Page 40 of The King's Man 4

Others might say I don’t need to be there. Why must I take the risk? He knows I must. He understands it calls inside me, to see the sick healed. That I am deeply emotionally invested. For the sake of the refugees.

For the sake of my dream.

I ball my hands still.

Quin notices. Of course, he notices. “What is it?”

I throw out a laugh that hurts and quickly turn away from him. “I’m frustrated I can’t have what I want.”

“What’s that?” he asks quietly after me.

I pause and, at the familiar—almost comforting—sound of his cane, hurry out, away. “Magic.”

Like the Thinking Hall in the capital, the one in Hinsard heaves with the weight of stone and knowledge. The air tastes like parchment and ink, and the vaulted ceiling way, way above feels like a pinnacle of learning that is both unreachable, and aspired to by all who enter.

I feel small in here, of pitiable wisdom, yet eager to drink in more. Voices of debating scholars vibrate through my mask, a heady feeling. I slip to a lone wooden bench at the perimeter.

A figure crosses my path and seats himself next me by the adjacent wall. He’s wearing a sweet and musky perfume that has my senses sharpening.

I look at him—the man who’s also tucked himself in the corner. There are a few signs that, despite wearing local fabrics,he’s not from here. There’s his supernaturally beautiful face, and his brilliantly blonde hair—a shade lighter than my own—and while he’s not wearing adornments, his right ear is pierced in three places where he might.

His gaze slices to me and his lip curls, unimpressed at my brazen staring. I jerk my eyes away slightly and shuffle over the bench in his direction, whispering under my tongue, “You must be from the south... Iskaldir?”

“For someone wearing a mask, I’d have thought you’d understand a man’s desire not to be recognised.”

“Forgive me,” I say with an apologetic grin that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “When I saw you, I thought you might be a healer. Someone who could teach me...”Someone who could teach me to heal without magic. Someone who could show me a path... where Quin isn’t.

“I’m no healer.” The southerner turns his attention to the stage, and it’s obvious the conversation is over.

I sink back on my seat, slightly disappointed but unfazed. I’m not here today to make such contacts anyway.

Applause meets the end of a scholar’s monologue, and he leaves the raised platform to be replaced by masked Vitalian Dimos. I grip the edges of the bench as he invites those seated in this hall to help him with a medicinal puzzle.

Whispers start. From my corner, I have a good view of their profiles and eager expressions, and I scan the sea of scholars with a silent prayer. My gaze freezes on the familiar face of Commander Thalassios, out of his uniform and perched in the opposing shadowy corner. His eyes are narrowed on Dimos, and he shakes his head grimly when the elements of the poison are revealed.

I expected to see people I recognise here—like Eparch Valerius on a middle bench close to the stage, surrounded by wealthy vitalians he invited and will get donations from later;even the vitalian from yesterday in the speciality apothecary I’m not surprised to see.

But a redcloak commander? What is his purpose?

Is he here alone, or... I search for Eparchess Juliana’s robes, and my stomach tightens.

There, in the front facing away from me. A female figure with white hood drawn low.

Vitalian Dimos quickly has the crowds rapt, and at the plea to help identify the missing catalyst for the antidote, Eparch Valerius rises. “Fellow vitalians, believe this not to be mere curiosity. This puzzle is of utmost importance. Before we began today’s session, I was made aware that the refugees seeking help here may have ingested this poison. Please, I beseech you all to solve this. Save our guests.”

Valerius climbs onto the stage to support Vitalian Dimos, offering a monetary prize for the key ingredient. He suggests ranunculaceae to get the ball rolling, and it isn’t a terrible idea. He’s clearly dabbled in medicines and understands compound reactions. Could buttercup or hellebore extract work?

Scholars chime in with various uncertainties. Clematis, in the same family, has been known to backfire when paired with snake venoms, causing stiffness and sudden death. The risk even of trial is much too high.

Everyone is riveted, except for Petros who keeps nodding off, and after an hour of heated discussion, Eparch Valerius raises his hands to quiet the concerned ruckus. “This topic needs further dissection. Let’s part briefly for lunch, and those with relevant experience return to my private residence in two hours.” He gestures to Eparchess Juliana. “Would you be so kind as to prepare ahead for us?”

Juliana rises and—

Not Eparchess Juliana.

Sparkles, in a similar cloak.

Invited to Thinking Hall by Eparch Valerius to entertain his vitalians? Keep them happy in the hopes of larger donations? Or another reason entirely?

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