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)
My hands shake, but not as violently as I’m shaking my head. “No, I don’t believe—” I grab his forearms tightly. “It’s not impossible. I believe you.”
I drag him from apothecary to apothecary, healer to healer. Each visit adds a stone to my sinking gut. None are able to treat my severed meridians. Still, I forge on. Of course, a cure will be rare, or all the vitalians would know how to treat it. I must keep searching.
I try again. An overweight, middle-aged man greets my entry into his apothecary with a sneer. “Can’t you see I’m packing up?”
Indeed, there are none of the usual herbs found in a healer’s apothecary. Instead, baskets and boxes and jars are stacked against one wall. Some of them moving, probably with snakes or spiders, for the venom.
“Are you Vitalian Dimos?” I call out.
“Not any longer. Soldad confiscated.”
“Confiscated?”
“Taken away. Destroyed.” He scowls into the distance, then snaps his tight gaze to me. “What did you want?”
“I—”
He grabs my hand roughly and reads my pulse. “Severed meridians. Even if I could help you, what’s the point? You were only par-linea.” He drops my hand and returns to his violent sweeping; I’m chased out of his store by a broom.
Nicostratus, who has waited patiently outside at every apothecary, raises a brow.
“Don’t ask.”
He doesn’t. He gestures to the road ahead, and we continue on.
My steps grow heavier as the list gets shorter.
Only one left.
“On the outskirts of the city,” Nicostratus murmurs. “It’ll be dark soon. Better to try tomorrow.”
Paper crunches under my grip.
He tries to lighten my spirits at an inn. I thank him, but I don’t touch my drink; he downs both to stave off ill luck. He wishes me good health and a happy future, and it’s clear the drinks are unusually strong because he wobbles as he stands.
I catch him around the waist and sniff at the emptied glass. I stiffen. Sedative. Strong, but only a healer would be sensitive to this subtle smell.
I should have noticed earlier.
I call to the innkeeper, demanding an explanation, but the keeper looks confused. The server has disappeared, too. It’s not safe here; I have to get him somewhere safe.
The sun has dipped behind the rooftops, casting us and the vibrant market stalls in shadows as I support Nicostratus through narrow streets. We step onto the weedy bank, and the hum of the city fades. The air is crisper here, cold with the scent of the canal, but something else tinges the air—something sharp, metallic. I glance over my shoulder, my pulse quickening at the empty path behind us. Even Nicostratus’s stagger seems loud in the stillness—
Men in dark cloaks leap from the trees, blocking our way. I suck in a breath. We’ve been followed. He was drugged to make him weak so he could be easily dealt with under these trees.
Their eyes glint along with the metal they unsheathe.
“Run,” Nicostratus urges me, staggering sideways.
He tries to call up his magic, but it fizzles.
His sword shakes as he holds it up. I can’t make a shield. Can’t clear the effects of the drugs and return his magic. I can only . . .
I hit three acupoints on his neck and back, then the fourth Olyn taught me. That’ll sharpen his mind for a few minutes. Give him back some strength.
The attackers lunge forward. Prince Nicostratus charges into their assault with deft swings of his blade and neat footwork. One against three. The clash of steel rings out, the vibrations jarring through my bones to linger in my jaw. He twists, the blade thrust from his opponent’s guard, and strikes another assailant. Blood spatters on tree trunks and fallen leaves.
The attackers grow more frantic.
A shadow moves at the edge of my vision. Too late, I see the fourth man, his blade glinting as he slinks through the shadows. I scoop up a fallen branch and hold it tight. Nicostratus twists and turns, sword scraping against sword. Again, he yells at me to run, but the fourth attacker is moving, aiming for Nicostratus’s blind spot.
My heart jumps, and then so do I. I strike with my branch before the lethal blow descends.
The attacker stumbles sideways, taken by surprise.
Nicostratus whirls, his blade singing through the air as he delivers a strike that sends the man reeling into a tree trunk. The attacker whistles, and within seconds he and the others are gone, leaving us panting beneath the trees.
“You could’ve been hurt.”
“I couldn’t leave you.”
A heavy breath, a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you.”
I keep hold of my branch, scanning the shadows. “They gave up?”
“For now.”
“You didn’t use lethal force.”
“They’re my uncle’s men,” Nicostratus says. “I was worried it was a trap.”
“Wouldn’t it have been self defence?”
“It wouldn’t be spun that way.”
My throat stings. “I thought you were safe, now he’s regent.”
Nicostratus grimaces, then collapses against me, the sedative overcoming him once more.