Page 166 of The Shadowed Oracle
Mindlessly, Monia followed. The effect the general had on her was somewhat embarrassing. She moved in a half-awake stroll, climbing the rest of the stairs and reaching the desired floor of the castle in what felt like seconds. In the hall of the castle, she passed exquisite vistas of the city and extravagant decoration, but she kept her eyes fixed on the male ahead of her.
It was as if he’d cast a spell on her.
She was aware of herself, conscious, but more so, she was aware of how drastically she’d changed. In a matter of seconds, she’d been cured of her nervousness, her concern. All of her panic-induced ticks, her fear, and that dangerous habit of speaking out of turn—gone.
She was in a dream. So content that she hardly blinked when those daunting black doors opened, and she found herself face to face with not only Makkar, but Queen Enitha by his side, standing like divine judges atop the throne room’s dais.
In her stupor, Monia could only gape at the two monarchs. For entirely different reasons, they both seemed to vibrate with predatory energy, as if some beast was thrashing just under their skin, begging to be let out.
On her left, Enitha boiled with fiery, psychotic rage. And to her right, Makkar exuded icy, calculated ferocity. The High King had nearly black eyes, white shoulder-length hair, and a scarred, bearded face that resembled a forest feline more than a Viator. His clothing was the only thing dull about him. A black doublet with silver and purple trim, Hydor’s colors, with a matching black cape, faded and almost baggy on his tall, slim frame.
He stared at Monia a moment, sizing her up, then he turned to sit on the fabled throne of the capital kingdom. It was all near-black stone, taken from the mountain the castle sat atop. Chipped and tarnished from thousands of years of use, but no less impressive than it had been when first molded. It stood twelve feet high, carved in deadly spikes at the top and encrusted with purple gems.
“As you requested,” Sylan spoke first, slightly bowing his head. “Monia of the Isles.”
The room had been so quiet, Monia was surprised she hadn’t flinched at the sound of the echo bouncing off the cavernous walls.
“Monia, thetraitorof the Isles,” Enitha corrected with a hiss.
Sylan made no attempt to apologize.
“Tell me,” Enitha went on, locked onto Monia contemptuously. The bright green of her irises seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the throne room. “How long were you inmy court before you decided to betray me? To betray your High King?”
Monia glanced at Makkar before answering, and was surprised to find him uninterested. The coldness she’d seen in him at first now appeared like nothing more than indifference. She began to wonder if Enitha was the one who’d summoned her here. And if so, what might that mean in regard to her fate? She made a cursory guess, but curiously, lazily, her mind grew bored and left it.
That cloudy feeling overcame her again, and she felt guided by something outside herself.
“Only a little while,” she responded to her queen simply.
The answer seemed to startle Enitha. She’d been expecting fear, begging, utter obedience. Instead, she got defiance. “A little while?” the Queen of Isles repeated, taking a step forward.
Monia curtsied. “Yes.”
“And in thatlittle while, with whom did you meet? I want the names of every traitor you came in contact with.”
Monia opened her lips. Her tongue felt loose, ready to give another terse answer, something purposely obtuse along the lines ofI don’t know. But the haze thickened so rapidly she could hardly move her mouth. Jaw slack, she stood there in silence.
“Answer me, servant!”
“I—I, umm…” Her mind went blank.
She could feel the words buried in there somewhere, could sense them trying to get out. They wrestled with her throat, her tongue. Like a bird on a string, flying a few inches off the ground before being tugged back down to the soil.
“Hate to keep broaching this.” Sylan aimed a loaded glance at Enitha. “But are you sure? Absolutely certain that she’s one of Callinora’s spies?”
The question eased Monia’s mind instantly.
They thought she was a spy?Callinora’sspy?It was comical. She’d never even been to Maradenn, let alone spoken to the princess. She’d only ever discussed plans with Lucilla, who, vague as she might’ve been, told her they were being paid by a wealthy male from the Isles. An old friend of King Horace who was fed up with Enitha’s use of the games.
But a spy for Maradenn?
Fraternizing with a princess?
It was ridiculous.
“Your soldiers found her outside the arena, yes?” Sylan asked, still giving Enitha a challenging glare. “Fleeing with the crowd?”
“No!” Enitha’s answer leapt from her throat, the force of it sending her lurching forward, one foot dangling over the top marble step. “She was seen with the other traitorous maid! My guards saw the two of them walking to the Oracle’s chambers the night before the games!”
