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)
A horn blows. Half time.
I glance at Quin with a tight swallow. This is it.
Murmurs drift from redcloaks traipsing to the privy. “They’re gonna cost me a pretty penny. S’like they’re asleep out there.”
Commander Thalassios leads Nicostratus and his horse to the stables, and he gracefully dismounts and hands the reins to a stableboy. He crosses to us, face impassive, but his eyes track both me and Quin and one of his hands—the one still wearing my armband—tightens.
I shake my head. No time for that. I pull him with haste further into our private corner; he lets me, his fingers closing around mine and lingering. Quin’s gaze drops, noticing this, and he schools his expression. The air suddenly feels stiffer and I jerkily face Nicostratus. “I need your help.”
He lets out a strangled breath. “I’ve always been willing to help you. Now is no exception.”
I tell him everything, and his eyes widen and search Quin and the commander’s faces for confirmation. He looks down at the object I’ve pushed into his hands.
“Can you do it?” I ask.
His voice drops with displeasure. “Of course. I’ll take him down.” The steely grit in his tone is reassuring, but also unsettling. He’s a man who is kind until he is pushed to the edge.
“The horn will sound soon for the second half. I’ll use the chance.”
“Wait,” I say, following him as he snaps his fingers for his horse. “Did you have a welcoming drink?”
“No matter how tempted I was today . . . I never drink when I play.”
I let out a relieved sigh, which elicits a frustrated expression and Nicostratus turning his back on me. As he rides out onto the pitch, the commander sets off towards his ceremonial seat, and Quin snaps over strewn hay to my side. “Are you alright?”
“No, I’m not alright.” I leave it at that and push my way through the crowd, who are again sipping drinks. My stomach rises and falls and it feels like I might throw up. They’ve no idea what’s happened to them.
Nicostratus’s head aklo trots into the centre of the arena, where each team is lined up at either end of the pitch, waiting.
He blows his horn energetically and tosses the ball high into the air.
The moment it’s released, horses charge forwards, and Petros races out of the way. But he’s not fast enough. Nicostratus gallops ahead of his team and swerves suddenly, causing two reactions: Petros’s horse startles and takes off sideways, and the horse behind him rears violently and throws off its rider.
Petros blows on his horn to pause the game, jumps off his horse and races towards the accident. But Nicostratus is already on foot, crouching beside the unconscious Eparch Valerius.
I hold my breath, heart galloping wildly as I step onto the pitch. Nicostratus glances sternly at his Petros and pulls a hidden flask from his person. He tips the contents into the Eparch’s mouth, and Eparch Valerius stirs, coughs. He spies the flask, swipes his tongue over his lip at a drop left behind, and scrambles backwards. “What did you give me?”
Nicostratus gestures to the jugs at the welcoming station.
Eparch Valerius fingers his pulse and pales. He searches his body for—
“Looking for this?” Nicostratus holds up a small vial he must have noticed and snatched.
“Return it. It’s a . . . calming concoction.”
Nicostratus tips the contents onto the churned-up grass, and Eparch Valerius lunges for the vial. Nicostratus holds it out of reach. “It’s just a calming concoction. No need to get aggressive.”
Uniformed constables have approached the fence line, waiting for orders from their leader. Constable Michealios seems hesitant to involve himself until he spots me closing in on the scene.
Suddenly he’s a roar of orders—they jump the fence and race towards me from four directions. Quin casts a shield around me, stopping their blasts of magic—and one arrow. Constable Michealios whips his head to Quin and orders him to return me to the constabulary.
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“It’s your duty.”
“I know very well my duties.”
“Insolence. Who do you think you are?”
Prince Nicostratus pushes to his feet, spins around and crosses to Quin. He stops before him and bows low.
The blood drains from Eparch Valerius’s face. The constables freeze.
“W-who are you?” It comes out a fearful whisper.
Nicostratus rises as Quin channels his magic overhead. The sky rapidly shifts from clear blue to grey as winds gather clouds over us into the symbol of chasing wyverns.
The constables drop to their knees, as do all the spectators in a wave of respect for the king. Quin stares at the head constable. “I’ve deceived you. Understand I have my reasons for it.”
Constable Michealios crawls forward. “Of course, your majesty.” With a pinched glance my way, he says, “This man may mean you harm. He’s involved in these deaths.”
“Stand.” When the constable is on his feet, Quin continues, gesturing to me. “Let him prove now, to everyone, his innocence.” He projects his voice. “Let him show you all.”