Page 79 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Spread more evenly now, the mob could clearly see the battered and bloodied intruders coming. They dispersed into a feverish dash for safety. The only stilled bodies in the sea of mania now were soldiers on the hunt.

Tyla switched to the bow Dean had bestowed upon her, picking off the most immediate guards standing in the way of their path to freedom. Soldiers were dwindling as fast as the crowd. The gate grew larger and larger in their sights. Just a little longer. Only a minute.

“Above!” Dean shouted suddenly. “Watch your heads!”

Shadows were cast on the stone below them like heavy rain clouds, flying by so fast they’d be out of sight as soon as you looked up. Occanthus birds—it must’ve been. Enitha had hundreds of them, all paired with experienced riders. They were being tracked, swarmed upon from the ground and the sky.

“Another thing to worry about when we get there?” Tyla snorted.

Raidinn answered for Ingrid. “No other option right now!”

“When do we ever have options!?”

Ingrid nearly smiled at that. But what had tasted like hope a moment ago, now disintegrated in her mouth like ash.

An army, growing thicker and thicker by the minute, appeared before them. Occian soldiers were cramped so tight that each helmet seemed to be welded together, their spears like iron teeth waiting to consume them.

There was nothing to be done but stop in their tracks.

They were fully surrounded, the gate blocked off.

“What now?” It didn’t register as a question until the confusion was apparent on Tyla’s face. “Rai, you think you can cut through until there’s a hole?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Raidinn slumped his shoulders forward, then rolled them back in a deep stretch. “I know this might come as a surprise, but carrying you all on my back is a little exhausting.”

Dean’s mouth hung open. “What the fuck do you—I’m literally carrying someone on my back right now.”

Veston grunted. “Does the jest never end!?” His jarring voice was an odd addition after he’d been so quiet, but Tyla agreed.

“Maybe not the time,” she said, taking a long, defeated breath. “We need a plan. This is looking worse and worse.”

Her brother continued to smile mischievously, looking around at the enemy. “This?” Raidinn asked mockingly. “This is nothing.”

“I’d hate for this to become a theme,” Veston said. “But, may I ask again? Are all Earth-born males like this? You find this entertaining?”

“Hell yes,” Raidinn said. “Seems as good a time as any for a laugh.” He picked a bit of flesh from his blade, staring at the wall of enemies ready to attack. “Look here. We’ve even got clowns at the party. Like one big carnival show, this is.”

None of the armored guards moved. Raidinn took a step closer, dug his own sword into the ground, then leaned on it like a crutch, daring them to attack.

None did.

For a long moment, silence swept over the city. Ingrid gripped her blade, knowing she couldn’t coast on the strengths of her friends much longer.

“Sheath swords. Make way!”

The command came from somewhere in the back.

In unison, the rows and rows of soldiers behind them parted.

The only Viator for miles were those that were chasing or being chased, and the chase had ended.

The city of the Isles was a ghost of a city, making the approaching click-clacking of footsteps on the cobblestone seem like a thunderstorm.

“Move! Move now!”

Hair disheveled, the hem of her dress caked with mud and scratch marks on her palms where she’d clawed at them—demanding her power to awaken—was Enitha. As always, her king was right beside her. They appeared from the mess of soldiers like they’d fought their way from the bottom of the crowd.

“What… did you… do to me!?” The queen’s voice held no pretense, no softness, only burning hatred as she vomited a barrage of insults, commands and interrogations. “You heathens! How?! How did you do it!? Tell me! Who was it!?”

It was clear that the only reason they were still alive, was because Enitha needed answers first. She had to know what took her magic.

“How!?” she squawked. “How did you do it!?” She peered down at her hands every few seconds, as if the magic was only hiding. “Was it you!?” Enitha pointed at Ingrid. “You lying bitch! You criminal!” She straightened, stopping to catch her breath. “Thief! You stole it! Didn’t you!?”

Madness danced in the queen’s neon green eyes.

She was stripped of her grace, her pomp, and now all she had was the ugliness inside.

This wasn’t just about magic. It ran deeper than her abilities.

