Page 7 of The King's Man 4

He waves us off, grim faced.

To me, Quin murmurs, “He wants control over this, but his unit moved here less than a month ago. By law that gives the city jurisdiction.”

A redcloak conducts us to the place where the bodies were found, and keeps watch as we look around.

Quin’s eyes are observant, keen beneath his constable hat. He wades through the grass and stops where it’s flattened. His hand runs through the blades, jaw flexing with determination to bring his brother justice. I pull my gaze off him to study the area too. A subtle, out-of-place scent catches my attention; I pluck some of the disturbed grass and sniff.

“They said echowisp . . .”

“What do you think?”

“There’s another scent that doesn’t belong here. I can’t quite make it out.”

Quin passes me paper, and I fold the grass into it.

I pause as we pass the herb garden. I don’t believe I’ll find anything with the same scent—in fact, I’m sure it’s a concoction of some sort—but I want to double check... It’d leave a bluish trace to the soil...

“What are you up to?” booms a stout man who’s barging into the garden, wiping his hands on his cook’s apron and responding to the redcloak’s efforts to calm him with a disgruntledhmpf. If anyone was to know if echowisp’s grown here, it would be the cook.

“Not worth the risk, evenifthe seeds increase strength and stamina. Some of these ‘cloaks haven’t a clue about plants, what parts are edible and what not. Anything like that in the garden and the helpers could poison the entire unit.”

Risky, indeed. “What was here?” I gesture at the upturned dirt.

“False buttonweed. The stuff’s obnoxious, keeps growing back no matter how many times I pull it up.” He finds another clump of it and rips it out. He shakes the nest of intricate, shallow roots at me. “If you’re after echowisp, try the gardens outside the city.”

Not what I want to hear. “It’s not found anywhere in town?”

He shrugs. “Go check any other garden so long’s you scram outta mine.”

There’s something about the snap of the outpost gates closing behind us that jerks awareness into me as we walk down the hill. Quin and I are alone, no redcloak watching over us, no cook to buffer us from other thoughts.

I swallow as I recall the last time we were alone. Quin’s firm stare, that shattering truth, the swell of hurt, anger.

My step hitches.

He notices, and looks over at me with narrowed eyes. “Afraid?”

I glower.

“I see.”

What does he see? I don’t like the way he thinks he can read right through me. In three steps the distance between us disappears. I lift my chin and meet his eye. His cane is so close, I feel the ghost of its length down my hip, my leg. Something inside me is yelling at me to retreat, but I steel myself. Grit my teeth.

He sizes me up. “Still angry. Thought you’d be bargaining with the heavens.”

If this healer can fix me, I’ll give up five years of my life. Ten.

Blood drains from my face. “Nothing is impossible.”

Quin’s cane shifts, a brief stamp against my outer thigh. “False!”

Sickening fear lances up my throat. I shake my head. “Why are you so harsh? Why can’t you believe I’ll recover?”

He crouches, picks up a rock and smashes it. He lifts the pieces and throws some away. “It’s broken. Can’t be put back together.” He twists a remaining shard in his hand and scratches a petal reminiscent of my clasp into his wooden cane. “Doesn’t mean it can’t have a purpose.”

He leans in. “Do you understand?”

He’s breathing hard. So am I. I rip myself away, shaking my head. “There’s still one healer I haven’t seen.”

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