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)
Quin smiles in the dark, and I suddenly lose all sense of gravity.
I bite down on a sharp cry as Quin catches me with gusts, stopping me from stepping straight into a gaping hole in the earth. He sets me beside the dug-up loam and snaps his cane quizzically around the pit. I shiver as I peer over the edge. It’s a cold, rectangular void that not even the almost-full moon dares to reach into.
“Ah ha,” Quin says.
I wait for more, but he only gives it to me after a beseeching lift of my eyebrow. He gestures to the wooden epitaph that lies upturned in the grass. “This grave belongs to one of our murdered redcloaks.”
I look from the epitaph to the pit to Quin.
Gusts lift and drop Quin carefully into the pit and he pushes the coffin lid aside with his cane.
I peer down to where he casts light for me to see.
The coffin is empty.
I slither into the pit beside him and check again, as if this time, a body will miraculously appear. “Someone beat us to it?”
Quin feels the upturned soil in his hand. “Recently.” He magics us out of the pit and one glance around me reveals there are other disturbed graves. My prickling senses tell me who those must belong to.
Quin observes the area with a tightened jaw and a glimmer of caution in his eye.
“Do you think that whoever did it is close?” I ask.
“Possibly.”
“How do they expect to escape, trundling bodies through the wards?”
A grimace. “Let’s check the other coffins.”
It’s only a few steps to the next yawning pit of earth and Quin swiftly settles us into it. The space is narrow for two; moist soil clings to our clothes as we position ourselves and push off the lid. It rumbles, and reveals a body dressed neatly in uniform. The clothes are bright and clean against the pallid skin of his hands and face. “They didn’t take all the bodies?”
Quin funnels fresh air into the pit to blow away the stench of decay. “The guards from before might have hurried them off before they could finish the job.”
“To our luck. Could you produce more light? Hold it above his chest.”
Quin does as instructed, and I fold up the redcloak’s sleeve to inspect the veins at his wrist. I grab Quin’s hand and steer the light closer. “As I thought,” I say grimly. “Green.”
I swing off my knapsack, peel open the fabric and pull out a knife and a fork. I clutch them in either hand, eying one and then the other.
“Did I not feed you enough today?”
I jerk my head up to Quin’s horrified-yet-bemused expression. “I don’t have magic anymore, remember?”
His gaze drops to the utensils. “What exactly is the fork”—I stab the soldier’s wrist, puncturing the vein; Quin finishes thinly, “Never mind.”
I lift the fork and use the knife to smear the thickened blood over all the sides. I start counting the seconds. It takes four minutes before I see the result I’m after.
Quin watches patiently, curiously, and I lift the fork for him to see clearly. “The metal had corroded, that’s why I brought the fork. The properties of gelidroot in blood change after death, and—well, look. The coagulated blood turned the brown corrosion green.”
“What were you counting?”
“How long it took to change colour. It helps me calculate when the root was ingested.”
“Which was when?”
“The soldiers have been dead for four days, but the poison was in their blood for at least four days before that. The refugees ate the porridge two days ago, which means they’ll start to die in another two days—if we don’t find a cure.” I snap my head up. “We should—”
Brilliant light flashes overhead. We look up and the wards around the memorial grounds flash again, temporarily revealing their dome shape. The sound of distant shouts has us stiffening. “Someone’s tried to cross the wards. They used the wrong spell.”
Quin grabs hold of me and in seconds we’re gusted onto the grass above, where he pulls me into a crouch behind an epitaph. “Can’t ride the wind—too exposed.”
We can’t run for the same reason. “The guards won’t miss these exhumed graves a second time.” There’ll be no hiding in the shadows of their pits.
“Looks like I’ll have to expose my identity,” Quin says gruffly.
I chuckle and slap a hand over my mouth. Quin stares at me like I’ve gone mad. “I was afraid of getting caught,” I say. “I imagined us both imprisoned, set for the gallows at dawn. Sort of forgot you’re actually important.”
Quin stares at me, shaking his head, and flicks my temple.
I grab his sleeve at a sudden, sickening thought. “What if they’re your uncle’s men? What if there are too many?”
He pins me with a raised brow. “Hide behind me.”
From the shadows of the large oaks comes the cracking of twigs underfoot, coming fast. My gaze sweeps urgently back to Quin, and snaps to the darkened pit. The one with the empty coffin . . . I grimace, toss Quin’s cane into the pit, and tug at him. “Forgive me, your majesty.”