Ingrid could see that now. It was as if Enitha was talking about her very soul.

Some final and crucial piece of who she was. What made her whole.

“Who… TOOK IT!” The echo of her screech bounced off the city walls, hung there pointedly before evaporating into the air, creating a silence so full of violent possibilities it caused a sharp pain to pulse in the very center of Ingrid’s mind.

“Give it back!” Enitha screeched. “I know you took it! Give it to me! Give it back! Now! Right NOW!”

Ingrid winced, clutching at her head.

“Give… it… back!”

“Now!”

“This instant!”

Enitha’s shouts slowly faded, replaced by a much harsher sensation in Ingrid’s ears.

That wave of memory and sight and smell and sound overwhelmed the Oracle.

Only Dean’s hand on her shoulder kept her from collapsing.

It was as if he knew what was happening.

He’d seen it before. Missed it once. But here, in the thick of their impending doom, he recognized what ailed her.

The visions. Persistent and agonizing, they sliced through her mind like a hot blade through a frozen lake. She could see what Enitha wanted to do to them. Feel the exact nature of the torture she’d carry out on them.

And then she knew, without any doubt, what Enitha had done to claim the throne.

First, she saw Horace. Young and handsome and ambitious, waiting anxiously on his throne.

Then she saw the ships of the opportunistic males and females arriving in hordes, saw them demonstrating their power for the court, for Horace to marvel at.

She saw their happy faces as they were hired to work for the wealthy king.

Enitha was among them, even younger then, just a girl, unkempt and thin, but enormous in feeling.

Even in the vision, the jealousy almost steamed off of her like a fever.

It was a girlish envy that grew more sinister as so many other wielders outshone her, gaining favor with the king she loved so dearly.

She became jaded, poisoned with greed, ridden with resentment and desire.

Ingrid could see it so clearly now. What Enitha had resorted to, what she’d sacrificed for power.

She may have had some ability when first coming to Occi, yes—something Ingrid couldn’t quite make out yet—but the usurper queen hadn’t always possessed that roiling black magic she so easily conjured with just a wave of her hands.

No, that magic wasn’t hers. She’d been the real thief.

She’d stolen it from Horace’s studies. Somewhere in that extensive research for gaining power of his own, she’d found a way to permanently siphon powers from other Viator.

To steal their gifts and make them her own.

Dozens of unsuspecting wielders had been reduced to test dummies and crash course casualties, over and over and over again.

All so Enitha could have the adequate power it would take to single-handedly take over a kingdom.

It was her true and only love—this power. The magic that she held dearer than anything. The glue holding together her broken heart.

Ingrid’s mind came back to the present, left with only the residue.

“Who!?” Enitha was still shouting, repeating herself. She sucked in one long breath, puffing her chest out and digging her nails into her thighs. “Who… Took… My… MAGIC!”

“I did.”

This new voice was so contrasting to the dry rasp of Enitha’s that everyone turned in shock toward it. And the shock only grew once they tracked where it had come from.

“I slipped something in your drink, your majesty. Something that would drain that awful mess pumping in your veins.”

Enitha couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as she beheld Lucilla, sweet and diminutive Lucilla, almost child-sized in comparison to all those iron-clad soldiers behind her.

“It was me.” The maiden’s lips thinned shyly. “I had to. No one should be able to get away with what you’ve done. How you treated your?—”

“Kill her.” Enitha’s interruption was a deathly quiet whisper.

The guards registered the command, marching forward.

With quick strides, Lucilla scampered away and took a place at Ingrid’s side.

Raidinn and Tyla moved to stand in front of her, but Lucilla held up a hand to them, waved them off, standing tall and proud as she continued, “After how you treated your fellow wielders, after what you did to our King Horace. And after all you’ve done since.

You, Enitha, usurper of the Isles, my Isles, my home… You will pay.”

With a tap of Lucilla’s foot, the world shook.

The stone cracked beneath, and a deep sliver of emptiness curved around them in an imperfect circle, protecting them with a cavernous blockade—like Lucilla had done for them in the arena to ward off Haxus.

