Page 85 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Chapter Forty-Five

Repairs to the ship’s sails and essential parts of the dock were done by nightfall.

Every set of hands was utilized, the world-walkers taking precise orders from the captain and the sailors tasked with the more advanced jobs.

The backup sails, made of a strong but lightweight material called razim , were fastened in place of the ones too torn to shreds by their shadowy opponents.

Raidinn and Dean broke apart carrier crates full of their mock-merchant’s haul, using them to patch up holes in the hull and the floor of the deck, while Tyla and Ingrid checked in with the injured and affected crew members periodically.

The brave crew was understandably shaken, but their pride kept them from speaking of any lingering ailments.

Their duty was to Maradenn, and that duty was fulfilled.

One of the men, a deckhand who’d been ceaselessly tormented by the army of Shades, refused to say anything at all about his experience.

Instead, he asked about Ingrid’s health and the state of the unconscious princess.

His name was Udel. His beard and hair were long and sun-bleached, like most of the crew, and the clothing he wore was weathered and loose-fitting. Yet, despite his rugged appearance, he spoke eloquently, beyond the usual admiration for a monarch.

“I’ve even met with Callinora on occasion,” he said, locking his hands behind his back. “Outside the docks. In the city. Never too good to speak with the working class, our princess.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine once she’s home,” Ingrid said.

“I do hope so.” The deckhand had a look of trepidation, shuffling his feet. “Do you mind if I ask what happened to her? Was she attacked by those Shades?”

She started to answer, but realizing she didn’t know the full extent, considered for a moment.

In all her visions, she’s been unable to see what the shackling symbols could do.

All she knew was what Enitha had told her.

The markings enslaved souls, keeping them from journeying into the afterlife.

It turned them into servants, at the will of the wielder who branded them.

How it affected a Viator when the victim was still living, though…

“Dark magic,” Ingrid said finally. “But she survived. That in itself shows how strong she is. We’ll find a way to bring her back fully.”

Udel’s lips turned inward, cocking his head. “Wish I had your optimism, Lady Ingrid. I’ve only been able to think of the worst lately. Symptom of what’s been going on in Maradenn, I suppose. We’ve come to expect tragedy. And Callinora, she is our last hope.”

“And now Arryn,” Ingrid offered.

The sailor smiled. “Will the two of them succeed Nestor? That is, if Nestor is still alive.”

In the chaos, Ingrid had failed to fully consider that either. It would be a question for Callinora when she awoke.

“No matter the state of the kingdom,” she said. “Callinora will take the throne. I’ll make sure of it.” A spark of something urgent flashed in her. “In some ways, as awful as it sounds, it might be better if that rat Ballius went so far as to assassinate the King.”

The look on the Udel’s face stiffened at that.

“Sorry,” she threw in.

“No, no. I agree.” The deckhand waved her off.

“What happened to Callinora, once it comes to light, the people will be outraged. But if Nestor was killed by his own advisors, they would riot.” Udel was struck by shyness suddenly.

“It’s just, I’ve never imagined speaking with a high-born lady such as yourself like this. So candidly.”

Ingrid couldn’t help but laugh. “Me? High-born?” She pressed a thumb into her chest. “I’m far from it.”

Udel’s eyes widened, confused. “But your markings. I thought—well, I’ve never seen a low-born wearing them.”

“My markings?” she asked.

He pointed to the tattoos on her arms and hands. “Only high-born can afford that many.”

“Oh,” she chuckled. “Not where I’m from.

On Earth, these are expensive but not unattainable.

” This amused Ingrid for many reasons. She recalled all the teasing Franky gave her about her spending habits.

How she’d spent so much on her skin, but wouldn’t spend a penny on clothing or any other luxuries.

“Some might disagree, but…” She trailed off.

Looking at Udel, she saw that he was still perplexed.

“My lady,” he said adamantly. “You’re saying you received these markings on Earth? A human carved them?”

Ingrid nodded. “What about it?”

“The trees,” he blurted in response, pointing to the sides of her neck. “It’s a Lyperion. From the Heartwood.”

Ingrid couldn’t make sense of it. “Here? These?”

She hadn’t drawn the trees. She hadn’t even described them.

