Page 9 of The Oracle of Dusk

“That voice, those threats. Tell me you heard them too!”

“I—no, I didn’t,” Phaedra replied calmly, eyes swimming with concern. “This has been a really trying day for you—”

“No one will save you, little mouse! End this now, and I will—”

Silvanus put his hands over her ears, his divine magic washing over her like the flow of crystal-clear water, dissolving the taint of the voice.

“Don’t listen to its lies, or its threats, Aurora. The beast will do anything, say anything, to prevent you from sealing it away.”

“How do you…”

Could he hear it too? Was it truly Drakon? Pity formed in his icy blue gaze.

“It’s the last piece of proof. Only the one who can seal it away can hear the Beast of Old as it draws near. Whenever you hear Drakon’s voice, tell me. It means we must make haste if we don’t want to be caught by it before we’re ready to face it.”

Mind numb, Aurora allowed herself to be led from the tent and onto a waiting loper. While horses made excellent draft animals, lopers were smarter and built for speed. She should be riding her own, but it had run off in the night without anyone the wiser. Perhaps she should have taken it for the inauspicious sign it had been. Long-limbed and sturdy with pearlescent white horns curling atop its head, the avatar’s pure white mount pawed at the ground with its hooves, eager to be running once more.

“This is Neptune. He’s as fast as they come and strong enough to carry us both through the night to the wellspring,” Silvanus said, patting the loper’s graceful neck before he snapped the reins attached to its horns. Without another word, the loper sprang into action.

So this was it. The moment her life was sundered. Behind her, the life she’d fought for, the career she’d strived for, her sense of self and safety—all gone. She’d lived her heart’s truest dream for less than an hour. Before her, threats of death and a fate she was wholly unfit to carry out. Silvanus seated himself behind her and urged them all to ride as swiftly as possible. Not long after, Phaedra caught up on her own steed, keeping pace beside Silvanus, the paladins not far behind.

“What did it say?” Phaedra asked as they rode into the cold desert night.

Aurora shivered as she relayed it, word for horrid word.

“What language is that?”

“The c—” She was about to answer that it had spoken to her in the common tongue. But it hadn’t. It had spoken a language drilled into every scholar of the ancient past, one rarely spoken aloud, except in the ancient rites of the temples. Thanks to her studies, she knew it as well as the common tongue. “The ancient temple tongue,” she answered.

She met Phaedra’s eyes as the realisation sank in. There was no escaping it now, this dreadful certainty. Aurora was lashed to the cycle of calamity, her fate tangled and twisted with that of an ancient monstrosity. The beast had risen because of her, because of some magic she had yet to awaken or master, and it wanted blood.

Her blood.

“Run all you like. I willalwaysfind you.”

Chapter 3

Phaedrawasabsolutelycertainthat both the high priestess and the avatar were full of shit.

The princess’ blood boiled as she watched that boot-licking temple rat play the hero for Aurora, putting his hands all over her with unearned familiarity, whispering in her ear. He’d come riding up on a white steed, its curling horns glowing like mother-of-pearl, as he gifted them all with a smile on his pretty face. Lies, all of it. He had no right to hold Aurora as closely as he did, no matter that they were sharing a saddle. A good friend would have his hands cut off for the offence. It would be but a trifling matter. She’d ordered worse punishments for lesser crimes, after all.

Did they think Phaedra would just allow the temples to use Aurora in this way? Every last word that came from Orithyia’s mouth was to be viewed with suspicion. The old hag was a leech plaguing the imperial family, whispering in the empress’ ear since she was a girl, directing matters of state through her bloody signs and omens. She had her fingers in every pot.

Aurora was too indebted to the old hag to see that she placed people like pawns, as deliberately and cannily as an empress might. Now that the cycle of calamity was upon them, Orithyia was placing Aurora on the front lines, along with the supposed hero, no doubt three steps ahead of them all.

Phaedra eyed him, taking his measure. He was Aurora’s type, and, if she were being honest, hers as well—at least when it came to men. Neither short nor hulking, striking features, an excellent smile and an air of confidence typical of those who had trained their whole lives in some martial skill.

Was it any wonder she suspected him? What better way to entice a woman to her death than to place a pretty face in her way to lure her? Because there was something Phaedra was absolutely certain of: Aurora was no warrior. Anyone who expected her to fight as one had only one true aim—to use her without a care for her wellbeing, or to kill her.

So was Aurora truly meant to save Trisia, or was she supposed to bait Drakon out of hiding so that someone else could? Had she been told of her vital importance, and then given the cruellest of false hopes, in order to keep her compliant until the moment of betrayal? Phaedra would be thrice-damned before she allowed anyone to harm her dearest friend, no matter if the whole of Trisia was at stake. What good was being a princess if she could not protect who was most important?

But perhaps she could help Aurora see this ruse for what it was. If she helped her friend truly question this madness, perhaps she would be less willing to do as she’d been told. Phaedra knew nothing of Aurora’s supposed role in the cycle, but the boot-licker probably did. If she poked holes in his stories, would Aurora be convinced to let this hero do his job without sacrificing herself?

There was only one way to find out.

Phaedra urged her loper to meet their pace, digging her heels into its sides and slapping the reins attached to its horns. It raced across the hard-packed sand of the Aurean desert as the night stole the last rays of deepest dusk. Luckily, both beast and rider had excellent night vision, the full moon throwing pale blue light across the rocks and cacti. Her sturdy walnut met the frantic pace of the graceful white.

“What exactly is your battle plan?”

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