Page 124 of The Shadowed Oracle
The torches danced on the stone walls, just like they had when the two of them had passed. A figure turned the corner, large and shadowed. Ingrid stood, preparing, but Tyla pulled her out of it once again. The approaching stranger was no stranger at all.
Tyla’s eyes glistened gold with the firelight as General Veston removed his hood, and gave them a conqueror’s nod.
It felt like a vision, surreal and impossible. Veston and the other two Maradenn soldiers were supposed to be just outside the castle walls, staying in the village by the docks. If anything were to go wrong, one of the four of them was to use a beacon stone Callinora provided to send up a bright red signal to the skies.
When Veston or his ranks saw it, they’d sneak through a secret servant’s entrance the planted informers had told them of, and pray they got there in time to extract them. Unless Dean or Radinn had flashed the beacon, there was no reason he would be there, alone, at the very spot they were hiding.
Veston approached briskly, pulling out a piece of parchment from his coat. The handwriting was concise and artful, feminine in the practiced strokes. It spoke in great detail about where to find a different hidden entrance, then concluded:Meet me at sundown. I have a room in the center of the castle for you, in case anything should go awry.
Monia, Veston mouthed.
Monia? One of Callinora’s spies? As difficult as it was to picture, it would track, considering all that had been omitted from the reports. Monia didn’t seem like the type to stay persistent, sending treasonous updates in such a dangerous place.
Both Tyla and Ingrid bit back their surprise while Veston continued to mutely communicate.
We… must… attack. Now,the general mouthed slowly.
The pair nodded back at him. There was no expansion needed. If Veston had reason to believe Dean and Raidinn were in danger, then they had to move. Tyla and Ingrid fell into formation at the general’s side. Veston drew his sword and two large daggers from his belt for the world-walkers to wield. Then he held up three fingers, waited for acknowledgment, and counted down with a small pump of his sword hand.
One.
Two.
Three.
The door came unhinged with Veston’s thrust. His body blocked the view, but Ingrid trusted his considerable size and armor to shield any attack Enitha or her soldiers would throw at them. She filed in after him, crouched and holding the dagger blade down, while Tyla tailed from the rear.
The room was deceptively large, stretching out in a perfect half-circle. Tyla had curved right after Veston charged deadahead, and Ingrid took the left flank in a frenzy so mindless she hardly noticed the glaring emptiness.
The notable absence of not only her friends, but the queen herself.
Not a single Viator was in sight. Only a lit fireplace and four semi-full wine glasses gave any indication that someone had inhabited the space.
Tyla still held her dagger like she was being actively attacked, her eyes wide and searching. Ingrid would’ve taken the ill-fitting, flirty side of her any day. Anything but that look she had on her face. So filled with rage, so ready to lash out.
None of the three broke from their battle-ready mentalities. Stalking in formation again, they moved to the back of the gigantic room. Mirrors lined half of the wall, giving it an even larger feel, and a disorienting illusion of more movement. Every shelf and table was filled with all manner of gold and jewels and old paintings, some spilling onto the white marble tiling.
When they finally made their way through the mess, they halted at the open veranda leading to the private dock Monia had mentioned. Right at the threshold, separating it from the queen’s room, sat an enormously long dining table with only one tall golden chair propped at the head.
The other three chairs had been knocked over, strewn across the patio.
It was the first sign of any struggle.
And the second indicator came soon after.
Ingrid felt her breath catch as she tracked a trail of blood droplets leading further toward the wooden planks of the dock. The small sample kept her from picturing the worst. Just a scratch, she thought. A small flesh wound. But her heart, her power, her feelings told her otherwise.
“Ahead,” Veston said. It was not a command. His voice had lost all authority, coming out as a breathless, constricted whisper.
It took every ounce of courage in Ingrid to continue lifting her head, to keep moving her feet, allowing her eyes to follow that chain of sickly dark red, leading them face-to-face with their worst fear.
“Delighted you could make it!” Enitha called out to them. “Oh, how amusing you’ve all been!”
Dressed in a more revealing white slip and fur coat draped over her shoulders, she stood at the end of the wide dock. Just to her left, a small ship was anchored with six Occian soldiers lining the edge of the starboard side. All of them had their bows drawn, ready to fire at the command.
And to Enitha’s right, with his imposing frame, snakish golden eyes and black armor like a stain on the scene, was Sylan. That wrathful, violent stance of his demanded attention, but so did the rest of the present company.
“No. No…no.” It was like the air had been beaten from Tyla’s chest.
