Page 69 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

The room was deceptively large, stretching out in a perfect half-circle. Tyla had curved right after Veston charged dead ahead, and Ingrid took the left flank in a frenzy so mindless she hardly noticed the glaring emptiness.

The notable absence of not only her friends, but the queen herself.

Not a single Viator was in sight. Only a lit fireplace and four semi-full wine glasses gave any indication that someone had inhabited the space.

Tyla still held her dagger like she was being actively attacked, her eyes wide and searching. Ingrid would’ve taken the ill-fitting, flirty side of her any day. Anything but that look she had on her face. So filled with rage, so ready to lash out.

None of the three broke from their battle-ready mentalities.

Stalking in formation again, they moved to the back of the gigantic room.

Mirrors lined half of the wall, giving it an even larger feel, and a disorienting illusion of more movement.

Every shelf and table was filled with all manner of gold and jewels and old paintings, some spilling onto the white marble tiling.

When they finally made their way through the mess, they halted at the open veranda leading to the private dock Monia had mentioned. Right at the threshold, separating it from the queen’s room, sat an enormously long dining table with only one tall golden chair propped at the head.

The other three chairs had been knocked over, strewn across the patio.

It was the first sign of any struggle.

And the second indicator came soon after.

Ingrid felt her breath catch as she tracked a trail of blood droplets leading further toward the wooden planks of the dock. The small sample kept her from picturing the worst. Just a scratch, she thought. A small flesh wound. But her heart, her power, her feelings told her otherwise.

“Ahead,” Veston said. It was not a command. His voice had lost all authority, coming out as a breathless, constricted whisper.

It took every ounce of courage in Ingrid to continue lifting her head, to keep moving her feet, allowing her eyes to follow that chain of sickly dark red, leading them face-to-face with their worst fear.

“Delighted you could make it!” Enitha called out to them. “Oh, how amusing you’ve all been!”

Dressed in a more revealing white slip and fur coat draped over her shoulders, she stood at the end of the wide dock. Just to her left, a small ship was anchored with six Occian soldiers lining the edge of the starboard side. All of them had their bows drawn, ready to fire at the command.

And to Enitha’s right, with his imposing frame, snakish golden eyes and black armor like a stain on the scene, was Sylan. That wrathful, violent stance of his demanded attention, but so did the rest of the present company.

“No. No… no .” It was like the air had been beaten from Tyla’s chest.

Ingrid couldn’t look, couldn’t bring herself to accept it.

On their knees, in front of the bastard prince and the usurper queen, was Dean, Raidinn, and Callinora. Their mouths, legs, and arms were tied up tightly. Their complexions were utterly bloodless, eyes closed.

They’d been hexed, spellbound or poisoned. Ingrid didn’t know. She racked her brain for an answer, but she couldn’t find one. It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t connect how Callinora had gotten there. How she’d not only been kidnapped, but transported there so quickly.

They must’ve known. Sylan must’ve known all along. Maybe that dream of him visiting her in her room…

Maybe this had all been a trap.

Maybe they never stood a chance.

Maybe she’d been leading her friends to their deaths since the very first moment they’d met.

Like an ear-shattering echo, the confusion decimated her world all at once.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

No , there was one thing. She knew she needed it to stop. She’d never needed anything as badly as she needed this. To free them. To kill the two Viator before her, standing in her way. She needed to fix this. Needed to end this. She needed her power to show itself. If not now, then never.

She clenched her fists, focused her mind, summoning every ounce of raw hatred, anger and desire inside her, willing it to be unleashed on her enemies.

She thought of Izadora. She thought of Karis.

She thought of all the Oracles that came before.

The ones that were wrongfully hunted and taken down for the power they had no choice in possessing.

She begged them to help. Plead with the specter of them to awaken from their slumber. Come back to the world of the living for just a moment, and show her the way. Ingrid called to them, dug deep within her, pricking her nails into her palms.

But nothing happened.

She didn’t even know where to start.

“Interesting,” Enitha mused, turning to the soldiers above them. “The girl thinks she can wield so easily?” She cackled under her breath, yet hidden in that arrogance was a clear tinge of uncertainty.

She turned to the bastard prince beside her. “You trust the reports, yes? The Oracle hasn’t realized her power yet, has she?”