All of her tattoos were plucked from her nightmares and visions—except those.

They’d been her artist’s creation. Black leaves, slender trunk, and hauntingly strange flowers sprouting from the ground just below. Her visions had nothing to do with it.

“Are you sure?” Ingrid asked.

Udel didn’t have any doubt in his eyes as he declared, “Absolutely. That’s the Lyperion. My wife has a painting of one hanging in our dining room. Supposed to bring good luck.”

Ingrid was too drained of energy to be surprised. She only considered. That tattoo artist. Her friend. The one she’d gained and lost in such a short amount of time.

No. She stopped herself. The trees were just like any other. And just renditions of one, at that. Branches, trunk, leaves. How different could they really be?

“I best get back to work, my lady,” Udel said, noticing the turn in her demeanor.

“Yes, right,” Ingrid said groggily. She felt as though she was dreaming now. “I’m feeling a bit off, anyway.”

“Take to your cabin, my lady. Rest. You deserve it.”

“I think I’ll check on Callinora first. But if you need me, ask.”

He nodded humbly and walked off. There was a slight favor in his right leg and, seeing it so plainly now, Ingrid had the urge to stop him, to say something punchy and meaningful, expressing all her gratitude. But it took a moment to relay the message from her brain to her mouth.

“One more thing!” she called out.

Udel turned, waiting.

“Thank you,” Ingrid said. “For taking this on. For helping us.”

“My lady.” He bowed slightly and returned to his work.

The cabin was bright with candle fire, the one circular window fogging up from the chill outside.

Arryn, Raidinn, Dean, Tyla and Veston all stood close to the bed, surrounding Callinora with their body heat.

The princess was still breathing shallowly, as she’d been when the burned symbols had first disappeared, but since then she’d grown cold, her heart slowing a light thump.

Arryn was hysterical when gathering all the help he could. That newly whitened hair of his was disheveled from the effort it took to fetch all the others from their rooms, eyes red with tears, and repeating himself over and over.

“Healer!” he’d shouted. “We need a healer!”

It fell to Dean to inform him—there weren’t any on board.

Back in Maradenn, Callinora hadn’t been able to find a physician she trusted enough to send on the journey with them.

All the best healers in court had been replaced by Ballius, who brought in a staff of Viator he could better control.

The princess spent parts of every day scouring the kingdom, but none of the village healers agreed.

They weren’t willing to risk that dangerous route where so many of their fellow Viator had been shipwrecked, never to return.

It had seemed small then, another risk to add to the list of many.

Yet, now? Arryn was left in an impossible situation.

To awaken to this horror, then have to sit there idly, helpless as his beloved clung to her life.

His own ailments didn’t allow for anything else.

The waves of pain from the broken marriage bond were excruciating now that all his senses had returned.

He couldn’t possibly stay awake all night to watch over his wife.

All he could do was make sure she had someone taking care of her.

Or, at the very least, keep her company if the worst should happen.

“Rest now,” Veston said to the prince firmly. Arryn might’ve been his superior, but the worry in his heart overruled duty. “I’ll watch over her.”

Arryn took a moment. He hardly had the faculties to speak, let alone argue.

He brought his hand to his wife’s cheek once more, clearing the cold sweat from her forehead.

He whispered a few words, promises, declarations—Ingrid did not know.

She had a difficult time watching the exchange and made no effort to eavesdrop.

She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if Dean were the one in bed, barely breathing, injured in his efforts to save her.

And Arryn, Callinora, they had been married, mates, partners for decades. She couldn’t watch.

With Raidinn’s help, Arryn shuffled out of the room.

The sounds of their footsteps faded until the cabin door next to Callinora’s was opened.

A few minutes passed. When Raidinn returned, his boots scuffling against the wooden floor, he said, “Your prince was sleeping like a baby before I even left the room. Poor guy.” He looked down at his feet.

“Feel all kinds of shitty for kicking him.”

“He wasn’t himself,” Veston said. “You’ll see that soon enough.”

Dean stepped forward, looking hesitantly at the bed, at the sickly female covered up to her neck in fur blankets. “What kind of male is he, exactly? We’ve only heard about him from his wife.” Pivoting, he included, “Not that I didn’t believe her, but is he really that loved by the council?”