Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
The man with two bowls flattens his lips. There’s a scar cutting his brow, and his hair is hacked short—as if he might have sold it for money or food along the way.
“There’s enough for everyone,” I say, keeping my voice firm and calm. “Sir, pass one bowl along to maintain peace. I will bring another for your nannan.”
This is reluctantly agreed to, and once everyone who can move has been doled out a bowl, I take a tray and find those who are immobile. Finally, I find the grandson who’d first taken two bowls of porridge. He’s seated at the base of a tree, an arm around his nannan, spoon feeding her from his own bowl. I crouch before them and pass him the last bowl of porridge. “Make sure to keep your strength.”
“Who are you?”
“No one. I support the true king.”
“True king? The runaway king?”
“This,” I say, gesturing to the volunteers, the food, the blankets, “is his doing.”
Nannan whines against her grandson, and instinctively I reach to take her pulse, and drop my hand again.
Hope flashes in his eyes. “Do you have medical knowledge? She hurts after every meal, for days now. Can you help?”
I stiffen and scramble back. I shake my head.
“Hurts,” she croaks.
I’m on my feet, hands trembling. “I don’t. I can’t.”
“Please.”
“No.”
A hand latches onto my upper arm forcefully, and I whirl to Quin watching me with shadowed eyes. His jaw twitches, and he tells another to help the grandmother.
I feel each thump of his cane in the ground under us until he tosses me into the boat. I can’t look at him.
“I thought Nicostratus was supposed to make you feel better. I see I have to take this into my own hands.”
Quin uses his inner force all the way to the dock closest to Nicostratus’s residence, then he uses it again to tow me along to the gates. Petros lets us in, but Quin doesn’t let him lead the way. Nicostratus is shooting arrows at distant targets in the military courtyard; a line of aklos, all buttoned with circling wyverns, are arrayed behind him and running to collect his spent arrows.
Here, Quin lets go of the scruff of my neck.
Nicostratus lowers his bow, frowning. “Constable Soterios, are you here with news on my case?”
“Another matter, today. Regarding your guest.”
Nicostratus’s gaze flickers worriedly to me, and back to his brother.
Quin continues, “I caught him destroying property carrying the royal seal.”
I straighten abruptly. That’s . . . a hefty accusation, if technically . . . accurate. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Silence,” Quin orders, and I shut up.
“I’m within the law to punish him with imprisonment.”
I make an objecting sound, and am silenced by Quin’s furious glare. He’s not messing about; he’s truly upset.
Nicostratus’s jaw twitches disapprovingly at his brother. He raises a hand to dismiss his staff and the brothers face off silently until they’ve all left. Then Nicostratus steps forward, lowering his voice. “This isn’t about destruction of the royal seal. What’s going on?”
“You didn’t tell him the truth. Then you gave him false hope.”
“I only want him happy—”
“How will he get that with lies? How will he overcome his grief when you feed into it, raising his hopes, only to have him crash harder?”
“That was never my intention.” Nicostratus looks from his brother to me, gaze softening. “I will take care of you, protect you. You never have to work again.”
Quin’s jaw flexes. “Nonsense. Cael, pack your things.”
Nicostratus laughs, shaking his head. “You can’t make him leave.”
“He attempted to destroy the royal seal.”
My gaze shoots between the brothers, my heart beating hard in my achy chest. “You’re being unreasonable, Quin.”
He ignores me.
Nicostratus lifts his bow. “How about this? We’ll compete. If you win, you can have your way and I won’t stop you. If I win, you forget the royal seal business and leave Amuletos with me.”
“You’ve won every time we’ve competed in archery.”
“Of course I’d choose a sport where I have an advantage.”
“If he’s that important, you’d have helped him more.”
“You can have an extra arrow,” Nicostratus says sharply, pulling another bow off a stand. “Sit anywhere you like.”
Quin takes the bow; he moves to a waist-height wall and perches himself on the ledge. “I don’t need the extra arrow.”
“Stubborn. As you wish. Same rules as always. Three arrows, three targets. No magic.”
“After you.”
Nicostratus stands tall under a cloud-darkening sky, his cloak fluttering in the wind. I’ve seen him practice with a bow many times, and never seen him miss the mark. His military skills, both magical and crude, are well known and envied. Quin, too, is highly skilled, but his leg is a constant weakness, and when it comes to wielding weapons, he has stood in his brother’s shadow.
Nicostratus nocks an arrow and pulls back the string with confidence. His arrow slices through the air and smacks the target in the reddened centre.