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)
“Feeling you out.”
She laughs dryly. “And?”
“The puzzle I first put together has come apart and is reforming rapidly.” I frown. “The commander . . .”
“What about me?”
I swing around and my gaze narrows on his confident gait into the secret room and to Princessa Liana’s side, where he quietly asks if she’s well. She nods, and I look between them to the redcloak prone on the bed, and back to the stacked life-prolonging spell swirling in Princessa Liana’s cupped hand. The commander hovers his hand over it and uses his magic the same way Florentius did when testing the quality of my spells. I recognise one of the layers. The essence of echowisp seeds. I recall Eparchess Juliana buying them; the same flower used to frame Nicostratus. But of course, apart from its poisonous petals, its seeds are well known to increase strength and stamina. It would aid someone suspended between life and death.
Commander Thalassios nods, lowers his hand, and gestures for the princessa to continue.
Not the behaviour of a murderer. Unless this redcloak’s death had been accidental.
The commander looks over my shoulder at Quin; he inclines his head respectfully. “No doubt you have questions,” he says.
Quin returns, “Caelus here is quite capable of asking them.”
The commander looks at me; I square my shoulders, step forward, and speak bluntly. “Your father was killed by the town the refugees came from.”
His reaction, as intended, is sharp. His gaze darkens. “He was.”
Dark wisps leak from him.
“Did you poison the refugees in retribution?”
“I was extremely angry, but not at the townspeople. At my father.”
I bolt. “Your father?”
“He was a cruel, vicious man. I was barely twelve, and he’d nearly killed me multiple times. When the townspeople found out how he’d torture me, they worked together. A secret they’ve kept since.”
That’s why no one mentioned it voluntarily. They must keep their mouths shut, or be held accountable for this death. “You donated porridge out of respect for them? Thanks?”
“I’ll do more.”
“Like inviting them to watch this game?” Was my intuition wrong? Are the refugees here out of gratitude?
“I didn’t invite them.”
My relaxing shoulders stiffen again. I pull out the list of donors from my belt. “Why do you have this list?”
“I copied it. Like you, we’re trying to get to the bottom of this.”
I look from the commander to the princessa, who’s pouring the last of the spell into the redcloak. “How did he end up down here? Why are you working so hard to keep him alive?”
“We were too late to save the others,” the commander said. “Juliana had come to the outpost to discuss something with me. We were walking the perimeter when we saw them on the ground. The others were dead, only Paxos was clinging to his last breath. When he coughed up her real title, we went cold. No one is supposed to know her identity here. There’s a reason she wears a mask; why she’s designed a mysterious background. It became imperative we save him. We suspended him like this, between life and death. We’ve exhausted ourselves trying to find a cure. We must find out what he knows.”
He stops suddenly.
“Or?” I ask.
Princessa Liana staggers back from her spell and the commander steadies her. She lifts her head and stares at Quin.
“Or all the witnesses involved in the earthshakes that I’ve found and hidden may be compromised.”
Quin sucks in a sharp breath. “My lead to find the commander was to find you.”
“I knew that’s what you’re truly after.”
“I must force him out of the royal city.”
They stare hard at one another. Princessa Liana speaks first. “It’s not the right time.”
“He’s actively ruining our kingdom. Compromising border security. Tearing families from their homes. Confiscating food and medicine from the people.”
“Are you any better?”
“Yes.”
“Such confidence. That’s why he’ll be trying to kill you. Destroy your power.”
I step into the mounting tension between them. Their words have sent a shudder through me. “Let’s discuss saving the kingdom after we save the refugees.”
Tight nods.
“The game has already begun,” says the commander.
Princessa Liana retreats towards the apothecary. “Let me get my mask.”
Mask.
The word rattles through me. Constables, demanding how I got into Eparch Valerius’s place. Dress up, did you? Delivery man? Aklo? Vitalian?
It all comes crashing together in my head. I ball my fist.
“The culprit has indeed been masking himself.”
Quin uses magic to support himself as he leaps off the stool. “You know who it is.”
“Worse. I don’t think we’ll have enough vitalians, even with a proper antidote.”
“What are you talking about?”
I see a flash of the welcoming stall, those continuously refilled jugs . . .
“The entire audience has been poisoned.”
In the dim, musky stables, Quin leans against a beam, his cane braced at his side, while I press my weight into the wood to steady my nerves. Through a gap in the stable doors, I catch fleeting glimpses of the drakopagon pitch, where hooves thump against churned earth. A distant cheer from the spectators ripples through the stillness—and tightens the knot in my stomach.