Page 56 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)
Chapter Thirty-One
The Jemii Sea seemed to go on forever.
Ingrid knew from her studies and the hours poring over the map of Ealis that the trip to the Occi Isles was to be a long, tumultuous journey, but two days and not a single sign of land in any direction left her feeling stranded, endlessly drifting.
As a consequence, she mostly stayed inside her cabin during the day, only going above to the main deck when sea-sickness seemed imminent, or to talk to the crew briefly, making sure she remembered their names if anyone in the Island kingdom should ask her.
A few times, she’d peered through the telescope near the captain’s hull in search of signs of civilization, but that proving futile, it was right back to her books, her solitude, and her studies, which now included the former Queen of Maradenn’s spellbook.
There was a simple comfort in reading about the magic Ealis provided, recalling some whisper from a past she rarely thought of.
A much younger, less jaded Ingrid had been drawn to stories of witches, covens, spellcasters and sorceresses.
She liked to entertain the idea that the trials and hunting hadn’t just been mass male hysteria in the Dark Ages.
Out on field trips to museums and historical landmarks, she had the habit of envisioning history through the lens of fiction—what she saw on TV during her allotted time at the group home, or what was described in the books at her school’s library.
The late nineteenth century, the medieval ages of England, the reign of the Vikings in Scandinavia—these places became another world in her mind.
Another world full of demons, curses, mythological beasts, and of course, witches.
It was her first addiction, her first obsession.
Only when the nightmares became worse did she grow out of it.
On her side and using a pillow to prop the notebook up, she pored over the late Queen’s words.
Lyperion trees, which at the time I’m writing this, can be found only in the Heartwood, are worshipped for their long lifespan, the psychedelic properties of the bark, as well as the fruit they bear.
But it is the leaves of the Lyperion tree that are far more valuable.
They can be used to recharge a Viator’s power at an accelerated rate if ground into paste and ingested.
The side effects, however, include hallucinations, madness, and sometimes death.
For a safer delivery method, one should use a small dose in tandem with either Gillybrier (found all over) for its digestive benefits, or Noosem bark (also exclusive to the Heartwood) for its vascular repairing qualities.
Together, they form a powerful amalgam that some call the Antigens.
A correct dose (listed below) of Antigens could awaken temporary power in even the most ordinary Viator.
Ingrid’s attention was drawn just underneath the passage, where the Queen had added an addendum.
It is of grave importance to be well-versed in identifying plant life.
Gillybrier bears a strong resemblance to Quirell Weed, which was widely used in the Second Great War as a confinement recipe for powerful Viator.
Even if Quirell Weed is mistaken for Gillybrier, and cut with Lyperion leaves, it can drain power or counteract strong curses and spells.
Make sure you’re well-versed in the differences in appearance.
Ingrid marked the page, reminding herself to ask Dean if he had any of this special anti-spell drug.
Quirrell weed . She repeated the species quietly under her breath, racking her brain.
That night in Peloria, when Dean first showed her his collection, she couldn’t remember if it was included.
If Raidinn always carried around one of the Lyperion seeds to torment Wranes, it was likely that the team’s botany expert possessed a lot of things she was only reading about.
Regardless, Dean might be able to help her more urgently than any book could.
They might even be able to use it to rid Arryn of Enitha’s curse.
But the sad truth was—she was hesitant to speak to Dean directly about anything.
They had barely seen each other, hardly shared more than a few words since the ship set sail, and she was beginning to think she’d somehow angered him while in Maradenn.
Maybe it was how close they’d gotten in such a short amount of time.
Or maybe it was the way she’d withdrawn a bit after the nightmarish vision she’d had of Sylan, choosing instead to train and, well, do what she was doing now.
Hiding away, with her nose buried in a book.
She didn’t know who had started the slow separation first, but she decided it was probably for the best. Dean would be playing a part, acting like an entirely different person in just a few days. All of his energy needed to be placed into the creation of that character.
Callinora had given him a list of things to study, as well as an entirely new style of clothing she deemed better than the musty threads he’d inherited from Karis.
