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 breathe in deeply, and out. There’s no pain. I’ve been well healed, and sleep has thickened my blood. I feel healthy, if a little stiff.
Dark eyes, usually ablaze with determination, are closing briefly with relief. He reopens them, gaze roaming my face, and I catch the shimmer in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he tries to control himself.
My throat is dry. “Quin.”
Fragile light flickers in his eyes and his fingers tremble. Maybe I’m not entirely healed because I suddenly ache. With my free hand, I touch my chest, and Quin’s posture stiffens, his gaze sharpening with a promise that whatever is ailing me, he’ll find a way to make it better.
I open my mouth to tell him I’ll be fine but my throat closes on an overwhelming feeling of . . . rawness. I squeeze his fingers and try to sit up. His arm comes around my back, and we’re a cocoon of uneven breaths as he steadies me.
“Thank you.”
His gaze holds mine, voice soft. “What were you thinking?”
“It was the only way.”
“Never do that again.”
I would do it again.
“If I hadn’t . . . Even if the spear didn’t kill you, your injuries would have been so severe, we’d have crashed to ground. We’d have been in their grasp and they’d have killed us only moments later. There was no question. It was my life for yours. For Nicostratus’s.”
“For . . .” He looks away.
My name on a nearby cry is followed by pounding footsteps. Quin removes his arm from my shoulder and slides his hand from mine. He shifts silently away as Nicostratus throws open the door and rushes to my side.
He grabs me into a desperate embrace, murmuring his thanks to the heavens; pulls back, hands rubbing my upper arms, and looks at me. His eyes are alight with relief, his dark hair tousled like he’d been constantly running worried hands through it. His smile is undeniably beautiful, and it’s easy to smile back at him. Then I recall the silver ribbon he gripped in his weak, bloodied hands, and I swallow.
Quin clears his throat. “You’re still recovering. You shouldn’t have rushed in here.”
Nicostratus ignores his brother. “It was hard enough not being able to stay by his side all night.” He smiles at me again. “You’ve no idea how happy I am to learn you’re alive.”
“The healer said if you overwork yourself, it’ll take longer to properly recover.”
Nicostratus scoffs. “This is hardly overexertion. In fact, seeing Amuletos does my soul a lot of good.”
Quin’s stare hits mine over his brother’s shoulder, then as Nicostratus kisses my temple, he twists sharply for the open door with the aid of a new wooden cane.
“Brother, wait.” Nicostratus pulls away from me, and fishes something from his inner cloak.
Quin pauses in the doorframe, keeping his back to us.
“The man beside me in that cell gave this to me before he died. Told me, if I could, to excuse his absence from the constabulary.”
“This is a letter of transfer.”
“He said he was demoted from the capital and sent to work there. He laughed about being worried he had no contacts.”
Quin’s head shifts, as if he’s about to look at his brother but reconsiders. His profile is pensive.
“You’d have come up with an alias anyway,” Nicostratus says, returning to my bedside. “Soterios may be practical for you. If you’re worried about what constabulary would hire you with your leg . . . tell them you had a tough encounter with crusaders.”
Quin leaves the room, and the snick of his cane echoes with little punches into my chest. I frown after him until Nicostratus shifts his face into my line of sight.
“Constantinos confessed to me last night. Once you’d fallen asleep, after the . . . healer left. He told me poisoning him was all part of a plan.”
“I wanted to tell you. I . . .”
“I’m not angry. My greatest wish came true. To have you back.”
I swallow and stare at his knee folded under him, where he’s perched beside me.
“Are you alright?” he murmurs.
“So much has happened,” I say. “You were captured by crusaders . . .” I shake my head. It feels surreal. Like it’s all been a nightmare. “How? Did they . . .”
“They ambushed us. The moment I saw we were outnumbered, I sealed my magic so it wouldn’t leak, so I couldn’t use it rashly. I couldn’t let them know. They would have smashed my spiritual meridians right away. Being new recruits kept us alive. As you saw, they used us as bait to lure more in.”
“They tortured you in there.”
“They tortured us all. They wanted to convert us. None yielded. The constable died for his unbending belief in the law.”
I sigh and take his hand, sliding two fingers up his wrist to read his pulse—