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“Yes.”

He turns back to me, a question flickering in his eyes.

My throat tightens, and I shake my head.

“We still have time,” he says.

I clear my throat, forcing my thoughts back to the question that’s been gnawing at me for days. “How was the palace?”

A shadow crosses his face before he schools it into something neutral. “As expected. The queen had plenty to say about my absence.”

I hesitate, unsure whether I should press further, but the tension in his voice makes me curious. “And about me?”

“She’s wary. But that’s nothing new. Khione doesn’t trust easily, and she trusts outsiders even less.”

“She knows about the prophecy you mentioned.”

His jaw tightens, just barely, but it’s enough for me to notice. “Is that what she said to you?”

I hum in acknowledgment. “Where did you learn of it?”

“The Oracle,” he says after a moment. “She lives on the outskirts of Aerilos.”

I worry my bottom lip, then ask the question that’s been burning in the back of my mind. “What does the prophecy say about me?”

“I don’t remember it word for word,” he admits.

“Enough to tell me?”

“It’s probably best if you hear it from the Oracle herself. She might be able to explain it better than I can.”

I study him, trying to read between the lines of what he’s not saying. “You think I won’t like it?”

“I think,” he says slowly, “that prophecies have a way of sounding worse than they are. But they’re rarely what anyone wants to hear.”

“Will you take me to see her?”

He pauses, his gaze searching my face. Then, with a small nod, he says, “She’s not always home. But I’ll send word first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” I look away, my gaze settling on Ares, who’s sprawled out on the floor and snoring softly. Dread stirs in my mind, threatening to take hold, but I push it back. I must know the prophecy before I face Queen Khione again. Whatever the Oracle has to say, it doesn’t mean I need to accept it. But at least the next time the queen wields sharp words, I’ll be ready to defend against them.

A few days pass before we receive word from the Oracle, and Lyxander flies us down into the lower levels of the valley.

We land on a rocky path on the outskirts of Silkbank, and he lowers me to the rough, uneven ground, his hand lingering at the base of my spine.

Ahead, the terrain dips into obscurity until the entrance appears—a jagged, unpolished mouth carved into the mountainside.

“This,” I say, glancing sideways at Lyxander, “does not look promising.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Maybe a door that doesn’t look like it’s going to swallow us whole.”

Before he can answer, an older woman steps forward from the dark entryway, her frame draped in layers of woven fabric that sway as she walks.

“You’ve come,” she says, her voice a rasp of water through reeds. Her misty gray eyes, lined with years, slide briefly over Lyxander before settling on me. “Come in, child.”

My eyebrows raise. “Child?”