Page 14 of The King's Man 2

“You—”

“He made melaugh.” My eyes shutter and a knot forms in my throat. “How do I reconcile that?” I open my eyes again to the hard marble lines of Quin’s face, so close. The wind has ceased. “Hehasto be useless.”

Another laugh lurches out of me and I shake Quin. “I should think on behalf of his people. Should wish that he was useful. Instead, I’m hoping, declaring, he’s not. Just so I feel better about myself. These are the feelings I shouldn’t have, Quin. And yet—”

Quin yanks me into his arms, growling and whacking the back of my head even as he tightens his embrace. “He is useless. He is.”

I freeze—not just at his agreement, but the tremble I feel around me. Quin, the king’s most loyal official merchant, always on his side... is relenting. For me. Even if he doesn’t mean it, this feels like understanding. Like compassion.

We fall out of the embrace and my body feels lighter. Quin picks up our cups, refills them, and we drink again. His lips tip quietly upwards and he shakes his head. He lounges back with yet another cup of brew. From that to this. How sudden, how easy. We clink our cups and sip leisurely this time.

By the fourth round, Quin stares quizzically into his cup. “I believe those thorns are... intoxicating.”

I frown and try to cast a spell; it backfires into my face. “You might be right.”

Quin flicks his hand and my hair drops back to my shoulders. “How did you ever get into the royal city?”

“I don’t mind you, Quin. You’re uptight and moody but it’s pleasantly diverting.”

“This sounds awfully close to a confession of friendship.”

I cast him an exaggerated grimace, and he rolls his eyes.

“But seriously,” I say. “You’re fabulous diversion.”

“Diversion. Wonderful.”

I laugh, light and spirited. “I have no proper foundation. Everything I thought I knew gets proven inadequate. There’s smarter, more streamlined methods, and Chiron is convinced I shouldn’t be here. I don’t even have inner scales to weigh herb spirits properly. If anyone’s actually useless, it’s me.”

He looks at me. Finishes his tea. His lips pull up at one side in thought. “Of course you’re not good enough.”

“You—”

“How could you be? You lack the proper schooling, you have such little spiritual blood, and even less spirit.” I gape at him, my stomach tightening, trying to coil like before but somehow, not managing.

He continues ruthlessly, “You don’t have what it takes to become a medius-complex vitalian. Let alone a complex vitalian.” He shrugs. “Everyone expects you to drop out.”

I slam my tea back.

“Why not quit while you’re ahead?”

I yank his empty teacup from his hand. “I’m only leaving if I complete my soldad or I’m carted out cold and lifeless.”

One of Quin’s eyebrows twitches sceptically.

“If I have to work ten times as hard as anyone else. Iwillpass all the examinations.”

I pour tea into our cups and some sloshes over my wrist when I shove Quin’s into his hand. His lips curl and I halt, suspicious.

“You wound me up on purpose!”

He raises a hand, brushing close to my face—only to cradle the back of my head, firmer than usual, almost grounding. I glance up, searching his face, but he’s already looking away, his words tight. “How else do you handle a defeatist attitude? You put your life on the line for a chance to become a vitalian.” His hold loosens and he whacks me lightly. “If you don’t have inner scales, weigh outside the box. If you’re not good enough, get better.”

I rub my head as if it throbs, even though it only tickles where he touched it. I scowl.

He sips.

“Speaking of friendship,” I say suddenly, smirking when his head jerks up. “Not ours.”

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