Page 130 of The Shadowed Oracle
Ingrid knew instantly what he was referring to. She’d thought about it almost every night since. He’d asked if she’d doubted her friends yet. It hadn’t made sense beyond Dean’s delay in telling her what she was, and as her journey progressed with the three of them, it became even more outlandish.
“Yes,” Ingrid replied stiffly. “I remember. You asked if I doubted my friends.”
“And have you?”
“No. Not for a moment. Have you doubted yours?”
For the first time, Sylan reacted visibly. The smallest of movements, just his bottom lip twitching ever so slightly. “I doubt everyone,” he said finally. “And everything. At all times.” He didn’t blink. “It’s one of the reasons I’m alive today. That, and Makkar’s generosity.”
“So that’s who you learned it from?”
“Yes. You’ll get to see it firsthand. He isn’t what your friends have told you. He isn’t what Karis Endolinn believed him to be.”
“How?”
“You will see. I promise.”
Ingrid lowered her eyes. She knew Sylan had all kinds of reasons to lie, and considering what Makkar had done to Earth in the last few days alone, itwasa lie. Makkar was a tyrant. A murderer. But, somehow, Ingrid believed him. Or rather, she believed Sylan thought he was doing what was right. To save his home. To stop the scourge and the Ungii from wreaking havoc on Viator lands.
Her gaze fixed to the floor, Ingrid said, “I’d like to go inside now.”
“Of course.” Sylan bowed slightly and reached for the door handle. He opened it for her, then, peering down the hall, added, “It would be better to talk in private.”
Ingrid stalled, unsure of his meaning. “You’re staying?”
“I’ll have to be close,” Sylan said coolly. “Can’t have you running away again.” He strolled through the threshold of the door, examining the room. His steps were still so measured, almost in slow motion. His black hair jostled with each step, checking each crevice of the room before sitting at the small table near the window.
“So, you’ll stay all night?” Ingrid choked on the words. There had been no change in the Prince’s demeanor, nothing to indicate something more sinister in his intentions, but he’d been so unreadable from the start. It could’ve meant anything.
“You said you didn’t want a cell,” Sylan said finally. “So I’m giving you the alternative.”
A rancid taste filled Ingrid’s mouth. Given the choice between a cold prison and this arrogant display, she’d choose prison. “So you are. You’re going to watch me all night? In here?” she asked.
“In a way,” Sylan said.
“Stop doing that!” Ingrid felt herself getting angry again, the heat in her body spreading. “Enough. How many times do I have to swear to it? I only care about my friends. There isn’t anywhere else I want to be. Please, leave.”
“I will.” Sylan rested his hands on his head, then leaned backward, balancing the chair on its back legs and throwing his feet onto the wooden tabletop. “Eventually.”
She felt a dire need to avert her eyes from him again, looking instead at her feet and then at her elaborate gown. She’d almost forgotten she was wearing it. It felt like days ago that she’d been dressed and washed and made up for the party. Back when she still thought she had a prayer of leaving the Isles with her friends unharmed.
Nervously, she reached inside her dress and clutched at her father’s viseer stone necklace. She twirled it between her fingers, trying to level her breath.
“Interesting piece of jewelry,” Sylan said.
“It was my father’s.”
“Was it?”
Ingrid held in a scream. It was like the prince was purposely throwing her words back at her, tempting her to react poorly.
But just as she was about to subtly mock him for it, he showed a rare moment of vulnerability.
“I meant…” His voice still rumbled in that low, gravelly growl, but his eyes had changed, gone softer. “Well, I don’t know what I meant, exactly. I struggle with what to say in these situations. Most Viator I meet, they aren’t very talkative.”
“That’s telling,” Ingrid said under her breath.
“Suppose it is. Pity, too. I miss conversation. Even the mundane ones.”
