Page 87 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

“It’s over,” Tyla said forcefully. “One of you needs to step up and apologize. Whether you like it or not, we need?—"

A strained and gurgling croak interrupted, coming from the other side of the room.

In unison, all five of them pointed their attention to the bed.

“Callinora?”

“Callinora?” Ingrid asked again. “Did you say something?”

Tyla returned to the head of the wooden frame. Hope filled her eyes as a third sound came from under the covers, and she pinched at the blanket, pulling it down gently.

“She moved,” Tyla said. It was slight, but she had indeed. Callinora had shifted to her side, facing away toward the window of the cabin. Tyla reached for her, whispered her name, then placed her hand at the back of the princess’s neck to check if her temperature had improved.

“She’s burning up.”

“That’s impossible,” Dean said, still shaking off the rage. “She was an icicle twenty minutes ago.”

“Who cares if it’s possible?” Veston argued. “This is progress. A fever is better than, well, whatever it was she was suffering from before, yes?”

Tyla shook her head, twitching in indecision. She didn’t know. That was the scariest part. She had no idea what riddled the princess’s body. None of them did. Without a healer, they were left with guesswork and faith.

“We need to cool her down.” Tyla ripped the blankets from Callinora in one long swipe, revealing the princess had moved again. She’d tucked her head further down toward her chest, bringing her knees up in the fetal position.

Ingrid was delighted at the perceived progress. If Callinora had the wherewithal to huddle herself in a protective state, then maybe she was improving.

Once the warmth of the blanket was gone, the air cold on her fickle temperature, Callinora began to rock slightly. Slowly inching up and down. Up, and down.

“ Th… fis.”

“The… ifis…you.”

“Callinora?” Tyle leaned in closer, her ear nearly grazing the princess’s mouth. “She’s speaking. She’s coming out of it.”

Like a wilting flower straining towards the sun, Callinora turned to face them.

“Callinora, can you hear me? Callinora?”

The Princess strained to part her lips. They were cracked at the corners, parched and colorless. Tyla reached for the carafe of water but Callinora did not accept, putting up her hand in protest. For a heartbeat, a desperate plea for help was written in the lines of her face.

“What do you need, Princess?” Veston asked.

Tyla echoed the question. “Anything?”

But as the wrinkles deepened, Callinora’s face reddened to a sickly shade. Her breathing quickened, and then her eyes rolled back into her skull.

“What—what’s happening? Help her!” Veston called out.

Callinora began to convulse unnaturally, her limbs contorting at odd angles.

Veins protruded from her forehead, her neck and even her cheeks.

The bed shook with the movement, creaking and slamming against the wall of the cabin.

And her face… it was now a dark scarlet, burning, pulsing, bloating, and hopelessly unrecognizable as she spoke in a voice that was not her own.

“ Thief… I… see you. ”

Tyla recoiled, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Raidinn, Veston and Dean all instinctively moved closer to the females that were now mere inches away from the unknown entity inhabiting Callinora’s body.

“ I… see… you all .”

Dean was between the possessed princess and Ingrid now, sword drawn and aiming at the bed. At Callinora. At whatever was inside Callinora.

Tyla held up a hand to the blade, asking him to wait with a gesture. She wanted to talk to whoever inhabited her friend’s body. To try to reason with it first.

“You can see us,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “But we can’t see you. Who am I speaking to? Who are you? What do you want?”

Callinora’s body shook again. The color in her face had gone from red to purple and then back to anemic white. It appeared that she was fighting back. Fighting for control of her own body. Trying to shake the trespasser from her frail and wounded mind.

She tossed, convulsed, clawing at her hair, screaming and gasping for air like the two souls inside were now battling for control of her lungs.

“Can I help?” Lucilla had come to the entrance of the door, drawn by the noise. “What is happening?”

“We don’t know,” Ingrid said angrily. Anything that wasn’t a direct solution only seemed like a further intrusion. She gave Lucilla an apologetic look, adding, “Callinora isn’t herself.”

Without pause, Lucilla rushed to Callinora’s side and examined her. After a moment, an idea seemed to strike her. She frantically searched for something, rifling through the nightstand, and then her pockets.

“What do you need?” Ingrid asked.

“Something she can bite down on,” Lucilla barked.

All able bodies swarmed around the room, tossing over drawers and cabinets, the mayhem scored by the princess’s deathly shrieks.

