Page 1 of The King's Man 4

The entrance to Nicostratus’s Hinsard home swings wide, onto a courtyard blanketed in autumn colours. Armed guards with keen eyes patrol the shadows as attendants quickly clear leaves from the path. I drop my wrapped belongings, catching my breath at the impressive inner-city estate.

“Clearly it’s been a while since their master visited.” Nicostratus laughs, waving over an incredibly tall, thin man in an aklo’s uniform. “This is my head aklo, Petros.”

Petros. Nicostratus even respects that his aklos have actual names. I grip a handful of my cloak, comforted by the thought. A good, kind man.

Petros bows his head to me with a welcoming smile.

“Anything you need,” Nicostratus says, “he’s your man. Oh, and this.” He touches a button pinned to Petros’s—and all of his staff’s—uniform. Two circling wyverns around a sun—an emblem of unity—two brothers working together to cast brightness on the kingdom. “Anyone wearing this symbol is loyalto me and my brother. They’ve vowed to protect us, and at my word, they’ll protect you, too.”

Nicostratus, although tall, has to look up at his head aklo. “Are his rooms ready?”

I pick up my belongings as Petros leads us deeper into the house. At the closed oak doors, Nicostratus asks him to bring food and looks at me softly. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday evening...”

My hands close tightly around my things, mostly my grandfather’s books.

He swallows audibly.

I lift my hands, the gloves now useless,mocking. I rip them off, juggling my belongings, and stuff them into the bundle with the books.

“Take all the time you need,” Nicostratus murmurs. He pushes the doors open, revealing a spacious room hung all around with tapestries. They stop me cold as I follow him inside: vitalians casting, their hands aglow, as sick masses rise to their feet. In the centre, a haloed man stands among rejoicing children, his image mirrored in another panel as he kneels to accept the apex-vitalian stamp. Kyrillos. The name carries both reverence and a sharp pang, a reminder of everything I’ve lost.

“I have some last-century medicinal goblets somewhere.” Nicostratus flings open a cupboard, clattering around. He shuts it with a frown, waving it off. “Must’ve moved them.”

An akla enters and sets food on a table, tutting at us for studying the tapestries in such dim light. She lights a few candles, leaving us bathed in a warm glow. Nicostratus clears his throat and gestures to the table.

“Eat, please?”

His plea is soft, earnest. I drop into a chair beside him and force a grape into my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a while, lifting his determined gaze to mine. “I’ll provide for all your wants. I’ll see your family gets what they need.” His hand covers my cold, bare one. “Stay with me. I’ll always take care of you. Anything you need. Everything.”

I swallow thickly. “Do you think it’s impossible for my meridians to be healed?”

Nicostratus pats my hand. “I’ve never liked the word impossible. Perhaps there’s a healer out there who could help.”

My breath catches. “You really think so?”

“Hinsard is well known for having the most travelled healers in the kingdoms. Maybe one of them has seen something on their journeys.”

I pluck a few more grapes, chewing quickly.

Nicostratus chuckles. “Only . . .”

“Only?”

“Follow the healer’s orders and rest another week first.”

“I’m fully healed. The spell was... miraculous.” Yet even that healer couldn’t repair my meridians.

I shake off the disheartening thought. Hope. Stay hopeful. If I look hard enough, if I never give up, maybe the heavens will reward me. Fix me.

“Regardless,” Nicostratus says, scowling into the middle distance, “I’d feel better if we waited.” He snaps back to a smile. “That gives me time for my scouts to discern what the situation is in the city.”

Patience. I must be worthy enough.

I nod.

I wait.

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