your cane won’t give you away.”
He picks up a vitalian and throttles it with his fingers.
“Also,” I say, prying the poor piece off him, “if you’re recognised and your uncle’s spies are about, maybe they’ll think you’re close to keeling over and leave you alone. Now if you’d hunch—”
He tosses a pawn at me.
I catch it, laughing. “We can save the hunching for when we’re out in public. For a man who’s always acting, you’re awfully picky about your appearance.”
“How long before my hair turns dark again?”
“Leeching the colour is simple. Returning it . . .” It’s a fiddly spell. Each strand has to be done individually. Hard on the eyes.
“How long?”
I shuffle away from him. He could dye it. Otherwise . . . “How fast does it grow?”
After a restless night on the cold floor, I’m roused by the early light filtering through the curtains. The smirk I give Quin over our breakfast has him gnashing his teeth like he’d rather eat me.
When he’s finished with his food, I send a spell his way. He raises his brow through it, but doesn’t dodge me. “Changes the shape of your jaw,” I say. “To immerse you in the role. Otherwise you’re a flawless deity with white hair.”
“You’re right, of course.”
“About immersing yourself?”
He tosses a strand of hair elegantly to the side. “And the other bit.”
I laugh, and though Quin smiles it doesn’t last long. His gaze keeps landing on my cloak. I rearrange the fabric over my shoulders, shift and straighten it, but Quin is still eyeing it with concern.
I drag my stool before him. “You fix it then.”
He jerks suddenly, as if pulled from a deep thought, and reaches for my clasp. His voice is quiet, wistful. “I’m so often wrong,” he admits, a weight settling in his gaze. “If it saves your life, do it. I command you to.”
“Do it?”
“Anything that keeps you alive. Even if it means throwing this away a thousand times.”
My breath catches; he drops his hand, and clears his throat. “We need money.”
“For our journey.”
“To get your love token back.”
I brighten. “Best brother-in-law ever.”
I go in for a hug and he palms my forehead to stop me. “Eat your breakfast while I think.”
“Don’t forget to calculate that we’ve only one more night here.”
“Mm.”
I finish my bread and tea and interrupt a pensive Quin again. “How about we make some fun out of this?”
“Fun?”
“See who can make the most in a day?”
“I’d prefer you to stay indoors. Out of sight, of vespertines or your former intended.”
“Quin—”
“You won’t agree to it, I know.” Unhappiness and resignation flicker across his face, but he soon shakes it off. He sits me on a cushion before him and reaches towards my hair; my hand instinctively flies to my head.
He murmurs. “Braiding. Not undoing.”
Right. Of course.
I slowly drop my hand and my scalp tickles as he plaits a long silver ribbon into my hair. The ancient custom of grieving. “Mourning robes aren’t enough?”