Page 72 of The King's Man 1

“It was myfault. My negligence.”

His head whips towards me. “And what do you callthisbut the grossest of negligence?”

“There are other vitalians.”

“Hours behind us! On the horse, Cael.”

My hands won’t stop shaking.

The air whips around Quin, strong and steady, and magical currents lift his body gracefully into the air. He flips his hands, controlling the wind, and lowers himself onto the black horse, its pelt as dark and gleaming as his eyes and hair. Hisvoice:“On the horse!”

I grab the reins of the white horse, step into the stirrup and throw myself into the saddle. He looks at me with an approving nod; after checking the saddlebag, he rides out into the open fields and southeast. He doesn’t bother to check if I follow.

The pass rises steeply into barren hills, the road narrowing further with each step until it becomes a thin ledge clinging to the mountainside. Far below, a canal slices through the cliffs, its waters dotted with boats hastily fleeing down its length.

Dirt and debris scuttle down the cliff face. I tighten my hands on the reins and my horse skips around skittering stones in a dance, but after a glance at Quin I remember myself and relax my grip. His back is straight, his breathing even and calm; he moves with his mount as it steps serenely along the ledge. My horse calms, taking its example from Quin’s, bravely ignoring the abyss that descends alongside us. I push down my fear and straighten my back.

Sliding dirt spills onto the path and we hurry our horses through it. Quin glances back as the landslide continues. We’re on a one-way journey. The only way out now is via the canal.

After a hairpin turn, the path broadens. Quin steers his steed alongside mine.

“You have a tendency to pull the reins too hard around tight turns.”

“Tendency. How many times have you seen me turn my horse?”

His lips curve faintly. “Enough to notice.”

I snort, throwing back, “You’re reminding me of someone else I once knew. He also thought himself the king of horsemanship.”

“Was he?” Quin’s gaze flickers toward me with spark.

I huff. Maskios, king? “I was on top of him! I’ll always be on top of him.”

A dark laugh rumbles out of him, low and knowing. My words don’t fool him, and somehow, that makes my cheeks flush.

“I grew up playing drakopagon,” I snap, trying to claw back dignity.

“Is that so?” There’s no surprise in his voice at all, almost like he’s bored. It grates.

“Just focus on the path before one of us tumbles into the abyss.”

His dark chuckle stirs something sharp and uneasy inside me. “I’m clever enough not to fall, Cael. The question is, are you?”

His words dig deeper than they should, unsettling my confidence. The cold wind tugs at my cloak, and I remember how easily he’d seen through me before—the way he tested me at the academy, uncovered my lies, forced me to face truths I wasn’t ready to face.

The memories slip in unbidden: the little girl’s wide eyes, the herbs I’d tossed aside, her body limp by the river. A life wasted, a soul I sabotaged.

Quin’s voice cuts through, soft but pointed. “I was harsh, earlier. You’ve lost someone dear to you.”

My hands ball around the reins.

He speaks again, voice gravelly, as if the words weigh on him too. “Other people’s someones are waiting desperately for our help. Scared children, dying ones.”

Futures shrinking by the second.

I can’t stop the ache in my throat, the flush of shame crawling up my neck. How could I have refused? How could I ever pray to my forefathers again?

The wind howls as we ride on in silent contemplation.

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