Page 46 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Now that Callinora could drop her charade, she had an ease about her that seemed uncharacteristic of the princess they’d just met outside the castle’s gates. Gone was the picture of duty and restraint, and in its stead was a charm and a sensible manner that bordered on humility.

Sitting at the dinner table, still sipping from her chalice, the princess laid out further details.

She spoke about restoring Maradenn to its former glory and how they could work around the parasitic advisors.

The plan still hinged on rescuing her husband, but now there was an emphasis on the internal politics and the pre-established insurance policies—if, for some reason, the extraction of the imprisoned prince failed.

“Which it won’t,” Callinora said with a raise of her cup.

She’d been drinking quite a bit of that odd azure liquor since Ingrid’s little rant.

Either the weight of the day, the freshness of her brother’s passing, or simply fond of a few libations in the evening—Ingrid didn’t guess.

Though her money was on the latter, considering the princess held her alcohol like a true royal.

“So says you,” Ingrid replied.

“And what I say…” Callinora paused, swirling her drink. “Is taken as truth within these walls. Don’t forget that, and you will be well cared for.”

She would be sending three of her best and most loyal soldiers on the long journey with them.

The ship they’d sail on would be indistinguishable from a common merchant’s vessel.

And she would contact the spies she’d planted inside the court of the Occi Isles to help.

It had all been in the works for months, Callinora and her late brother meticulously covering every angle.

The only reason she hadn’t yet ordered the mission to begin was that she’d yet to find the males to lead it.

This was where Raiddin and Dean came in.

“My untraceable beauties.” She strutted up to Dean and placed a painted fingernail on his gruff chin, then feigned surprise when he shook her off.

“But what if it is linked back to you?” Dean asked. “You suspected I was a plant immediately. There’s a good chance Enitha will, too.

It was a concise blow, causing Callinora to recoil a bit, keeping her gaze on him like she’d done for most of the deliberation. Watching, studying, wondering if she’d done something to offend him.

Unsurprisingly, Dean had been critical of everything Callinora proposed from the start. It became a duel of sorts. Dean’s hypotheticals matched against Callinora’s assuredness.

“All Magi have keen senses,” Dean continued. “She might see right through us. Might see what—” Dean caught himself at the last second, right before he’d accidentally hinted at Ingrid’s importance. “Might see us for who we are.”

Callinora took a long breath, then an even longer drink. “Do we have to go over all this again? Enitha’s a low-level spellcaster. That is all. My insiders assure me. If for some reason the rescue of my husband is linked back to me, it won’t be because Enitha read your damned minds. Mother help me.”

“So you admit it,” Dean countered. “Even if we succeed, it’s possible this is linked back to you? I mean, who else would want to free your husband?”

“Tons of people,” Raidinn corrected, idly picking at the scraps he’d left on his plate. “Bounty hunters. Mercenaries. Anyone loyal to Horace that wants to piss Enitha off?”

Dean’s mouth hung open. It was the first words his friend had spoken in half an hour, and they were used to make him look foolish.

Callinora winked at Raidinn, although the gesture only seemed to confuse him.

“There you have it,” she said. “Anything is possible, dearest Dean. But, if my involvement is discovered, then we will set our sights on Wayfornn. They were the first of the Eastern lands to bow to Makkar, and they will be the first to be abandoned if attacked. Their army is weak. We can take them and their crops with but a fraction of our forces.”

She waited a moment, allowing for any one of them to voice some moral opposition, but none did. All four knew nothing of what it took to run a kingdom, so they only listened.

“War is ugly. There is no dressing that up.” She looked to Dean, smiling.

As exhausted with the interrogation as she’d been, the princess seemed to have plenty more high-born sass left in her.

“I think it’s time you accept that. This is your best option.

And it is a damn good alternative to taking your chances out there in the wild. ”

She finished off what was left in her glass, then reached for the small decanter of blue wine. “Anyway, I’m terribly bored with all this now,” she said. “Anyone else?”

“No,” Dean said sternly.

“I wasn’t asking you.” She turned to Ingrid and the twins. “I wonder. Would you three like to see Maradenn? The real Maradenn?”

“Know a few places, do you?” Ingrid asked.

“I do.”

“Someplace we can speak freely?”

