Page 70 of The King's Man 1

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Akilah finds me as I traipse down the hill. She glances at the dirt and wax mess behind me and touches my arm.

“Let’s go home.” When I don’t speak, she fills in the quiet. “Likely that redcloak didn’t want to get in trouble. I don’t think anyone is looking for us. Let’s go back.”

My stomach feels heavy, filled with sludgy guilt.Wecan go back. River can’t.

“If we leave now, we could be there in time for the examination this afternoon.”

I stiffen. “I can’t.”

“Skriniaris Evander could unseal you—”

“Ican’t.”

Akilah grabs my hands and looks me in the eye.

I shake my head emphatically.

“Cael, stop. What happened is not your fault.”

I laugh hollowly; it stings. “Ikilledtwo men. I almost killed you.”

I pull free; she chases my hands and clutches them tighter. “Skriniaris Evander said the adverse effect with ippifras shouldn’t have been enough to kill him. You made one small mistake.”

“That had massive consequences!”

“Cael... please. Healing is everything to you.”

I close my eyes and breathe out deeply. “Maybe they’re right. I don’t have enough magic. Only pure linea have enough.”

“Stop it. No matter how little you have of it, you wield your magic well.”

“If I had more... If my magic were better... Maybe then I could be a proper healer. But—”

The ground trembles and leavesshusharound our ankles—a soft warning before...

A sudden savage shaking has us clutching one another, trying to keep our balance. We can barely stay upright as the world shifts and snaps in all directions.

Dust puffs from brick walls and canal water slaps angrily against the banks. Sheep bleat in wild panic, and in the distance, aklas and aklos rush into Frederica’s courtyard, shouting to be heard over the tremors.

It’s not the first time the ground has stirred, but this feels wrong. The sharpness of it, its violent persistence, and the rhythm. It’s... disjointed, like a sick pulse—or a frightened one.

A tree tips in the distance, toppling with a groan, and the one over us rains crimson leaves.

I press a hand to the earth, the quakes vibrating through my palm, through me. It can’t be magic, can it? No mage would do this—why would they harm the earth that they draw their power from?

And yet, dread writhes in my gut: this doesn’t feel natural.

When it all jerks to a sudden halt, Akilah and I rush towards the manor. The people of Frederica’s household are shaken, but otherwise unharmed. They check the integrity of the walls and when it’s deemed safe, we head inside.

Frederica is in crisis mode, sending aklas out for supplies and aklos to deliver urgent messages to the capital. Akilah and I trundle sacks of oats and potatoes in wheelbarrows from neighbouring farms to our storerooms. Collect canvas sheets and tenting poles. Shift well water to storage barrels set around the manor. All morning and afternoon, we work amidst lighter shakes of the earth.

In the early evening, while Akilah is taking a few minutes break slumped in exhaustion in the shade outdoors, I head to the dining-turned-disaster-planning room. Frederica looks up from a cluttered table.

“Anything else we can do?” I ask.

She sets down her wax seal. “The last time the earth shook like this, we had thousands come here for shelter. One can never fully prepare for that. We’ve stocked food. We have canvas for tents.”

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