She brought down her foot in another mighty stomp, widening the fractures.

Soldiers fell screaming into the core of Ealis.

The stone pillars of the gate began to crumble, the iron door wobbling as the structure holding it upward gave out.

It was pandemonium, even more sickening and bloody than what they’d endured in the arena grandstands.

Bodies were pinned and crushed to the sharp edges of the shattered cobblestone.

Half-conscious and dirt-covered soldiers staggered blindly through the soot created by the gate’s slow but destructive crash.

Others vanished into the depths of darkness below with such force they seemed like Shades flickering in and out of sight.

“Now!” Ingrid shouted, pointing at the opening the mayhem had created. “Grab him!”

Enitha and Arryn were trapped on a small island all to themselves, too distracted by the control slipping from their grasp to realize what the world-walkers were up to.

“On it!”

In seconds, Raidinn had his toe just over the edge of the divide, using his massive wingspan to grab Arryn and pull him over by his arm.

The spellbound King did what little he could to fight back, thrashing in a deranged whip of his limbs, but Tyla pounced on him, jammed the hilt of her sword into his head, and knocked him unconscious for Raidinn to throw over his shoulder with ease.

“The way is clear,” Veston shouted. He was pointing with his blade at the path that had been created by the tremors.

The cloud of dirt and debris was fading, and the docks just beyond came into view.

No soldiers were in sight. Not even the fishermen or dock workers could be seen.

All who’d been remotely near the earthquake had fled.

All but their crew, waiting to take them back to Maradenn.

With one final clomp of her foot, Lucilla opened the fissure so wide not a soul would dare try to leap across it.

The air cleared, the path widened, revealing the open sea glistening in welcome.

They’d made it.

The twins laughed and cried and howled in manic spurts as they boarded the ship. Tyla stood on her toes to kiss Raidin’s forehead. He lowered Arryn down, grimaced in pain at the cuts on his hands while tying up the former prince to the foremast, then returned his sister’s affection tenfold.

“I knew it!” he bellowed. “I knew I’d save us all!”

“You arrogant oaf!” Tyla grunted, wind escaping her from the squeeze he’d wrapped her up in. “Put me down!”

Ingrid let out a small giggle that nearly cracked into a whimper at the sight of them.

They were alive. She was alive. Callinora, Arryn, they were safe.

And Dean… Dean. She twirled, looking for him, but found he was already at her side.

He’d come limping up from behind to rest Callinora on a bed of netting next to her husband.

Straightening, he grabbed at his hip, winced—but he held nothing back as he threw his arms around Ingrid’s waist.

They didn’t exchange words, only held each other tightly.

“Raise anchor,” Veston shouted to his men.

“And let’s get the fuck outta here!” Tyla saluted.

Lucilla agreed. “I’ve been meaning to take a holiday.”

Raidinn grabbed the powerful maiden and kissed her on the cheeks wildly. “You’re an absolute saint!” he shouted. “That was brilliant.”

Tyla came up from behind, extending a far more respectful greeting to Lucilla in the form of a handshake.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you!” The look in her eyes was so ripe with instant care for her new companion that it recalled memories of Ingrid’s first meeting with Tyla.

When the two of them were still hiding in a dank bunker on Earth.

When Ealis was just a story. When her life was something else entirely.

Ingrid’s throat tightened as she considered that, and she nestled her face deeper into Dean’s shoulder, holding back tears.

“It’s not over.”

The ghostly whisper crept in like a vision.

Only a vision, Ingrid thought, separating from Dean to look around the ship for the culprit.

She must’ve pulled it from the cosmic consciousness above.

Because it couldn’t be real. It was only more disembodied voices, only in her head.

Just her magic. She could’ve sworn to it. Would’ve bet her life on it.

Until she watched Dean spin on his heels, searching for the source of the threat.

“It’s not over,” Arryn said again. The prince was dozy from the thumping he’d taken to his head, but his mouth was still capable of forming the most sinister smirk Ingrid had ever beheld. “You’ll never escape her. Not her, not the real her. You haven’t seen it. It’s not over.”