Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Quin stares at me, and then, “Does it matter?”
I start counting our money. “We need this to reach Hinsard.”
“It’s supposed to be your priceless love token.”
I pause, stiffen, and stuff the money away. I watch the water flowing past us, rippling through the calm. “How much did you spend?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t take the money I gave you. I paid him with a certified and sealed exemption from a year of taxes.”
I glide my hand into the water again. “The king can be useful.”
This time his flick gets me smack in the middle of my forehead; I rub it, scowling at him while trying not to grin.
The boat groans as we round a bend in the canal, and we’re quiet for a stretch. I pluck a few bundles of herbs from the passing banks, and Quin stares ahead, not to the view of the woods, but into a middle distance, where he gathers his thoughts; makes plans.
After a day’s journeying, we reach a small inn nestled among trees. Smoke curls languidly from the chimney, and the sound of rustic music along with the scent of cooking stew promises sanctuary. We’re finishing a hearty meal near the hearth when a group of redcloaks enters, requesting meals and spaces to sleep.
I duck my head and quietly observe the soldiers from behind my cup.
“Where are the others?” one barks. “They should’ve been here hours ago.”
“Do you think . . .?” A gulp.
A fist bangs on the table. “If crusaders think they can take down all of us, they’ve another thing coming.”
“They captured twelve at once. They’re at least that capable.”
“Those were non-linea new recruits, only fit for delivering food relief. True soldiers would fight them to their demise.”
Quin shifts sharply. My stomach tightens too.
Water splashes over the lip of my cup. Quin’s expression is pensive.
“I don’t have a good feeling,” another redcloak says. “I think they only captured the first lot to lure more of us to get them back. I think as soon as they catch enough of us, they kill everyone—”
“Help. Quick!” The startling yells are coming from outside. “They’ve been taken!”
The soldiers jump to their feet, hands landing on their weapons as they rush out. Quin swiftly follows with his cane, raising his hood, and I’m on his heels. Three more redcloaks, battered, bruised and bloody, are grabbing at their comrades’ cloaks.
“We tracked them to the old fortress at the base of Crysippos. Four of ours were snatched, two with magic tried to fight, but against so many . . .” The bloodied redcloak gestures to the lifeless body they brought back. “The others were dragged underground.”
“How many crusaders?” the captain barks.
“Sixty, at least. Maybe a hundred.”
My heart rams against my chest. Nicostratus.
“We’ll attack tonight. We won’t let them take our men.”
They rally together and ride, two by two, into the woods. Quin ushers me with urgency back to the boat and uses the air to shuttle us at speed along the water. Bile races up my throat when I think of Nicostratus battered and bloodied, or worse . . .
Sternly silent, Quin steers us down forks of the canal to a narrow, concealed gully. Towering trees form a canopy overhead and splashes of sunset fall on the still water. The air is thick with damp earth and over the creaks of the boat come distant shouts.
I wish I could jump out, race into the crumbling fortress I glimpse through the trees and snatch Nicostratus to safety. Quin, reading my mind, warns me with a shake of his head.
“You’ve been here before,” I choke out as Quin brings the boat alongside a wall of cascading vines and roots; he pulls at them, revealing a concealed entrance.
“As children,” he says with a note of pain in his voice. “We stopped here on our annual journey to Hinsard.”
“The two of you?”
“And our aklos. They played dice while we explored the ruins.” He shoves the rusted gate open. A dark tunnel stretches behind it. “It’s been many years, but I’m sure I know where they’ll be held.”
I rise quickly, wobbling the boat, and Quin pulls me back into a crouch. “Wait.”
“Nicostratus is somewhere in there.”
“Crusaders are vicious.”
“All the more reason—”
“Calm yourself. Look at me.” I look at him. His gaze is dark and steady. “As long as I stand, no one will hurt my brother.”
I swallow, and I’m hit with the memory of Quin abandoning me on the rooftops during the lovelight festival. How urgently he’d leapt onto his horse and galloped through the capital to the royal city. He’d done it to save his brother then. He’d do the same now.
I nod. “What are we—”
Metallic clashes and the roars of men travel through the ruins to the gully. Shouts echo down the tunnels, sending fighters to the front and side gates. The sounds of armour being grabbed from walls and retreating footsteps has Quin urging me out of the boat. I pass him his cane and duck into the tunnel, faint torchlight from deeper within our only guide.