Page 71 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Her loyalty . She’d promised it so quickly that she hadn’t even considered the word.

Hadn’t thought about what it meant here in Ealis, the very wind and soil all simmering and alive with magic.

She didn’t know what she’d done. She couldn’t think about it, and was grateful she felt no change yet.

She seemed to retain her free will as she, the prince, and three of the Occian archers made their way back to Enitha’s chambers.

On the second glance of the cluttered room, there was far more evidence of a struggle than Ingrid had first gleaned. More blood. More furniture kicked over. She’d been too anxious to fully absorb all the clues.

She shuddered at the thought of what more could’ve been done to avoid this. To see this coming. There had been signs, and she’d missed them.

A feeling , Arryn had said. Enitha had pushed their wedding date up to the same day already scheduled for audiences with the common people, due to a feeling. Ingrid should’ve known then. It was right in front of her. Something was off.

“Were you waiting?” She mumbled the question, not so much as angling in Sylan’s direction. “Did you have Callinora all this time?”

“Yes.” He said it hesitantly, hinting that there was more. “Though,” he added after a moment. “This was not how I envisioned our meeting.”

They’d just reached the door, standing at the threshold of the hall. She could feel him draw closer once she stopped, lumbering with long, swift strides.

“Should we shackle the prisoner?” one of the soldiers asked him. “This part of the castle can get dark.”

Sylan stepped forward, hovering his face mere inches from Ingrid, scanning her. “Should we?”

It took a moment for Ingrid to realize he was asking her. “I won’t run,” she said. “Just put me where you’re going to put me. Then leave me alone.”

“Prisoners don’t make requests,” another Occian soldier hissed. He stood front and center among the ranks, his bow hanging over his back now, hand on his hilt.

Sylan rounded to face him. “Do not forget yourself, soldier.” He made no effort to speak up. “She’s sworn to me now.”

The soldier fumbled for a response. “Yes, General. But if she were to cause any trouble, it would be you that answered for?—”

“I’m aware of the law,” Sylan interjected calmly.

“Do you mean to stand guard outside her cell?” the first soldier asked.

Sylan seemed like he hadn’t thought about it at all. He darted his piercing eyes to Ingrid, waiting for her to return the look. “Do you think you’ll need a cell? Or will you be able to behave for one night?”

Ingrid stared up at the treacherous man for a moment, scanning for anything that might give away his intentions.

It didn’t. All she saw was that hard face that looked to be sculpted from stone.

His pitch-black hair was pushed back, tucked behind his ears, and for the first time, she noticed a small scar that ran vertically under the corner of his left eye.

It was an odd mark on an otherwise immaculate appearance. His Hydorian cloak made of black and purple thread was spotless, without wear or wrinkle, and the silver Hydra sigil pinned at his chest was sparkling clean, making the scar seem all the more out of place.

Sylan caught her examining it, smirked, and dragged a thumb over his brow. “Do you need me to ask again?”

“No.” Ingrid turned away.

“No, you won’t behave for one night? Or no, you don’t need a cell?”

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?

” She was still too drained to scream, but with the help of her glare, the words managed to convey disgust. “Like I said, take me to wherever you’re going to—” But before she could finish, she felt a coldness at the side of her neck, right at the jugular vein.

“Are you rethinking your oath already?” Sylan asked.

Ingrid didn’t look up at him. Sylan’s blade was in position to open her up with one flick of the wrist, and she wouldn’t dare move.

“Have you?” he repeated softly.

“No.” She answered him quickly, but not out of fear for her life. It was out of fear that her mouth would jeopardize freeing her friends. She needed to think about them now. Not herself. Not the anger she had burning inside her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sylan said, lowering his sword. “But don’t mistake my generosity for mercy.”

Ingrid only dabbed at the spot the sword had just been—no blood.

“Let’s move, Oracle, before either of us changes our minds.” With a jerk of his head, Sylan gestured in front of them, waiting for his prisoner to start walking. Which she did, slowly and methodically, processing some of what had just happened and pushing other bits down.

Of all the flashes cycling through her mind, the hardest to shake was Callinora’s screams. She couldn’t stop guessing at what kind of care she’d be given in the custody of Enitha’s minions.

What kind of scarring would be left on her, and what kind of mental torment she’d be under after being bound by those branded symbols?

