Page 55 of The King's Man 3

I tense.

“Herbal supplies in the nearest towns are gone already. We took the liberty of checking the redcloak camp—they are also out. Everything has been sent to the capital under the regent’s orders.”

Quin curses quietly.

Bastion growls. “The redcloak camp? Are you tired of living? If you’d been caught—”

“We saw a safe opportunity and took it.”

“I sent three of you. Now there are only two.”

“I sent one brother further south. Pylaios. It’s bigger, he might find what we need there.”

“He’ll need at least two days.”

We don’t have that time.

I lunge out of bed, shirt untucked, hair a wild mess around my head. I round the screens and rush forwards. “Did you find anything?Something?”

A small pouch is produced. “That’s everything.”

I snatch it from him, open the drawstring and finger through the dried herbs. Some caelumthorn and strands of starglow. My stomach sinks.

Bastion picks up a small cup from a side table where a few teapots rest and pours himself a drink. I swipe it from him before he tips it to his mouth and he blinks at me. I down the cold tea. “I need this. All of it.”

I set out all seven cups, fill them all from the pots and shoot them back, eyes narrowed on Bastion, daring him to take them from me.

Quin watches thoughtfully, letting me have my aggravated moment. I refill the cups again, and choke on a lump in my throat swallowing down the last one.

There are no supplies.

My eyes are hot, my vision blurry.

People will die.

I pace the length of the room as the vespertines file out again, laden with instructions I didn’t listen to. I stare out the window at the setting sun, blood red over the rooftops. I turn sharply, return to the teapots and shake them of any residual drop. My eyes dart to Quin as he leans casually against the desk, watching me with that infuriatingly measured gaze.

If you’re so calm, what do we do?

“Cael, here.”

I absently follow Quin’s firm instruction, a teacup dangling from my crooked finger. He takes it from me, sets it down, and searches my frowning face.

He extends his arm.

I blink down, and—

I drop to my knees with a guilty gasp. There’s a long cut on his palm. I touch the skin beside it softly. No matter how little magic flows through my meridians, I should’ve healed this right away. Instead, he’s put up with the sting of exposed nerves for hours.

I pull magic to the tip of my finger, barely visible, the slightest glow, and begin a slow trace over the long gash.

“Stop.”

I pause over split skin and the warm throbbing of his palm under my finger. “I have to—”

“I’m fine,” he says softly. He shifts his hand slightly, and my fingers twitch. So he... had been trying to distract me.

He lifts his injured hand and tips up my chin. He holds my gaze firmly, but his words are careful, teacherly. “If you panic, what will they do?”

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