Page 92 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Monia considered, looking around at the fire-lit room.

Lost . It sounded alright. Any time away from the dungeons was a victory.

Maybe she’d explore the castle before returning to the hell she now called home.

Better yet, maybe she’d sneak into the king’s kitchen and fix herself a final meal.

She’d be caught, but at least she’d have a bit of fun first.

“Don’t make me threaten you,” the voice added, even deeper this time in annoyance. “Follow me.”

She took a cautious step off the platform, chains dragging behind her. She picked up the loose slack, then, following the voice, she made her way to a helical staircase that seemed to go on forever. Step after step, her breath grew heavier, her legs burning with the added weight she was carrying.

“Who are you?” she asked after the pain of it was too consuming.

She needed to talk, to distract herself, and the male leading her still hadn’t shown his face.

All she could see was his considerable shadow flickering ten or so paces above.

Judging by his attire, he was a high-ranking captain or general.

“Sylan,” the voice said. “Don’t you remember me?’

Monia stiffened, the chains noticeably going still.

Sylan.

Yes, she remembered. How could she forget?

Even before she’d stood before him in the halls of the Kingdom of the Isles, she knew who he was.

Everyone in Ealis did. The mention of his name was always followed by some legendary tale of his conquests.

His speed. His ominous magical ability. His immunity to other magic wielders. His wrath.

And what she’d seen in their first meeting, when he’d fetched her and Lucilla to tend to the Lady Ingrid, she’d assumed the stories were all true. There was a murderous calm in his eyes, unlike anything Monia had ever seen.

“I remember,” Monia answered. “I just, I couldn’t be sure it was you. You seem… different.”

The footsteps ceased. “Different how?” Sylan asked. His shadow was now a ghostly nightmare hovering over her.

“Different in a pleasant way,” she blurted.

She didn’t know what she was saying. Didn’t know why she was saying anything.

Damn the distraction. The fear of him was overwhelming.

“From what—no, I don’t know. Sorry, I don’t feel like myself at the moment.

The smell down here, and the dark. We didn’t converse for that long anyway. ” She paused, thinking. “Did we?”

Much like her trip here to the storied dungeons of Hydor, the interaction had been fuzzy.

She wasn’t easily impressed, but in all the tales about Sylan Aloris, all the stories of his greatness, not one of those mentioned what he looked like.

His immense stature, his ungodly grace, and his almost offensive handsomeness.

He was the most striking Viator, male or female, that she’d ever seen.

“No,” Sylan said. “We didn’t have much time to speak.” His footsteps started again, walking back up the winding stairs. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the time for it now, either. Come.”

Mindlessly, Monia followed. The effect the general had on her was somewhat embarrassing.

She moved in a half-awake stroll, climbing the rest of the stairs and reaching the desired floor of the castle in what felt like seconds.

In the hall of the castle, she passed exquisite vistas of the city and extravagant decoration, but she kept her eyes fixed on the male ahead of her.

It was as if he’d cast a spell on her.

She was aware of herself, conscious, but more so, she was aware of how drastically she’d changed. In a matter of seconds, she’d been cured of her nervousness, her concern. All of her panic-induced ticks, her fear, and that dangerous habit of speaking out of turn—gone.

She was in a dream. So content that she hardly blinked when those daunting black doors opened, and she found herself face to face with not only Makkar, but Queen Enitha by his side, standing like divine judges atop the throne room’s dais.

In her stupor, Monia could only gape at the two monarchs. For entirely different reasons, they both seemed to vibrate with predatory energy, as if some beast was thrashing just under their skin, begging to be let out.

On her left, Enitha boiled with fiery, psychotic rage.

And to her right, Makkar exuded icy, calculated ferocity.

The High King had nearly black eyes, white shoulder-length hair, and a scarred, bearded face that resembled a forest feline more than a Viator.

His clothing was the only thing dull about him.

A black doublet with silver and purple trim, Hydor’s colors, with a matching black cape, faded and almost baggy on his tall, slim frame.

He stared at Monia a moment, sizing her up, then he turned to sit on the fabled throne of the capital kingdom.

It was all near-black stone, taken from the mountain the castle sat atop.

