Page 78 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Chapter Forty-Two

Ingrid pleaded with Dean. She went over the plan that she, Monia and Lucilla had spoken of the night before, begging for him to take a chance. To trust her.

Their original scheme had been different in its inception, but they could still get the same result.

Both, she promised. They could protect both herself and the princess, if only they trusted Raidinn, Tyla and Veston to keep holding off the beast long enough. Long enough to get in position, and draw Haxus back to them, and by extension, to Callinora.

The second Haxus leapt, Ingrid pushed the Princess of Maradenn behind the pillar she was still shackled to and took another leap to the muddy arena floor.

There was no margin for error. Only a split-second for Dean to emerge from below the sacrificial platform, and fire the arrow into the monster’s right eye.

Haxus squealed, going limp as his shoulder cut into the marble pillar like an axe, slicing it in two just above Callinora’s slumped head. The beast wriggled to his back and cried in pain, clutching and pulling at the arrow until the long, blood-soaked shaft was free.

It was all the time Dean needed to leap upon the beast’s chest and drive his sword into the untouched eye, angling it up toward the skull.

The entire stadium went still as Haxus shrieked out in an animal roar one last time. Seizing, gasping, and finally drawing his last breath. The half-god of the arena was no more.

And the curse faded along with it.

Tusks slowly turned to teeth. Claws turned to fingers.

Hair shed. And the people of the Occi Isles now gaped at the truth.

Haxus and Horace—they were one and the same.

Their former king might’ve been blinded and bloodied, but they remembered that face.

Remembered that noble jaw. That sunny-blonde hair.

They’d known him, and loved him, and served him for hundreds of years.

Their king. He had been reduced to a caged circus act.

Mayhem erupted in the stands.

“Silence!” Enitha shouted in the orator’s stone scepter. “I demand silence!”

The chaos drowned her out. Cries for answers replaced chants for death. The people wanted justice. Whether their guilt drove them, or their anger, or their loyalty, it did not matter. A small rebellion sparked, and in that fast-spreading outrage, Ingrid and her friends had an opening.

Enitha was too stunned to keep track of them. The enemies of the arena had been conquered, and Sylan, up on the baldachin, still where Ingrid left him, still caught in Lucilla’s web—he made no move to stop his prey.

Even in the rush to flee, Ingrid couldn’t help but take notice of him. His lethal calm. His almost amused posture.

Just as she started to turn from the bastard prince, she saw him smile.

I swear it , she’d said to him. Her loyalty.

Her allegiance to him. Him . Not his Kingdom, Ingrid remembered with a shudder.

Was that why he looked so unbothered? Had he bound her in some way?

Or was that oath simply for his pride? Making her declare it loudly in front of her friends.

The friends he wanted so badly for her to doubt.

“Ingrid?” Dean called out in a panic. “Are you hurt?!”

She came around the corner of the platform to show herself to him, already shining her attention on the princess. “I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” She hopped back onto the platform to kneel at Callinora’s side.

The princess didn’t appear to have sustained any more injuries, but it was difficult to tell, considering.

Those burns were still glowing with dark power, keeping her from speaking or gaining any awareness of her surroundings.

“How about her?” Dean asked. He was gripping the princess’s arm already, lifting her until the chains could fit over the top of the destroyed pillar.

“I can’t tell.” Ingrid cupped Callinora’s cheek, pleading silently for her to wake up, to say something.

She didn’t.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out later. I’ll carry her.

” Dean lifted her onto his shoulder, then, barking terse orders, rallied everyone to him, even Veston, who’d appeared to have only suffered an injury to his ribs in the blow from Haxus.

Together, they pushed the platform as close to the arena wall as possible.

“We’ll need to make the jump,” Ingrid said, looking to Veston. “Can you manage it?”

The general looked to his abdomen, then to the crowd, wincing slightly.

Fights had broken out, and many of the common folk had migrated from their top-level seats down to the first row, dangling their arms over the wall like prisoners through metal bars.

Some made gestures to the Queen. Some shouted threats and insults.

But all had the same vengeful glint in their eyes.

“I’ll have to,” Veston said.

“Single-file.” Dean began waving them forward. “Ingrid, stick to the middle.”

