Page 74 of The King's Man 1

“It won’t work.”

“I was going to gift it to him during the festival.” She presses her lips to his fingertips. “My heart and mind are one.”

Tendrils of dazzling light unfurl out of her and wrap around her beloved’s arm, his chest, waist, legs, until he is cocooned in shimmering energy. “Can I hold his hand while you...?”

I nod, smiling, and call metallic magic to my palms. It’s blistering hot and scorches my skin, but it’s the best conduit. With this, I can pull and redirect the magic of her love.

It takes twenty minutes to channel and fuse the magic into his bones to repair them. He wakes up with a start, bolting upright, calling “Azula!”

I collapse, shaking, against a nearby tree and suck in deep breaths, willing the nausea to recede.

In the corner of my eye, vines of golden magic climb swiftly up the cliff face, tightening around rock. The scale of it is astounding; a dozen men could combine their magic and wouldn’t conjure half. Even the most pain-ridden patients turn their heads to behold it. “Who is it?” they ask. I know.

Quin.

Air ripples with the familiar currents of his magic, a deeply spicy, rich balsam with a soft lingering sweetness. Like determination, and rightness. Determination to do right.

It sinks into me like its own command and I push off the trunk, moving to the next patient.

Over the next hour I’m able to help three more. I’m drenched in sweat, my fingers numb and blistered.

I glance at the cliff. Golden vines unravel at the sides, and immediately new ones surge up the rock on another wave of spice. I taste the bitter scent of exhaustion and my heart hammers.

We have to move faster.

I direct the teacher to move those who can now be moved to the pier, and to make teas with Frederica’s herbs to tip into my mouth.

Another hour passes, five more patients seen. The golden vines are losing their glow; water stains have turned the white rock grey; more bitterness hits the back of my throat.He can’t hold on much longer.

No more time for intricate spells. I resort to pain relief on the last patients, and cruder techniques. Tight bandages, splints to support broken limbs. The vines are a dull, dying yellow as we haul the villagers to the last boat out.

I help a patient off my horse, carefully bring her onto the boat and settle her on a bench. “She’ll need to see a vitalian when you get out of here,” I tell her family.

An elderly man, the grandfather of the young man I saw first, cups my hand in both of his, settling a stone on my palm. “Take this. Our thanks.”

I glance down at a beautiful glimmering opal, and try to hand it back.

“It’s been passed down for generations. Full of magic.”

“That’s much too precious.”

“Please. For saving our Coralus.” He curls my fingers over the opal.

“Everyone on board?” the boatman calls.

I snap my head towards him. “One man is still coming.”

He looks to the hills, worried. “We might have to—”

I lurch across the deck. “We’re not leaving anyone behind.”

He stares blankly at me. “We can’t risk all these lives for one man.”

“Without that one man”—I jerk my hand towards the yellowed vines, sagging from fatigue only to be stubbornly pushed up again—“None of us would have survived.”

Around us the earth shudders. Trees shiver and the boat rocks viciously, banging against the side of the canal.

Patients cry out and steady themselves, and I do the same, slipping the opal into my cloak for safekeeping. The boatman signals his crew. “Go, now. Leave the animals.”

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