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)
Quin pulls the horse to a stop at a nearby tree and comes off it onto his good leg, cane sliding out of its holder at his back. I’ve seen him do this countless times, but each time lights me with a strange sense of admiration. Despite his pain, despite his limitations, he always does what he wants.
He comes up into the pavilion with a rush of warm air. I suck in a sharp breath, recalling that potent healing spell. The heady, unfurling warmth that bloomed through me. Before he speaks, I step to him with an urgent grip on his cloak. “The healer you used. They must be powerful. A master.”
He freezes under my touch, and I loosen my hold. “Please unlock my meridians. I want to meet that healer. I want to ask about that spell; learn from them.”
Sympathy lurks in his eyes and my sap-covered hand tightens into a ball, nails cutting moons into my palms.
“He hasn’t told you.”
Quin’s words are ice along my spine; I vigorously shake the shivers away. “Sure he told me. I have to wait until I’m recovered. I am recovered. No shock.” I open my arms wide. “Unlock me. Please.”
We stand, face to face, in the pavilion surrounded by healing herbs. Quin’s hair and cloak shift in the breeze, but the rest of him is still. His eyes are heavy and dark on mine.
I raise my opened arms and cut the small distance between us by half, so that I have to bend my neck to hold his gaze. “Give me my magic back.”
The heaviness in those dark eyes . . .
I shake my head. “Please.”
“Cael . . .” His voice cracks, the single word heavy with something deeper than regret.
I turn away, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Fine. If you won’t, I’ll ask Nicostratus—”
He catches me by the shoulders and spins me back, his grip trembling. For a moment, it feels like desperation more than anger, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away entirely. But his voice is a growl. “Stop fooling yourself.”
I stare stubbornly at him.
“You must have felt it,” Quin says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “From the moment you woke.”
I stagger back, my knees threatening to give way under the weight of his words. Tears prickle behind my eyes, and I blink them back.
“Your meridians are gone, Cael. Severed.” His words are quiet, like he’s trying to soften the blow, but they hit harder for it. “There’s nothing left to repair. Not even the kingdom’s greatest healer could bring them back. Not magic. Not immortal bone. Not me.”
I burst into a laugh that goes on and on. It’s bubbling inside of me. It’s hollow. It hurts. “You’re teasing me.” I stop laughing and nod. “Fine. You’ve made your point. I’ll take more care in the future. I won’t throw myself in front of a spear again.”
His grip tightens.
I continue, “There are more lives to save. Unlock me.”
“Stop this,” Quin growls, his nose grazing mine.
“Stop what?”
“You’ll never use magic again!”
It punches my gut but I refuse to reel back. A tear escapes my eye and I let it trail boldly down my cheek.
He watches it. “Nicostratus should have told you.”
“He wanted me to recover.” Before this hurt me again. Deep down, I’d known something was off. I’d ignored it. I’d let myself be lulled by Nicostratus’s words.
And . . . I’d felt too tired to fight with him for the truth. I shut my eyes.
Quin’s breath is hard against my nose, my lips, my chin. He’s upset, frustrated. At his brother. At me.
“You no longer have magic. But you’re alive.”
I open my eyes and stare vacantly at him. “Are you still alive if your dream has died?”
“This hurts, I understand—”
“Understand? If you did, if you had any idea, you’d have been afraid to tell me too.”
“Not afraid to tell—” he cuts himself off with a dark laugh, and then snaps quietly, “You need the truth.”
His gaze spears through mine, sharper than the spear that pierced my body. Pain lances through me, and I fight it with a boiling temper. I shove Quin against the chest. His cane shifts, but he holds firm.
I stare hard into his eyes, until I have not just his sole focus, but his soul. “I should never have saved you.”
He says nothing. Not a flicker of reaction.
My throat tightens, my voice rises. “Tomorrow, I’m following Nicostratus.”
His adjusts his cane. “If he makes you feel better—”
“He always has.”
I turn my back on him, storm out of the pavilion, and choke on the sweet scent of herbs I’ll never stack into spells again.
On a heavy ache, I rush to Nicostratus and grab hold of his arm, clutching it to keep myself upright and almost sending the basket of food he carries to the ground. With a gentle frown, he steers me to a bench. We can eat in the garden. I sit with my back turned to Quin in the far distance.