One after the other, they climbed into the grandstands and cut through hordes of civilians. The exit wasn’t far but was made all the more difficult with Occian soldiers rushing from the gates to flood the arena’s seats, coming from every direction, armed, and already loosing arrows into the crowd.

All at once, the people of the Isles pivoted. The flaring tempers turned to cold horror. The fight became too close for comfort, and their own Queen’s Guard were treating them like expendable fodder.

“Stay low!” Dean threw what limbs he had use of to drive anyone too close to Ingrid back.

And Raidinn, he looked like some hell-sent demon with his arms covered in blood, cutting down soldiers and violent civilians alike.

“Anyone have eyes on Enitha!? Arryn!?” he shouted.

“I do!”

Planted in the very center just behind Dean, Ingrid was afforded the luxury of monitoring the situation on the other side of the arena.

Enitha had finally deigned to come down from her protected shelter.

Surrounded by her guards, she and her husband were walking in a straight line across the ichor and rain-soaked arena floor, never breaking their disdainful glare away from Ingrid and her team.

“Did it work?” Dean called out, his breath heavy, tiring fast with the weight of Callinora on his shoulders.

“I don’t know! I think so!”

“You think?”

“Yes, damnit! I think. Her hand is up, like on the docks, but nothing is happening.” No smoke. Nothing.

Ingrid took a breath of relief as the spell-crafting queen tried and tried—and failed, shaking violently with each futile attempt—to conjure that black magic from her palms.

“It worked!” Ingrid yelled out. “Lucilla was right!”

“Right about what?” Tyla asked, like the words might be buried inside her if she didn’t get them out. “Anyone want to clue me in?”

“Me too!” Raidinn added. “What is happening?!”

“We snuck something in her drink.”

Lucilla’s knowledge wasn’t limited to the strict seating arrangement.

She’d given Ingrid a full list of routines.

Including the fact that Enitha always drank her weight in wine on the day of the games.

Making it easy to slip something into it—something like the Quirell weed she’d read about in Callinora’s mother’s journal, which Dean had plenty of, both on the ship and on his person as he walked into Enitha’s court.

He hadn’t had an opportunity to covertly sneak it into the queen’s drink, or Arryn’s, but Lucilla, trusted Lucilla, the meek and dutiful lady’s maid, had plenty.

“And Arryn?” Dean called out.

“Doesn’t seem any different,” Ingrid said exasperatedly, trying to recall how much of his wine the new king drank. “Still at Enitha’s side. Maybe it wasn’t enough?”

“And you’re sure—” Dean was cut off by a single Occian soldier popping up from the mess of the crowd, but Raidinn ran his sword through his back before he could do any harm. “You’re sure Lucilla used everything from the ship!? Every bit?!”

“You’ll have to ask her when she gets here!”

If she got there. Ingrid grew worried about her absence.

Monia, too. Especially Monia. They’d all planned to meet once they’d managed to escape.

If they’d been discovered or they were left behind, there was little chance they’d survive the night.

Lucilla had disappeared the moment Ingrid made her leap, giving her ample time to get a head start to the ship.

But Monia. Monia hadn’t shown her face. Not since last night, when the machinations of their escape were set.

Ingrid kept her eyes ahead, shirking the anxious thought and focusing instead on quelling Dean’s concern.

“But we discussed it. Lucilla was to use the whole jar. Every last bit!” That was what it would take to drain Enitha’s power.

Erase that hex on Arryn, as well as any active spell she’d placed on…

“Haxus. His curse wasn’t broken,” Ingrid blurted, more to herself than anyone. “Horace didn’t return to his Viator form in the arena. Not until after he was dead.” She paused, anger overcoming her. “Enitha’s spells are still intact, then. Arryn’s spell wasn’t broken.”

Dean muttered under his breath, cursing.

“Any ideas?” Tyla called out impatiently.

“A few,” Ingrid lied. “But we’ll worry about that when we get to him.”

If anything, dragging Arryn kicking and screaming to their boat wouldn’t be the most difficult thing they’d done that day. And they had to contend with the rioting civilians and the Queen’s guard first.

The crowd had thickened and the guards seemed to replenish no matter how many they struck down, but they’d managed to make it to the final tunnel before being led out into the city. If they could squeeze through, the final obstacle would be the heavily guarded trade gate.

Ingrid could almost taste it. The sun was just now peeking out of the clouds and the smell of the shores nearby wafted into her nose.