Page 46 of The King's Man 1

“Neither you nor your dog are so much as bruised. Show mercy and drop this.”

“He dares talk back!” Mistress steps close and swings a flat hand—

Quin snatches her wrist and bends it away from me, forcing her to gasp and buckle back.

“No one touches him.”

“But—”

“This was an accident.”

“Let’s see you say that when his spell blows up in your face!”

Quin’s gaze turns icy as he slowly and deliberately rolls up his sleeve. His wrist, pale against the fine silk, stretches towards me. “Do it,” he murmurs.

The pavilion feels too quiet as I shuffle closer, my fingers sliding to the pulse in his wrist. His skin is cool, but his heartbeat ticks fast under my touch. I peek up at his face. His eyes are on me, expression one of absolute conviction as he watches me. But the pulse doesn’t lie. He’s aware he’s exposing some of his own secrets.

I swallow a tender lump and force myself to focus. His pulse is strong and steady, if a little fast. I close my eyes and feel for disruptions. Organs, fine. Digestion, regular. Bones strong. His body is almost entirely in top form, it’s only—there. A nerve blockage in his left leg. Inflammation causing extreme pain. He could walk with the aid of a cane—but painfully. Sitting would be more comfortable.

Quin flinches almost imperceptibly as I slide my fingers further up his wrist, but I catch his quietly held breath. I glance up once more, a question before delving deeper into the reading. His mask of confidence is still perfectly in place; his eyes catch mine with a short nod of allowance.

I read deeper. My stomach sinks.

Poison. Not even the magic of a lovelight could fix this. The ancient spirits in immortal bone, possibly, but finding the petrified wood of violet oak is a miracle of its own.

My quiet sigh must drift over his wrist because he shifts impatiently; I hurriedly call up cloves, capsaicin, feverfew. A simple pain remedy, but mixed with the hispid sanguinary Silvius gave me... its potency will be unparalleled. Most mages transfer magic through the acupoints near the inflamed area, but to shocked gasps I remove Quin’s boot and find the three nerve points I need on his sole. This will transport deeper. To the source.

The blockage will still be there, movement will remain difficult, but his pain will be temporarily relieved.

Quin inhales sharply, his eyes widening. I remind him of our audience.

“It’s what you had me practising, master.”

“There you have it,” he says to them. “Go.”

A gasp. “You should compensate—”

“For what?” Quin says quietly, eyes dark.

“My husband is Philaretos Monomachos—”

“Monomachos?”

Mistress smiles smugly.

An odd twist plays at Quin’s lips. “He’s low in the ranks.”

“How would you know?”

He leans forward, gaze tightening on her in a way that makes even me shiver. “I happen to be very close to his superior.”

Mistress smartens right up at the threat; with an aggrieved huff, she calls her dog and her men and leaves.

With the others gone, the air settles into an uneasy calm, broken only by birdsong and the rustle of leaves. I push off my aching knees to wobbly feet, tension lingering in my chest. “I was afraid if I were brought to the notice of the courts, my par-linea status might be uncovered. Thank you. You saved my life.”

“If you’d spelled that woman, I’d call it godly comeuppance.”

“She was ruthless, but... I did give her a fright.”

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