Page 26 of The King's Man 1

“Why didn’t you heal yourself earlier?” Silvius’s voice is faint from the bed behind me.

I look at him. “It’s called eisenchos: treatment based on need. Now quiet. I have to concentrate.”

“No one has ever shushed me before.”

“Ha. You’ve been shushed, you just haven’t heard it.”

His chuckle morphs into a groan.

I fry the swiftleaf root, add water and bring it to a simmer. The torn mustiva leaves I stir through the tincture until they turn black.

“You’d risk everything for a stranger?”

I keep stirring, not looking at him. “I can help. Therefore, I should.”

He huffs a bitter laugh. “How will I ever thank you?”

“Pay it forward. Don’t harm the innocent.”

I strain the liquid. Almost ready, but the last steps are vague. Complex spells like this are never fully detailed in Grandfather’s notes. After all, they’re written for someone adept at the finer processing.

A gurgling groan has me whipping around. Silvius has lost consciousness again. Sweat is dripping down his temples. My previous spell has waned; poison is tearing its way to his heart.

Minutes. I have minutes.

I lift the bowl to my lips—

My door bangs open and Akilah shrieks my name under the fierce grip of my father. “Caelus Amuletos. Put that down.”

His gaze is murderous and terrified, and I obey instinctively. He releases Akilah with a shove that has her falling to the floor. She looks at me, silent apologies on her lips.

Father growls and jerks a finger toward the bed. “Get him away from here immediately.”

“He’ll die.”

“Better out there than in here.”

“There’s a chance!”

He scours my table, the books I took from my hidey hole. “We could all die for this.”

“Not if we save him.”

“Trust this man, do you?”

I grimace. Could I? A gut feeling. “He won’t cause us trouble. Please, Father. Help me.”

“It’s too dangerous—”

I fall to my knees on the hard floor. “What will our forefathers think if you send him away to die? Could you meet them in the heavens with an easy conscience?”

Silence. An ominous step. Father grabs the neck of my shirt and hauls me to my feet. “Your great-grandfather was linea. With full spiritual blood, hecouldsave this man.”

Grandfather was par-linea.Even half-blooded, he would have tried too. “Youcould.”

“You insolent—”

“These books were passed on to you for areason—”

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