Finally, Dean snatched up the pestle he’d forgotten he brought to the room for grinding up herbs, handed it to Lucilla, then pinned one of Callinnora’s arms down. Ingrid grabbed the other, while Tyla gingerly unlocked her jaw until the wooden utensil was firmly in Callinora’s teeth.

“Good, good,” Lucilla said soothingly. She looked up at the others. “Hold her like this until she stops.”

They kept their hold on the princess as she moaned and bucked and cried and twisted. The sounds became less and less natural as she went on. Devolving into a guttural, beastly thrum of outright agony.

Tears streamed down Ingrid’s face as she watched it.

This second undoing of her friend in only a day, seeing firsthand how such immense power could be abused, it was unbearable.

Callinora was so steadfast, so stable and unfaltering and resolute as she lived through the pain of her broken marriage bond.

Day after day, she survived. And, Ingrid thought with a teary smirk, she was an ice-cold bitch when she needed to be.

But now all that was gone.

She’d been reduced to a husk of her former glory. A ruinous vessel controlled by a sadistic and unfeeling foe.

“She’s calming,” Lucilla said brightly, swiping the back of her hand over Callinora’s forehead to remove the sweat. “Good, that’s very good.”

Callinora’s arms and legs were limp. Only her chest heaved every few seconds, Enitha’s spell nowhere in sight.

It was almost a miracle she’d healed from the burns after the Hydra had been cast away, a testament to Viator’s regeneration, but this?

Whatever part of the curse that lingered, it felt as if it had only slithered back into the princess, hiding, waiting.

“It will happen again,” Ingrid said. “I can feel it. The binding magic, it’s still in there. We have to tie her down.”

Veston stepped forward, voice trembling. “What do you mean? Shackle her again? Imprison her?”

“No.” Tyla whispered the words like she was worried they were going to wake Callinora. “I’ll use the sheets from my bed, so she doesn’t hurt herself.”

Lucilla nodded. “And we will find a less cumbersome guard for her mouth. There must be something on this ship.” Her smile beamed across the room at Veston, both assuring and sympathetic. “Could you ask the captain? I’ll look down here, too.”

“Of course.” Veston stumbled off in a hurry.

With the general’s absence, the four world-walkers now looked to each other quizzically, waiting for someone to start the conversation that needed to be had.

The floorboards creaked as Raidinn moved to a squat.

“Are we going to talk about what she said?” he asked, voice low.

“She called Ingrid a thief. Just like Enitha did. The same words. Same demonic voice, even. At least, that’s how I heard it.

” He panned from Dean to his sister, to Ingrid, then he brought his gaze down hesitantly on Callinora.

“She can see us. Enitha, the goddamn bloody Magus Queen can see us—right now. Doesn’t that concern you? ”

“Of course it concerns me,” Tyla snapped. “But what can we do about it?”

“You don’t mean to—” Lucilla rustled, unable to say the word.

“No,” Raidinn said too quickly. “I mean, I don’t know. I think the conversation should be had though. When Arryn and Veston aren’t here, we need to talk about what to do with her.” He shook his head, reconsidering. “What do you think, Dean? Awfully quiet over there.”

Dean started, eyes flashing with an idea. He’d likely been considering what to do with the Princess since he’d first beheld the binding marks on her.

But in this instance, he closed his lips tightly.

The developments of that day were scrambled, yet one thing was certain. With her power growing, her visions coming to her more frequently, Dean would be deferring to Ingrid from then on. Her sight, as Karis had followed his own visions, would shepherd them.

“Ingrid?” He looked to her. “What should we do?”

The question hung there in the room, filling the air with all that it implied. The twins looked to Ingrid, expectantly, hopefully. Then Lucilla followed, flashing an allegiant glance, waiting for her command.

And so Ingrid considered. It would be a risk keeping Callinora close.

Without knowing the extent of Enitha’s hold over her, it was a risk even keeping her on that boat.

But until proven otherwise, Callinora was in there too, somewhere.

She was still the princess who’d helped her, sheltered her, and as a consequence, she was tortured and punished for her kindness, sold out by her own people.

She was one of the few allies Ingrid had. One of the few friends. And to start this road to rebellion with turning her back on one of those friends… it wasn’t in her. Wasn’t who she was.

Ingrid stood, keeping her glare fastened to Callinora’s limp body.

With two fluent swipes of her finger, she removed the false masks covering her fiery irises, revealing her true eyes, her Oracle eyes, and said, “Let that bitch watch.”