Page 34 of The King's Man 4

Quin frowns. “I wonder... Or perhaps she’s avoiding constables.”

“She’s definitely hiding more than her face.” I tug his sleeve, but he doesn’t immediately react, watching me instead. “We need to talk to her. We also need to find our fourth redcloak. We need to return to the outpost.”

“Officially, we’ll have Commander Thalassios breathing down our necks,” Quin says. “But perhaps I won’t mind if you drag me along by the sleeve.”

My hand is already pulling again—too far to stop, and too hard. The fabric pulls and the collar gapes, revealing the flutette at his neck.

I fumble to push his shirt back in place, muttering, “Why is it so flimsy?”

“Feel free to take it off and cast it away.”

With flaming cheeks, I glare at him. “Keep your mind on what matters.”

“Then—”

At a flicker of arrogant mischief in his eyes, I cover his mouth quickly. “There’s a drakopagon game the day after tomorrow, at the outpost training field. Eparch Valerius asked Nicostratus to play.” I pause, dropping my hand from his smile with a tangential thought. “Why would he invite Nicostratus when he’s under house arrest?”

Quin scoffs. “He’s royalty, after all. No one would dare refuse to invite royalty to such an event.”

The world of the important. I suppose that does make sense. “Anyway, tomorrow the nannan should have started showing green veins. Let’s free your brother and get him to the game. While he’s playing, distracting the crowds and the commander, we’ll look around. Dress as if you’re there to watch the game.”

“You seem very keen on dressing me, would you like to do it yourself?”

I go to shove his chest—

And grab his belt instead.

Quin sucks in a breath, his smirk fading while I feel around the strap. “Where’s my soldad?” I ask, half expecting it to swing obnoxiously into view. “You’ve been dangling it in front of me since...” My voice falters. “It’s gone.”

Quin’s hand moves to his belt with uncharacteristic haste and a deepening frown.

“You had it in the coffin,” I say. “I felt the hard wood between us.”

Quin stills, gaze rooted on his belt.

I try to cast the worry out of my voice. I have no right to be upset. “Maybe it fell off? I knew I should have asked for it sooner.”

He meets my stare with amused calm. “I suppose you’d like me to dig it out for you?”

“Could you?”

His smile is slow and... frustrating. “If you come along again.”

That ‘again’ throws me right back into the coffin with Quin, that tight, tight space, his knowing look...

Over a lurch in my belly, I step back to Vitalian Dimos.

“Let’s rather focus on what has to be done.” I jerk a finger at Quin and try not to let my gaze fall miserably to his belt. “Get us back to town. And get your brother on board.”

Vitalian Dimos asks, “What about the body?”

While Dimos conducts a few tests on the body, I raid my grandfather’s bookshelves; then we bury the redcloak in the woods.

As I drop the last stone onto the churned soil, I glance at Quin. “How did you end up following him?”

Quin looks away, frowning at his cane. “The vitalians working on the antidote were struggling. They shooed me off. The moon was bright, so I took a walk and that’s when I saw him dragging the redcloak through the woods.”

Something niggles at me about this story, but for now my mind homes in on one particular part: “They’re struggling?” I swallow.

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