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 turn slowly with a frustrated, heavy heart. Quin emerges from the ever-present mist, his cloak swirling behind him like he might have descended from the heavens. But what kind of heavens could possibly have deposited him here? To this fate?
He moves towards me, lips a tight line, and I want to tear off in the other direction.
I ball my fist and lower my head.
But the admonishment I’m braced for doesn’t come. Quin’s cloak curls around me, over my own, an extra layer of warmth against all the cold. He fastens it at the throat, above the clasp he gifted me.
“You’ll need this more than me.” His knuckles brush the clasp in an almost accidental motion. For a moment, his gaze softens, like he might say something more—but the mask of the king returns, and his voice drops into its usual measured calm. “Keep it.”
I raise my head, gaze seeking his, but he says nothing more. We stand like this for a long time, fog creeping over us and his death sentence lingering between us.
I won’t. I can’t. I must find a way—
I step forwards, pleading. “Could you send Florentius here?”
Much later, a rowboat emerges from the mist and Florentius leaps out, his white robes glowing faintly under the moonlight.
Relief crashes over me, but Florentius’s weary expression quells any joy.
“Did you bring herbs?” I ask, my voice tight. But I already know he wouldn’t risk it.
He shakes his head. “They’re searching everyone. He warned me not to try.”
I grit my teeth.
“I wanted to come sooner,” Florentius says. “Father had me locked in the Crucible.”
“You got out.”
“I don’t have long. And I’d like to see . . .”
Lucius. He’s longed to see him. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry about what happened.” His hand balls tightly at his side.
“With your help, we’ll be alright.”
“How can I help?”
“I know you have a bigger purpose for that fake-death pill, but . . .” At his greying face, I know the truth. “You won’t give it to me.”
My insides take a dive. It was an exceptionally big ask.
He shakes his head. “I would. I would do anything to duplicate it and free you from here. But it’s not possible.” Anguish fills his eyes. “The duke has been suspicious of me since I saved those children from the wyverns. Bolting in during your examination made it worse.” He breathes out heavily. “They confiscated everything in my room.”
The only possibility of a way out.
Gone.
My voice is splintered, a fragile mask of forced understanding. But inside I’m a lost boy wandering a dark, tangled forest, crying out for someone to find him.
“I’m sorry, Cael.”
I hiccup and with trembling fingers pull out the two notes with my instructions. “There are still things we have to do.”
“What is this?”
I press the notes into his hands. “One is for you, and the other . . .” I lift onto my toes and whisper in his ear. When I step back his eyes are wide with fear, apprehension and disbelief.
“You must,” I say.
“Cael . . .”
I laugh out my ache.
“Cael,” Florentius says again, and I blink back a sudden pooling of heat in my eyes.
I hand him the notes and the capsules—Casimiria’s antidote and a sample of her blood. “Give these to Mikros and Makarios. If anyone can create an alternative antidote, it’s them.”
Florentius hesitates, his gaze searching mine. “Cael . . .”
I laugh bitterly, the sound raw. “It’s all we have.”
In the morning, I wake to an empty gallery and find the courtyard alive with movement.
The prisoners work together, turning soil and watering the earth, and a wave of heat stings my eyes as I take them all in—the shapes, the movement, the quiet determination.
Everyone is here. Everyone.
“They’ve been waiting,” Casimiria says, approaching.
“For me?”
She laughs gently.
My chest swells.
The dreaded day comes.
I shrink back from the shore, my breath shallow and erratic. I can’t think. My mind is blank, yet a thousand thoughts claw at the edges of my consciousness.
Akilah catches my eye, her face a mask of quiet anguish. I look away.
That’s it. Our last exchange. No thank yous. No reassurances or whispered goodbyes.
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. How could I hate her, even fleetingly, for not being the one chosen to do this? How could I wish it were anyone but me?
The redcloaks arrive, their grip on my arms bruising. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Tomorrow, it won’t.
Did Florentius find a way?
He has to have found a way.
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, holding back the sob clawing at my throat.
The palace feels colder than the stone walls should allow. They march Casimiria and me inside, and aklas sweep her away to prepare her.
My trembling hands clutch the fabric as I strip and redress in the ceremonial robes of an aklo. My grandfather’s books, my goodbye note for Akilah—they’re back on the island, left behind. Pieces of myself I can never reclaim.