Callinora flipped her hair over her shoulder. “And a lot more, my dear.”

The tavern was packed. Stringed instruments and horns played from a stage in the very center of the dining area.

Old friends guffawed and recklessly clanged their pints together.

Lovers held each other close and spoke sweetly over wine in dim booths in the back, while other Viator danced around the musicians like they were exorcising every ounce of dreariness from their bodies.

It was what Ingrid had hoped to see when first reaching the beautiful city by the sea.

These were people who didn’t let war, pain, even the constant threat of attack keep them from dancing.

That extra sense of hers pulsed with joy just watching them.

Across their circular table, Raidinn and Tyla drank floral-smelling wine from the bottle, passing it back and forth.

Calinnora sat next to them, now wearing yet another outfit—high leather boots, a long white skirt and a matching blouse.

She was laughing and telling stories about the golden years of Maradenn, while Dean seemed to finally give in to the princess’s teasing.

He was as relaxed and jovial as Ingrid had ever seen him, swaying with the music and drinking ale from a tall pint glass.

“I’m heading up to the bar.” He leaned close to speak over the music. “Do you want anything?”

Ingrid shook her head. “I’m fine.”

He set his glass down, looking to the empty spot on the table where Ingrid’s drink should’ve been. “Wait…you’re not drinking?”

Ingrid shook her head.

“Come on,” Dean insisted. “Drink with me. If anyone deserves one, it’s you.” He moved to leave, but Ingrid grabbed his arm.

“No, don’t. One drink will become ten and—just, trust me. I’d be dancing on a table or picking fights in less than an hour.” She’d said it as breezily as one could when hinting at a problem, but Dean returned a look of chagrin, palming his glass awkwardly.

“Oh,” he stammered. “You mean?—”

“I’m seven years sober.”

Dean forced a smile, trying to return the casual affect she had employed, but mostly failed. “That’s great.”

“What is?” Ingrid asked sharply. Other than pity, the congratulatory praise she received, especially from people who hadn’t known her when she was an addict, ranked nearly at the top of her least favorite conversations.

Dean quickly answered, “It’s great that you stopped. Incredible, really. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“What the hell do you know about it?”

“I don’t!” His eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “But, I mean, I know that it’s totally normal—definitely normal. The Shades, I’m sure that’s why you started. I knew plenty of world-walkers like that.”

“Relax.” Ingrid couldn’t contain her amusement any longer. “I’m fucking with you.”

“Shit,” Dean spat. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Yes, I know. But you asked for it.”

“Guilty. It’s not the best barstool conversation, is it?”

“Might be the worst,” Ingrid agreed. “Now that I think about it.”

“Oh, no, I’ve had much worse than this.” He scooted a bit closer to her, voice lowering like he was telling her a secret.

“One in particular comes to mind. Not too long ago, actually. Believe it or not, I once brought up a series of murders I was investigating to a bartender who was, at that very moment, being stalked by the killer.”

Ingrid feigned surprise. “Wow, I guess that is worse. Poor girl.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Dean turned in the booth, bringing his arm up over the top of the seat to fully face her. “So, in comparison, talking about a little drinking problem isn’t a big deal. If you want to talk about it, that is.”

Luckily for Ingrid, the music had stopped momentarily, the musicians all breaking for rehydration or to stretch out their hands and legs.

Ingrid glanced over at the band, using the distraction as a way of delaying what she said next.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed of this part of her life, or that she was worried about Tyla or Raidinn overhearing, it was that she rarely thought about it herself.

The routine of burying things away had become so easy for her that she needed a moment to really remember.

“I’d tried so many things,” she said, staring into Dean’s eyes as they searched her. “So I figured, why not? It couldn’t have gotten much worse.”

“Did it work?” Dean asked softly.

“Not in the slightest. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had my fun.

But whoever my parents were, they passed down one hell of a tolerance.

No matter how much I had, it wasn’t enough.

” She figured this applied to her drug use, too, her Viator blood processing the Earth-made chemicals much faster than a human.

Considering the mixture and amount she’d regularly take, she should’ve landed in the hospital multiple times, or worse.

“How long did you wait before you started working in a bar?” Dean asked. “I imagine it was hard being around all that temptation?”

“I took a few sick days, but that’s all,” Ingrid shrugged.