Page 25 of The King's Man 1

“Three? Just for a bun?”

He pulls a small box from his belt. Not any old box. It’s made of violet-oak wood, and it’s glowing. A tithiscar—a repository for pure magic. Valuable indeed. “My family’s sick,” he murmurs, clutching the bread roll tighter. “We can’t afford the vitalians’ fees. I thought... maybe I could trade this.”

It seems we all have dilemmas and tough choices to make. I pat his hand, take the box, and fish into Silvius’s robes for the little sack of coins I found earlier. “Take this.”

A gasping laugh comes from Silvius. So he’s conscious again.

His laugh shudders into a groan and I check his pulse; it’s growing sluggish.

I look at the boy, pleading silently.

Without a word, he takes the other end of the stretcher and together we move back out onto the path and faster through the narrow streets. But near the canal, close to home, I hear Silvius’s raw breaths—the sound of one’s last.

I halt us. No time. I squeeze my fist, summoning a spell I’m not allowed to use. But if I don’t, we won’t make it home.

The spell thrums in my palm, raw power that can give him the time we need—or ruin me. I can almost hear my father’s voice:One medius spell, and the luminists will hunt you to your grave.But what kind of healer lets a man die?

The spell pours out of me in waves of glowing blue, until a distant voice shouts. The boy yelps, but I grit my teeth and finish the spell. We have to go.

We haul Silvius, running, but soon the luminists are on our tails.

The boy lowers his end of the stretcher with a wobbly grin. “Watch this. I can help him without magic.”

Then he moves out into the light of the moon, waving his pilfered bun. He runs off with a goading laugh, and the luminists give chase.

I stare after the boy a second. Maybe we’ll meet again someday. I’ll repay him properly then.

I clutch the stretcher and labour onwards. Towards the crumbling Amuletos vitaliary, where I can find what I need to save this eparch.

But as I near, my feet drag, Silvius’s weight nothing compared to the weight in my chest.

Returning means facing my family. My father...

And his fury.

Ileave the patient briefly, returning with a crying Akilah who is both happy and sad to see me return. “Your father is—”

“I’ll have to face that later.” I reveal the makeshift stretcher and the groaning eparch atop it. “It’s him we need to worry about.”

“Arcane Sovereign! Cael, you brought someone of his statushere?”

“He’s hurt. He says he can’t go to an official vitalian.”

“Can’t? What trouble have you brought here, Cael?”

“Help me get him in.”

Akilah gulps, standing still as her eyes dart between me and the unconscious Silvius.

“I have nochoice, Akilah. He’ll die.”

She trembles as she grabs his legs and together we haul him inside. Akilah lights the candles and I pull herbs off the shelves onto my table, my hands shaking as I reach into a hidden cavity in the wall and draw out Great-grandfather’s notebook.

She snatches at my wrist. “Your hands—”

I look down. The struggle to get here has left them raw and blistered. There’s blood. “It’s nothing.” I pull away. “Rosemary tea will help. Thanks Akilah.”

She rushes out to the herb garden, and I start lighting the stove.

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