Chipped and tarnished from thousands of years of use, but no less impressive than it had been when first molded.

It stood twelve feet high, carved in deadly spikes at the top and encrusted with purple gems.

“As you requested,” Sylan spoke first, slightly bowing his head. “Monia of the Isles.”

The room had been so quiet, Monia was surprised she hadn’t flinched at the sound of the echo bouncing off the cavernous walls.

“Monia, the traitor of the Isles,” Enitha corrected with a hiss.

Sylan made no attempt to apologize.

“Tell me,” Enitha went on, locked onto Monia contemptuously. The bright green of her irises seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the throne room. “How long were you in my court before you decided to betray me? To betray your High King?”

Monia glanced at Makkar before answering, and was surprised to find him uninterested.

The coldness she’d seen in him at first now appeared like nothing more than indifference.

She began to wonder if Enitha was the one who’d summoned her here.

And if so, what might that mean in regard to her fate?

She made a cursory guess, but curiously, lazily, her mind grew bored and left it.

That cloudy feeling overcame her again, and she felt guided by something outside herself.

“Only a little while,” she responded to her queen simply.

The answer seemed to startle Enitha. She’d been expecting fear, begging, utter obedience. Instead, she got defiance. “A little while?” the Queen of Isles repeated, taking a step forward.

Monia curtsied. “Yes.”

“And in that little while , with whom did you meet? I want the names of every traitor you came in contact with.”

Monia opened her lips. Her tongue felt loose, ready to give another terse answer, something purposely obtuse along the lines of I don’t know . But the haze thickened so rapidly she could hardly move her mouth. Jaw slack, she stood there in silence.

“Answer me, servant!”

“I—I, umm…” Her mind went blank.

She could feel the words buried in there somewhere, could sense them trying to get out. They wrestled with her throat, her tongue. Like a bird on a string, flying a few inches off the ground before being tugged back down to the soil.

“Hate to keep broaching this.” Sylan aimed a loaded glance at Enitha. “But are you sure? Absolutely certain that she’s one of Callinora’s spies?”

The question eased Monia’s mind instantly.

They thought she was a spy? Callinora’s spy?

It was comical. She’d never even been to Maradenn, let alone spoken to the princess.

She’d only ever discussed plans with Lucilla, who, vague as she might’ve been, told her they were being paid by a wealthy male from the Isles.

An old friend of King Horace who was fed up with Enitha’s use of the games.

But a spy for Maradenn?

Fraternizing with a princess?

It was ridiculous.

“Your soldiers found her outside the arena, yes?” Sylan asked, still giving Enitha a challenging glare. “Fleeing with the crowd?”

“No!” Enitha’s answer leapt from her throat, the force of it sending her lurching forward, one foot dangling over the top marble step. “She was seen with the other traitorous maid! My guards saw the two of them walking to the Oracle’s chambers the night before the games!”

Sylan poised himself, clasping his hands behind his back, “A lady’s maid heading to a guest’s bedroom? Yes, very suspicious.”

The sarcasm pulled Enitha further down the staircase.

“I won’t argue with you, Prince. Nor will I be undermined.

This is my prisoner. I shall question her as I like.

” Entiha halted, pulled away by the searching look her High King was now giving her.

“Your input is appreciated,” she added. “But not needed.”

Sylan didn’t speak. He only retraced the step he’d taken, falling back behind Monia.

“Names,” Enitha repeated. She’d gripped her right hand with her left, wringing it anxiously. “Give me names. Cooperate, and I will have mercy on you when the time comes for punishment.” Her blonde, complexly braided hair swung over her shoulder as she lifted her chin.

Seeing the intricate styling, Monia was reminded of the many nights she and Lucilla had braided the hair of Enitha’s guests in such a manner.

A boring, tedious job, she’d always thought.

The kind of jobs her mother had worked before the illness took her.

The kind of job she’d always sworn she wouldn’t waste a moment of her life working.

And alas, the only job that she could keep for longer than a fortnight.

She was unmotivated by coin and despised taking orders, possibly the two least attractive attributes for any prospective business owner.

Only Lucilla had ever been able to keep her in line, keep her employed.

And before all this mess, Monia had a creeping suspicion Lucilla would let her go from her position, too.