Page 43 of The King's Man 3

“The fire—look what you’ve done!”

“How could you fall asleep?”

“I didn’t! You did!”

I slip away, heart racing, leaving them to their fruitless efforts. The fire, contained by the stone fences, will burn itself out, leaving nothing behind.

Further down the canal, Quin waits silently, his figure a dark shadow against the faint glow of the luminarium dome in the distance. The sight is more comforting than I ever remember a luminarium dome being.

Olyn offloads the herbs from the boat but wraps a bundle for me. “Bathe, rest. Decoct these,” she instructs wearily. “Tomorrow, come to the luminarium.”

I nod, clutching the herbs. “The luminarium?” The words feel foreign. In the capital, the sick are left in their homes or on the streets, ignored by the powerful.

“It’s a good space,” Olyn says, her tone bitter. “The luminist is gone; it’s the only reason we have it.”

“Gone?” Quin’s voice cuts through the night, sharp with disbelief.

She shrugs, her expression tight. “Weeks ago. Took the tithiscar with him.”

Quin’s fists clench around the oars, his knuckles white. “The coffer belongs to the people.”

“Not the first time a luminist has been despicable,” I mutter. The local luminist had run away instead of helping the people in Castorvra, too.

Quin’s lips press into a thin line; I say goodbye to Olyn and slide alongside him in the boat. He’s still staring at me with a tightened expression.

“At least we got the herbs,” I say, but the weight of the night lingers between his furrowed brow and mine.

He pulls the oars hard through the water. “You were reckless tonight.”

I’ve been expecting this, but not the twinge of guilt I feel.

“Seeing spirits? They might’ve killed you.”

“Your plan needed a catalyst.”

He pushes one oar into my hand to palm his chest, over his flutette. “An eerie melody would’ve had them scrabbling for that pouch.”

“You didn’t... mention that part of the plan.”

“Did you fall asleep? Of course I did.”

I blink, and flush, and stare at the rippling, moonlit water around my oar. Ihadgotten caught in thoughts, back in the dispensary. “I...” I shut my mouth, and reflect. “This can be considered my fault.” I grip the oar tightly. “Is it my turn to get caned?”

Quin leans forward and flicks my forehead, and when I rock my head back towards the sea of stars again, he growls.

“Your life is mine. Remember that.”

We take a winding way back, not to pass our redcloaks, but the inn is still awake when we stumble in. I ask the keeper to send up teapots of hot water.

Damp and smelling of smoke, I whisk myself through the bath and return to our room, where Quin is frowning over a game of chess and my hot water awaits. I spend the next hour drinking teas while Quin shifts pieces on the chessboard, and as he checkmates the black king, I throw myself over the bed, spreading my arms and legs wide.

Quin laughs.

His cane snicks across the room and he drops weightily at my side.

I wriggle my limbs, making myself heavy on the mattress. Impossible for him to move. “I booked the room. You can’t always take the bed.”

“Must I remind you, youspankedme in front of a crowd of onlookers.”

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