Page 91 of The Moonborn’s curse (The Wildbound #1)

The river shimmered beneath the pale morning sun, its waters sluggish and low from the drought that had gripped the land for months. A cool breeze stirred the reeds, whispering secrets only the old and the broken could understand.

The oracle sat hunched beneath a tree, her shawl pulled close around her bony shoulders. Her hair, once silver and glorious, hung in dull ropes over her shoulders. Her face, furrowed with time and knowledge, was turned toward the water—but her eyes saw nothing.

Ana was beside her, legs tucked under her, talking aimlessly about the city. About the bustle and the lights, the way the buildings always smelled of fresh bread and oil and power. About how she might go back now—just to feel something fast and loud again.

The oracle didn't answer. She blinked, slow and hollow.

A few steps away, Ryn was skipping stones across the water, her throws punctuated with low bickering with Threk, who lounged nearby with his arms crossed and a sceptical snort for every word Ryn said.

Then the oracle spoke. Her voice was thin, brittle, and quiet—but it sliced clean through Ana's chatter.

"It is not over," she murmured.

Ana turned her head. "What? "

The oracle didn't move. "Between you and Veyr," she said. "There's more to come. More pain... before things settle."

Ana's face stilled. Her lips parted, then closed again. She turned back to the water, watching as a gaggle of geese descended clumsily onto the surface with splashes and honks.

She took a breath.

"He thinks I'm a slut," she said flatly. "Worth nothing more than a quick roll in a bed. Or on hay. Or any available flat or horizontal surface."

Her mouth curled into a grin that didn't reach her eyes, baring her teeth— sharp and unnaturally pointed. For a moment, she looked like a predator scenting blood. Her canines glinted in the light.

The oracle turned to look at her fully now.

Ana laughed once, bitter and short. "He'll learn his lesson," she said. "Soon enough."

Silence fell again. The river lapped gently at the rocks. Ryn was berating Threk for some unknown crime, but the words were lost on the wind.

Then the oracle drew in a slow, trembling breath.

"I need a favour," she said, voice hoarse with effort. "I will pay it back. "

Ana turned her head, eyes narrowing. "What kind of favour?"

The oracle didn't answer right away. Her fingers twisted in the fraying threads of her shawl. Her lips trembled.

"My daughter," she said at last. "I know what she is. But she is still my flesh."

Ana stiffened.

"I feel her pain," the oracle whispered. "The kind that doesn't end. The kind that chews through bone and flesh until nothing is left but screaming."

She turned, finally meeting Ana's gaze. Her eyes, rheumy and red-rimmed, were filled with tears.

"When you think she has suffered enough... if the time comes..." Her voice cracked. "Would you end it? End her suffering? I ask as a mother for her child."

The tears broke free then, running down the deep lines of her face, carving salt trails through the dust and despair.

Ana stared at her, all levity gone. The breeze stilled, and even the river seemed to hold its breath.

And for a long time, neither of them spoke .

Ana didn't speak right away. Her eyes remained on the water, the geese gliding across its surface like ghosts. Then, quietly, without looking at the oracle, she said—

"I'll send my... associates."

A pause. Her jaw tightened.

"In a year. To make it quick."

The oracle broke. Tears streamed freely now, carving lines down her sun-worn face. She folded in on herself, trembling, hands clenched in her lap.

They both knew what it meant.

A year here would be ten there. Ten years of torment, or madness, or worse.

Ana finally turned; her voice low. "It's the best I can do. There must be justice for those she has destroyed."

The oracle didn't speak. She just nodded, the motion jerky, shoulders shaking as she cried openly beside the river.

And Ana let her. Quiet. Still.

Because there was nothing else left to say.