Page 26 of The Oracle of Dusk

Her mother had warned of people with this brand of forbidden wild magic. They had toppled kings and queens, reworked fate decided by divine mandate, cut short the lives of entire bloodlines in an instant. The Viridian crown had been especially keen to rid Trisia of people who manifested this magic. Wherever they spawned, the crown ensured they perished. And now he was going to kill her.

“I would like to say that you’re wrong, that I’m not a monster. But I am. Though you of all people should know that even monsters are capable of compassion on occasion.”

The worst of the jagged edges of her pain were sanded down. Finally, she could take in a full breath. Silvanus winced, removing his hand. His eyes returned to normal. It must be a trick.

“What did you do?”

“I took some of your pain.”

“Why? Why not just kill me? My family has hunted down your ilk since ancient times. And here you have me, helpless. Do you think this will prevent your death? That I’ll show mercy once I can walk again?”

Silvanus sighed. He left her side, limping more heavily than before. He whispered something hushed as a loper whickered softly. They were on the move once more.

“I live in hope.”

“Delusion, more like.”

“Believe what you wish. Ignorance is the speciality of the imperial family, after all.”

“I knew about your kind, did I not?” Phaedra hissed, testing the limits of her body. She was still trapped, unable to move without causing greater pain. He’d only dulled the worst pangs, not healed her. Damn.

“But not about the mountain.”

She wouldn’t dignify that jab with a response. If she survived, the whole Dragon’s Spine Mountain range was going to be properly mapped. There would be no hideouts left for monsters like him. She tried to pay attention to her surroundings, but there were no landmarks in the dark. As far as she could tell, she had been laid down in a small cart. Did this hideout keep such things just lying about? Maybe they had some other trappings of civilisation—like communication crystals. If she could get a message to her mother, then perhaps they could plan a counter-offensive against Drakon and Silvanus.

“Where did you get this cart?”

“It’s not a cart.”

“I’m in it right now. If you’re going to lie, at least try to be believable.”

“Is that what the imperial tutors teach princesses?”

“Fine, don’t answer.”

“…The cart is the holy sword.”

“Excuse me?”

“The sword changes shape according to my will.”

She’d noticed in the fight against the monstrosities that he’d wielded several different weapons, each glowing with divine light. She could wrap her head around that. It had been mentioned in old histories about the hero. But acart?Didn’t the sword have a will of its own? Or was she misremembering her lessons?

Phaedra snickered, an action she immediately regretted. Goddess, how many ribs had she broken?

“You turned a holy sword into a cart? Isn’t that blasphemous?”

“The sword wasn’t too pleased about it, but needs must. What, don’t you think ‘the holy horse cart of Justice’ has a nice ring to it?”

She felt a belly laugh coming on. A tide of pain rose up, washing over her battered body.

“Fuck. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Doom and gloom only. Duly noted, Your Highness.”

Phaedra controlled her breathing as best she could. She focused on slow, shallow breaths. No gasps. What a bloody mess.

“Just call me Phaedra. If you’re going to brutally murder me after stealing my fate, the least you can do is say my actual name, preferably with less venom than you say, ‘your highness.’”

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