Page 4 of The Oracle of Dusk

Some prey instinct made Aurora look back again.

She tripped, her feet suddenly leaden.

That furtive glance had cost her her last shred of hope that the whole thing was simply some kind of mistake, or the empress being especially cautious about the safety of her youngest daughter. Phaedra helped her to stand and urged her onwards, but Aurora no longer felt the ground beneath her feet. The world was swallowing her whole between frantic heartbeats.

There, in a nondescript sheath at the blonde initiate’s side, was a hilt any true Trisian would instantly recognise.

“He has the holy sword of Justice,” Aurora pronounced as blood drained from her face.

Phaedra stiffened, redoubling her pace as if they could outrun the truth. But if Aurora’s eyes had not deceived her, there was nowhere to hide.

“No. It’s not possible.”

“Fae, if he has the holy sword—”

Aurora’s step faltered, her heart threatening to burst from her ribs. The holy sword could only be called upon when Drakon, the Beast of Old, resurrected—when a cycle of chaos became the cycle of calamity. A cycle of horrifying suffering, destruction, and despair. But the goddesses always gave Their people the means to triumph...the holy sword, and a hero to wield it, an avatar of Justice Herself, granted both divine power and protection in addition to whatever wild magic they already wielded.

“No. It was a trick of the fading light.” Phaedra’s voice hitched. “I refuse to accept that. It can’t bethatbad.”

Aurora thought back to the skeletons in the temple ruins—lives snuffed out in an instant in a cycle of calamity thousands of years ago. Would initiates a thousand years in the future be prizing her remains from the rubble, determining her grisly final moments from the marks on her bones? The heroes of cycles of chaos past rarely lived long lives. The avatar born of the cycle of calamity fared little better—and neither did those whose fates were bound with his.

“Why do they know my name?” Aurora could hear the hollow desperation in her own voice. Would knowing the answer be better than the terror threatening to consume her?

“Anyone who is anyone knows of you through me. Mother is probably just being thorough, you’ll see. If there is some danger or other, they know I wouldn’t agree to go anywhere without you.” Phaedra’s voice was tight and high, her feet moving faster than ever.

That much was true. Aurora might as well be adopted family at this point. But that meant they were here for Phaedra after all. And that meant Phaedra’s fate was in danger of being caught up in the middle of the cycle of calamity.

Aurora wanted to will it all away, to wake up from this nightmare. Her dreams had come true today, but she would give it all up in a heartbeat. The frightened animal in her clawed at her heart. She needed Phaedra like she needed air. A world without her friend was a wasteland not worth contemplating.

When the flaps to the imperial tent were opened to reveal Orithyia, the one hundredth and sixty-first high priestess of the temple of Knowledge, and the look of abject pity in her wrinkled eyes, Aurora fell to her knees. Gentle hands helped her to a seat as a steady voice instructed her to breathe. Nausea threatened as all eyes in the tent were trained on her.

Every stare felt as threatening as a blade pointed at her throat. Why were they looking at her? She was no one. Nothing. Just a hysterical little initiate contemplating a world without its brightest, warmest light.

“You recognised the holy sword, didn’t you?” the high priestess asked, her voice calm.

How could she not? Its likeness had been carved into reliefs since ancient times. Its depiction lived on as an essential ingredient of every heroic statue. Textbooks had its image lovingly painted across the leaves at every opportunity.

Aurora nodded her head, just then noticing the wielder of that sword on bended knee before her, his gloved hand on her shoulder, steadying her. Blue eyes searched her green ones with concern. He’d removed his helmet, long strands escaping his braid and framing a handsome face with hair as pale as moonstone. Why was he at her side? Why was the avatar looking at her like that, a mixture of pity and wariness pinching his features?

Aurora turned to Orithyia, a woman she would know anywhere. Naturally tall and slightly stooped with age, the high priestess’ hazel eyes were calm. Her long white hair was styled up in intricate braids, reminiscent of the ancient styles, her gown of the deepest black was the same, a midnight brocade peplos with sleeves, complimented by her veil-like himation and silver diadem decorated with obsidian jewels. High Priestess Orithyia CLXI had been present at every milestone, from her first steps into the temple’s library to her first day as an acolyte. From her first perfect score to her first academic failure. She’d been a benefactor, a stern tutor, a role model, as quick with a kind word as with a remonstration. Orithyia was the grandmother Aurora had never had.

And now she was here again, heralding a new, terrible chapter in Aurora’s life. She was here to shepherd her through a trial which would surely tear her in two. If something happened to Phaedra, Aurora’s heart would simply perish.

“Is Phaedra going to be alright?”

Phaedra scoffed as though such a thing were a given. But there was nowhere in Trisia that was safe during a cycle of calamity.

“Why were you asking after Aurora? What has happened?” Phaedra demanded.

Orithyia ignored the princess.

A very bad sign.

She took a seat by Aurora’s side and took her trembling hands in hers. Soft, papery skin, bony and veined. They were the hands of aged wisdom. Safe details for her mind to latch onto.

“Yes, Aurora, the princess’ fate remains untied to the current cycle.”

Aurora nearly collapsed again, relief flooding her. Phaedra was going to be alright.Maybe this won’t be so bad.

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