Sylan only shook his head, never breaking his glare at Ingrid. It felt as if he was shooting his gaze through her, knifing into her very being, her soul, her mind. Because he knew. He knew what she was.

And now Enitha knew, too. Maradenn had sent word. After all the work Callinora had put in, keeping the arrival of the world-walkers a secret, unknowingly hiding Ingrid’s true identity from Makkar… it was all for nothing.

Enitha knew since they’d arrived.

The rage in Ingrid became a blinding light, wordless and bestial, doubting if her magic would ever surface at all. What was this rare and marvelous gift anyway, if it couldn’t show itself in a situation like this?

She would have to unleash her vengeance in another way. She’d have to fight. She would fight. Turning to Veston, she whispered, “Can you distract those archers?”

“Easy.”

“I’ll take Sylan.” Tyla’s voice was a dry rasp.

“Good. Enitha is mine,” Ingrid confirmed.

“On your command, Veston.”

The three of them were deathly still.

Ingrid’s senses sharpened, feeling every pump of her heart.

“Do speak up!” Enitha barked. “We wouldn’t want any unnecessary bloodshed now, would we?” She smiled wickedly, almost willing them to attack. “Not without an audience, at least. That would be a terrible waste. Don’t you agree?”

They didn’t answer.

Veston began to count down again.

Three. Two…

“I said speak up!” Enitha’s taunting plea transformed into a demonic screech.

Before Veston could make his first move toward the archers, she snapped her fingers and called for her soldiers to shift, aiming their arrows at the bound males and the imprisoned princess.

At Callinora. At Raidinn. At Dean. At her friends.

Ingrid froze. “Don’t fire!” she begged. “Stop!” Her anger instantly turned inward, forcing her to see everything with absolute clarity.

“It’s me you want.” She looked to Sylan, flashing back to the moment in that portal room.

“You once offered a deal,” Ingrid said sharply.

“If I came with you willingly, you offered to let my friends go free. Will you make that same agreement now?”

“She’s playing you,” Enitha said. “She means to buy time. We aren’t certain that she?—”

Sylan raised his fist.

And the Queen of the Occi Isles, in her own court, silenced herself so quickly it looked like she’d bitten off her tongue.

“I would take your offer, Oracle,” the prince said. “I would. But law permits Enitha to choose the punishment for your friends. For their trespassing. The queen will hand you over to me, but I can’t help them.”

Enitha smiled at this, her shiny complexion regaining some of its color. “Do not fret,” she said. “I’ll allow them good deaths. They will be offerings. In the games. A grand way to go. Don’t you think?” The question wasn’t rhetorical. “Don’t you?”

Ingrid’s mouth went dry. With every second, the hypothetical openings for an escape closed so abruptly it felt like a punch to her gut.

She called out to the Mother again, to Ealis, still searching for something within her.

Whether it was a new plan, or her untapped power, she clawed at any bit of information she’d read, any scrap, passage or sentence to come to her. Anything.

Please , she thought. Please.

It did not answer.

“I said…” Enitha moved forward, approaching Dean from behind and gripping the back of his neck. “Don’t you think it’s a grand way to die? Answer me, Oracle!” She wanted to see Ingrid lose her composure. Give her an excuse to harm her, to take her now instead of passing her on to Sylan.

It was just more games. Since this all began, she’d been subject to the whims of beings far more powerful than she was.

Gifted with long life, access to a world full of magic, ancient spellbooks, nature-defying beauty, and yet these immortals chose to make a mockery of it.

To seek hollow thrills above lasting happiness.

To feed their pride rather than live in peace.

It was offensive. Vulgar. Disgusting.

And so, with lethal calm, Ingrid made her next move. “I guess it is a good way to die, now that I think about it. Thank you, Enitha.” She grinned sinisterly. “Watching your deformed ex-lover get cut down by my friends will be fun.”

Without missing a beat, Tyla added, “I’m sure I speak for my brother when I say, I think he’d prefer it. Fighting for his life against the true King of the Isles? He’d take that over enduring your dirty little paws any longer.”

Enitha’s face flushed. “Insolent Earth-scum! I will ruin you!”

“You will try,” Ingrid snarled.

The electric green of the queen’s irises became so bright her pupils weren’t visible. Her golden hair, usually flowing well down her back, now lifted unnaturally from her shoulders.