Page 63 of The King's Man 1

The masked men are bad people, River keeps saying. The beads were supposed to be safe. Something must have happened...

Nursing Akilah is a distraction—so are the words I keep whispering to calm River:Silvius will come for us.

He will.

But can he?

I clutch my soldad.

What mess are we in? Is there any chance of salvation?

Or was that his blood I smelled?

My stomach twists and a sob tries to squeeze up my throat. I swallow it down. River looks up at me, eyes wide in the dying candlelight, and clutches my hand. His fingers are more delicate than mine, and very cold.

“Are we going to die?”

I don’t know. My breath shudders out and I pat the back of his hand.

River’s voice breaks. “I—I won’t regret it. I’d have died on the canals anyway. You gave me another year.” My throat hurts. “A good year. My best. I finally have a... family.” He smiles and it wobbles. “I had a safe place to sleep, got paid for work. Silvius treated me like I was your little brother and he wanted to impress you.”

“River...”

“Do you think I was good enough to be reborn linea? Do you think I’ll be able to learn in the schools? Become a scholar?”

My whisper crackles. “That would be your biggest wish?”

“To learn. To become a great healer like you.”

“I’m not great.”

“You could’ve been. Maybe even I could’ve been.”

I sniff and hold his head against my shoulder.

It’s freezing here, but I’m warm—the only good thing about having my magic sealed is my internal heat is trapped with it. I pull Akilah and River closer, sharing my warmth. Until dawn, when Akilah stirs. “Cael? Why are you here?”

A ruckus comes down the dank corridor. Cell doors squeal open and slam shut; frightened shouts become muffled whimpers. Redcloaks swish into view, and our cell door opens. “We’re out of sacks,” one guard whispers to the other.

“Shove the last one on the youngest.”

River cries out, clutching me tightly; I pull him close. They rip him from my arms, gag us with scratchy linen cloths and shove the last sack over River’s head and his terrified eyes. Cold magic restraints bite into our wrists.

We’re dragged into blinding morning light.

The crowd is sparse today.

No one wails for us.

Megaera stands before the stage, alone, in black skirts with a sash the colour of blood. Her hood casts shadows over her face but I feel her eyes on me. She surges forward, yanking her hood back. Her face pales and her mouth forms my name.

She drops to her knees and raises her eyes. They’re dark. Darker.

I am the one who killed her father.

Magic seeps around her, black smoke. Devastated. How couldIhave done this? I was supposed tosavehim...

She sucks her magic inside sharply, twists on her heels and leaves with a heavy swish of her skirts.

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