She could think of no worse fate for an immortal.

To go on without respite, without release from the suffering.

A circle that never closed. What kind of place was this, really, to contain such dark magic?

She’d preferred Ealis to Earth in many ways since first glimpsing Peloria Forest. The beauty of it.

The simplicity of the common folk. The quiet.

But underneath that was something far darker, far more ruthless than any evil that lurked on Earth.

“Keep moving,” Sylan ordered.

They passed the crypts, venturing back down the dark corridors, through the open verandas overlooking the now quiet city, until they were back at the room Ingrid had been bathed and changed in.

At the door, both Viator stopped, growing roots as they stared at each other in silence.

Sylan waved his hand. “You may leave us now.”

The Occian soldiers marched off without a word, leaving Ingrid alone with the prince. Neither of them broke eye contact, giving nothing away.

Finally, surprising herself, Ingrid asked, “Are all of you so cruel?”

Sylan took a moment, either in contemplation or to gather an excuse. He sheathed his sword, adjusted his belt. “No,” he said simply.

“No? That’s all? No? ”

“You asked a question, Oracle. I answered.”

“That’s not an answer.” Ingrid shook her head, a hole forming in the deepest quadrant of her gut. “You mentioned your generosity. Is it really generosity? Do any of you really have hearts? Or is it always about power?”

Despite her vicious tone, she really was curious to know. There had been moments in their brief meetings that Ingrid had sensed something in Sylan that verged on empathy. Or at the very least, a conscience. Was it real, though? Or was it only more games?

Sylan cocked his head. “What else would it be?”

“Manipulation?” Ingrid offered. Like Enitha had manipulated them into thinking they’d breached her castle walls safely. That they had a chance at success. When all the while, they were only rats in a maze.

“To what end?” Sylan asked.

“To torture me, like Enitha will do to my friends. Give me the smallest taste of hope, then rip it away.” As soon as she’d said it, she wished she could take it back. Why, she thought. Why would she give him a chance to try and convince her of his motives?

The Hydorian general took his time with an answer. “I told you. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want you to suffer.” There was no emotion in his words.

“But Makkar does?”

Sylan shook his head. “No.”

Then to control her? To use her? To ally with her until he has full control? “Which is it?” Ingrid asked.

“He wants to train you. Help you realize your power. So that you can help him restore Ealis.” He paused. “I imagine you’ve been told all sorts of stories. But do you remember what I said to you, Oracle, that first night we met?”

Ingrid knew instantly what he was referring to. She’d thought about it almost every night since. He’d asked if she’d doubted her friends yet. It hadn’t made sense beyond Dean’s delay in telling her what she was, and as her journey progressed with the three of them, it became even more outlandish.

“Yes,” Ingrid replied stiffly. “I remember. You asked if I doubted my friends.”

“And have you?”

“No. Not for a moment. Have you doubted yours?”

For the first time, Sylan reacted visibly. The smallest of movements, just his bottom lip twitching ever so slightly. “I doubt everyone,” he said finally. “And everything. At all times.” He didn’t blink. “It’s one of the reasons I’m alive today. That, and Makkar’s generosity.”

“So that’s who you learned it from?”

“Yes. You’ll get to see it firsthand. He isn’t what your friends have told you. He isn’t what Karis Endolinn believed him to be.”

“How?”

“You will see. I promise.”

Ingrid lowered her eyes. She knew Sylan had all kinds of reasons to lie, and considering what Makkar had done to Earth in the last few days alone, it was a lie.

Makkar was a tyrant. A murderer. But, somehow, Ingrid believed him.

Or rather, she believed Sylan thought he was doing what was right.

To save his home. To stop the scourge and the Ungii from wreaking havoc on Viator lands.

Her gaze fixed to the floor, Ingrid said, “I’d like to go inside now.”

“Of course.” Sylan bowed slightly and reached for the door handle. He opened it for her, then, peering down the hall, added, “It would be better to talk in private.”

Ingrid stalled, unsure of his meaning. “You’re staying?”

“I’ll have to be close,” Sylan said coolly.

“Can’t have you running away again.” He strolled through the threshold of the door, examining the room.

His steps were still so measured, almost in slow motion.

His black hair jostled with each step, checking each crevice of the room before sitting at the small table near the window.