Page 126 of The Shadowed Oracle
They didn’t answer.
Veston began to count down again.
Three. Two…
“I said speak up!” Enitha’s taunting plea transformed into a demonic screech. Before Veston could make his first move toward the archers, she snapped her fingers and called for her soldiers to shift, aiming their arrows at the bound males and the imprisoned princess. At Callinora. At Raidinn. At Dean. At her friends.
Ingrid froze. “Don’t fire!” she begged. “Stop!” Her anger instantly turned inward, forcing her to see everything with absolute clarity. “It’s me you want.” She looked to Sylan, flashing back to the moment in that portal room. “You once offered a deal,” Ingrid said sharply. “If I came with you willingly, you offered to let my friends go free. Will you make that same agreement now?”
“She’s playing you,” Enitha said. “She means to buy time. We aren’t certain that she?—”
Sylan raised his fist.
And the Queen of the Occi Isles, in her own court, silenced herself so quickly it looked like she’d bitten off her tongue.
“I would take your offer, Oracle,” the prince said. “I would. But law permits Enitha to choose the punishment for your friends. For their trespassing. The queen will hand you over to me, but I can’t help them.”
Enitha smiled at this, her shiny complexion regaining some of its color. “Do not fret,” she said. “I’ll allow them good deaths. They will be offerings. In the games. A grand way to go. Don’t you think?” The question wasn’t rhetorical. “Don’t you?”
Ingrid’s mouth went dry. With every second, the hypothetical openings for an escape closed so abruptly it felt like a punch to her gut. She called out to the Mother again, to Ealis, still searching for something within her. Whether it was a new plan, or her untapped power, she clawed at any bit of information she’d read, any scrap, passage or sentence to come to her. Anything.
Please, she thought.Please.
It did not answer.
“I said…” Enitha moved forward, approaching Dean from behind and gripping the back of his neck. “Don’t you think it’s a grand way to die? Answer me, Oracle!” She wanted to see Ingridlose her composure. Give her an excuse to harm her, to take her now instead of passing her on to Sylan.
It was just more games. Since this all began, she’d been subject to the whims of beings far more powerful than she was. Gifted with long life, access to a world full of magic, ancient spellbooks, nature-defying beauty, and yet these immortals chose to make a mockery of it. To seek hollow thrills above lasting happiness. To feed their pride rather than live in peace.
It was offensive. Vulgar. Disgusting.
And so, with lethal calm, Ingrid made her next move. “I guess it is a good way to die, now that I think about it. Thank you, Enitha.” She grinned sinisterly. “Watching your deformed ex-lover get cut down by my friends will be fun.”
Without missing a beat, Tyla added, “I’m sure I speak for my brother when I say, I think he’d prefer it. Fighting for his life against the true King of the Isles? He’d take that over enduring your dirty little paws any longer.”
Enitha’s face flushed. “Insolent Earth-scum! I will ruin you!”
“You will try,” Ingrid snarled.
The electric green of the queen’s irises became so bright her pupils weren’t visible. Her golden hair, usually flowing well down her back, now lifted unnaturally from her shoulders.
“But first,” Enitha said, moving closer to the three prisoners. “I will ruin your friends.” She held her hands out to her sides, conjuring a black, smoky substance from her palms. Like a thick, poisonous fog, roiling and bubbling within inches of her friends.
Ingrid flinched at the sight. “Don’t fucking touch them!”
But Enitha wasn’t satisfied.
“Go on.” Her voice was so deep it hardly sounded like her anymore. “One more insult! Go on! Just one more comment and I’ll send your friends to the deepest depths of nothingness. Go on.” Her teeth gnashed, snarling. “You understand my words, Earth-born? Do you know of what I can do? I’ll tether them, keepthem ensnared, trapped between worlds. One more word from you and I’ll subject your friends to a fate far worse than death.”
Still covered in that black smoke, Enitha turned her nose up, smiling. “You must’ve seen the crypt when you made your way here. Yes, of course you did. How could you miss it? I made sure no one would miss it. My subjects need a reminder. When they come to collect my dirty clothing, to dress me, brush my hair, rub my feet or clean up my filthy tableware—I want them to be reminded. I want them to remember what happens when someone wrongs me. You’ll not only be torn to pieces, slowly. You’ll be cursed to roam between worlds without a body or soul. Never to ascend to the beyond. Never to find peace. Only endure more servitude.”
Ingrid slumped where she stood.
When she’d passed the crypt, lingering on the symbols, she had been right. They were identical to ones she’d seen on Earth, on the bodies of the victims.
It was a curse. A curse within the symbols that chained the dead. Damning them to become Shade-slaves. Undead servants. That was why some of the murdered world-walkers on Earth had been marked. Makkar was creating another army. An army of Shades, bound to him by dark magic. He wasn’t just sacrificing them to cure the scourge. He was doing it for himself. For his armies.
“Your friends,” Enitha said. “They will suffer the same fate as that spoiled whore who tried to steal away my Horace. And then they will suffer again. And again. And again. Until all they can remember is suffering. They will come to rely on it. Need it. Because that’s all they’ll know. They won’t know you. They won’t know your love. Or your friendship. They will only know suff?—”
