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Beautiful views, even with the ruination.
But at the far edge of the flatlands, a black shadow crept across the brown dirt, a thick cloud of dust rising around it. Looking closer, I made out the lines of soldiers, the leading phalanx of the mounted calvary, loaded war wagons bringing up the rear. If I was down there, I would hear thundering hooves, soldier’s cries…Zorander’s shouted orders to his men.
The Solarys army was almost here, and I swallowed down my horror at how little time we had left.
I’d never seen battle—not real battle—and I had no wish to.
I’d already seen enough death to last me the rest of my life, however long that might be given what these next hours might bring. Raziel hadn’t said much this morning, either, neither of us wanting to put our fears into words, making them real.
Tristan yawned, his early morning fuzziness likely caused by the now-empty bottles littering the living room, while Tavion hadn’t made a single snarky comment, which was odd, given he never missed an opportunity to torment me or Raziel.
He just sat as still as a stone, coffee cradled in his big hands, shoulders hunched over as if he’d had the worst night of his life.
“She’ll be here any minute.” Raz smiled grimly then pressed his lips to my ear. “Together, Anaria. You are not alone; we’re facing her together,” Raz said softly, trailing his hand down my thigh, giving my knee an intimate squeeze that sent my pulse racing, even as the air in the castle turned to ice.
A dark howling wind rattled the windows, almost obscuring thetap, tap, tapof taloned spider legs echoing from the outer hall.
“Scratch that. She’s already here.” Tristan leaned forward and braced his arms on the table, the fogginess gone from his face, his hazel eyes clear and alert. “And we are so fucked.”
“A true statement if I have ever heard one, Lord Tristan DeVayne.” The Oracle’s horrible, raspy voice preceded her with ominous, creeping menace and everything inside me went silent—the prey’s response to a predator—and my body stiffened when she scuttled into the room, Torin trailing a step behind.
The High Seer’s hands were clasped tight, her cloudy eyes seeming to absorb, not reflect the blinding light flooding the room. She was as scared as us, a far cry from the unflappable High Seer of Tempeste, and seeing her so unsettled…I couldn’t stop the shiver snaking down my spine.
The Oracle’s face split into a smile, grotesque black teeth not rotten but sharp and shiny, her jerky, insectile movements driving the last bit of air from my lungs, my thoughts turning into mush.
“I am pleased you honored my request.”
Tavion, of all people, snorted. “A bit strongly worded for a request.” His green eyes trailed casually over the Oracle—ignoring Torin entirely—his expression bored. But I recognized his tells by heart now, and beneath that calm mask, Tavion was raging.
“Why don’t we cut the bullshite and call this meeting what it is. You summoned us. Now what do you want?”
“Compliance. Obedience. Acquiescence.”
Her black eyes caught the light, a myriad of facets reflecting the bright snow-coated mountains. As if her creeping gaze wasn’t bad enough, the intermittent glimpses of black, arachnid-like legs beneath her heavy skirts sent a fresh shudder of revulsion through me.
“And if we refuse?” I asked quietly, while Raz and Tristan exchanged an uneasy glance. The question had to be asked because the cost if we obeyed was impossibly high.
Our lives. Our souls.
An eternity trapped…as monsters.
“How quaint.” The Oracle’s monstrous grin widened. “You believe you have a choice.”
“And you’re saying we don’t.” Black astral magic filled the room with the weight of millennia. The entire castle shuddered and the floor rocked beneath my feet, my stomach lurching as I stumbled then caught myself.
“You never had a choice, silly girl. You’ve read the prophecy; you know the parts you must play. You should be celebrating your fates. You will live forever, long after the last of the Fae rabble have turned to dust. Immortality is a gift I do not give lightly.”
“Forgive us if we resent our futures being controlled by someone with their own agenda”—Raziel’s hand tightened on my knee, fingers digging in—“even if our goals happen to be temporarily aligned.”
“My goals are your own. My will is yours. Think of yourselves as an extension of me, vessels awaiting their divine purpose.”
Tavion snorted. “Fuck your divine purpose. You want to rule the world? Find five more schmucks.” Hatred and rage coalesced in the Oracle’s eyes, and I wondered if Tavion had a death wish.
“Tavion,” Torin murmured reprovingly, “watch your tongue.”
“You might be content to be her lackey, but I’ll not be a slave.” He tipped his head to me and Raz. “No offense to present company.”
“Asshole,” I muttered beneath my breath.
