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)
Someone curses.
We press ourselves behind a tree and peer around it. In the darkness, it’s hard to tell friend from foe. Do we sneak past, or—
A pained hiss. “Damn stormblades. Just wait.”
Not one of theirs, then. Someone from our side, and injured.
Megaera realises it too, her tension ebbing with an elegant roll of her shoulder. She steps out from behind the tree, chin up, eyes sharply forward. I lead the way, scuffing through damp leaves, following the scent of blood—
I stop sharply.
A violet-robed man slumps at the base of a knotty tree, one broad shoulder resting against the trunk, the other grasped in his hand as he tries to wrench it back into place. His face is gritted with pain, but there’s a steely look in his eyes—he’s seen countless battles, fierce and deadly. His long spear rests over his bent legs, the dark, deadly head surrounded by sharp nails, angled toward me like a warning. Like a reminder of the damage it can do.
The damage it has done.
Crusader.
Not just any crusader. I’ve seen this determined face before—in the ruins where Prince Nicostratus was held hostage. He was teaching a boy how to destroy linea meridians.
He joined the battle during our escape.
He got up after a blow from Quin, gripped his spear, and thrust it toward the king—
My stomach drops, a sick, sludgy feeling of fear, unrealised hatred, overwhelming hurt. This man robbed me of my little magic. Magic that, despite all hardships, I’d protected, nurtured, finessed. Magic that made me feel I could help in this harsh world.
“Who are you?” the crusader barks. “What’s your purpose?” His eyes slice sharply to Megaera as if sensing the magic in her veins.
He raises his spear with his good arm.
Instinct and unbridled anger surge—I kick the spear out of his grip. If he weren’t injured, he’d have resisted, but his arm is in agony, and a deep slash across his chest has soaked his shirt with blood, staining the leather meant to protect him. The spear lands in a nest of rotting leaves.
I should leave. Before I yell. Before I lash out. Before I make a fool of myself by crying.
The crusader tries again to reset his shoulder. He hisses, unsuccessful. “Don’t need weapons for the likes of you two.”
Megaera picks up the fallen spear and aims the point at his throat.
The crusader barks a laugh, but she slides the spear along his skin, and he shuts up, jaw flexing as fiercely as my clenched hands.
“We’ll do the talking, hmm?” she purrs.
His eyes flicker stubbornly, but there’s a small jump of . . . admiration in his brow. “Hurry. I’ve some Skeldars to settle scores with.”
“With your arm like that?” I say coolly.
“If I must.”
“What are crusaders doing so far south?”
“This is the most sacred land in the kingdom—all the linea pilgrimage to the Great Violet Oak. Why wouldn’t we gorge on such a banquet?”
I steal the spear from Megaera and press the sharp tip against his chest wound until he grunts and my hands shake. “Why do you kill us like this?”
“We rarely kill. We maim meridians.”
“Why!”
“Why should only those with magic hold power? Our kingdom will be better when we’re all on equal footing. Destroying meridians is about equality. About being fair.”
My hands tremble so violently Megaera has to catch the spear as I lose my grip. “Your fair is not my fair. There’s no such thing as fair.”
Megaera flicks her wrist, a bolt of magic sparking between us, and she hisses, “Cael . . . your meridians . . .”
I stare at the crusader.
“It was you who released those redcloaks,” the crusader grunts.
My eyes sting. I yank myself back, refusing to let him see a tear. “Let’s go, Megaera.”
Her sultry laughter stills me. “You’re right. He’s not worthy of healing.”
I slice my stinging eyes to hers. “That’s not what—”
“Then what are you doing?” She glides before me, whispering at my ear, making me shiver. “Why does this hesitation feel so familiar?”
“They’re not . . . mortal wounds,” I say weakly.
“Fair enough!” She hooks an arm around mine and pulls, but it feels like a test.
I don’t move. “He won’t die.”
“Come on, then.”
A suppressed grunt from behind hits me like sharp needles. He’s in pain. There’s danger around.
I squeeze my fists. He hurt me. This is fair.
My fair is not his fair, either.
Leaving him here, in a forest of wild animals and battling factions . . . Can I be responsible for what may happen?
What kind of healer does that make me? What kind of person?
I swallow thickly, peel Megaera off me, and turn to the grimacing crusader. I drop to my knees, gripping his bad arm. “This will hurt. Bear through it.”
He cocks a smirk, and I angle his limb into position—
The crusader’s cry shakes through the woods.
“Admit it,” he gasps, “that was satisfying.”