Instead of button-less tunics and thick baggy britches, he now wore tailored linens and fitted, razor-sharp doublets—what most merchants wore for business visits with high-profile customers.
The new style had a drastic effect on Dean’s appearance. It not only accentuated his height, his toned figure, but it fit his classical, almost not-of-this-time facial features much better than the jeans and t-shirts he wore back on Earth.
Ingrid had taken notice. And it was only then, at the superficial new angle she was seeing him in, that Ingrid considered what might transpire once they were in Enitha’s court.
The usurper’s kingdom was said to be full of the kind of decadence and debauchery expected from a newly wealthy tyrant with her specific interests.
Tales of her garish parties and insatiable lifestyle had reached well past Maradenn.
She was even given a nickname. The Queen of Keys, she was called.
For it was rumored none of the rooms in her castle—except hers, for security reasons—had any locks.
Something close to regret jolted in Ingrid every time she thought of what might go on behind those closed doors.
If Callinora was correct in her assumptions, and the stories were true, Dean would be doted on, lusted after and swooned over by Enitha and her close followers.
The more licentious and dissolute Viator would see him as a plaything. A toy.
As hard as it was to admit, Ingrid felt a tinge of possessiveness over him at that. She had often been so cold to Dean, threatened him, doubted him, teased him for his forwardness, but that didn’t erase the fact she’d shared more of her true self with him than she’d ever shared before.
And worse, she wanted to share even more. It was a terribly inconvenient development.
If only she’d been sure of her feelings earlier, she told herself. She’d have already acted on this new urge to connect, well before this deadly mission gave her the sense of urgency, and well before this childish jealousy pushed her to act brashly.
Her indecisiveness, after all, was always the underlying problem.
She didn’t know exactly what it was she felt.
She never knew. Never could decide if what she was feeling could be considered love, infatuation, lust, friendship, or admiration.
She hadn’t allowed herself the proper time with any of her past relationships to figure it out.
That part of her heart, or her soul, or whatever it was that screamed out for companionship, for understanding, intimacy, affection, unconditional love, it had been synonymous with pain for so long.
Immediately following her assault on Earth, in that city of lights and shattered dreams, she’d locked that part of herself off.
She allowed herself a few dates, some harmless flirting over the years, but when the time came to take the next step, she only saw the face of her attacker staring back at her.
She could feel the dizziness, the chalky taste of the drugs, the presence hovering over her. And above all, she felt the guilt.
She hated the world for it, for this robbery. But she hated herself for it, too. An unshakeable voice in the back of her mind told her that she was at least partly to blame. That the ugly something inside her was corrupting everyone she came in contact with.
Even now, worlds away from her past, it felt more comfortable to be alone.
“So what’s today’s lesson?”
Ingrid jumped, closing the late queen’s spellbook with a slap, then quickly turned to the doorway where Tyla had been standing for God knows how long.
“Sorry,” Tyla said. “Suppose I could’ve been gentler there.”
Ingrid shook her head, dropping the hand that had instinctively gone to her chest. “That’s fine. I think I drifted off a little, anyway.”
“Looked more like a trance.” Tyla stepped inside the small cabin and took a seat on Ingrid’s bunk. Despite the late hour, she was joyfully awake. “You really should take a break, you know. Can’t imagine your brain will retain all that if you’re not sleeping.”
Ingrid pushed away the stack of books on her bed. “That’s why you’re here? To tell me to get some sleep?”
Tyla shrugged.
“That’s what I thought.” Ingrid turned to face her fully.
Since boarding the ship, Tyla had spent all her time on the deck and under the sun.
In addition to a new tan, she’d picked up the basics of sailing and navigating, adapting to sea life in almost the exact opposite manner that Ingrid had.
Where Ingrid was queasy, Tyla was cockily comfortable.
Where Ingrid had been introverted, Tyla had been spreading her social wings.
“What now? You catch another human-sized fish? Have a life-altering conversation with another one of the sailors? Climbed the bowstaff or whatever it’s called without a rope?”
“No, no!” Tyla threw her hands up. “I’m not here to gloat, I promise!”