Page 142 of The Shadowed Oracle
None did.
For a long moment, silence swept over the city. Ingrid gripped her blade, knowing she couldn’t coast on the strengths of her friends much longer.
“Sheath swords. Make way!”
The command came from somewhere in the back. In unison, the rows and rows of soldiers behind them parted. The only Viator for miles were those that were chasing or being chased, and the chase had ended. The city of the Isles was a ghost of a city, making the approaching click-clacking of footsteps on the cobblestone seem like a thunderstorm.
“Move! Move now!”
Hair disheveled, the hem of her dress caked with mud and scratch marks on her palms where she’d clawed at them—demanding her power to awaken—was Enitha. As always, her king was right beside her. They appeared from the mess ofsoldiers like they’d fought their way from the bottom of the crowd.
“What… did you… do to me!?” The queen’s voice held no pretense, no softness, only burning hatred as she vomited a barrage of insults, commands and interrogations. “You heathens! How?! How did you do it!? Tell me! Who was it!?”
It was clear that the only reason they were still alive, was because Enitha needed answers first. She had to know what took her magic.
“How!?” she squawked. “How did you do it!?” She peered down at her hands every few seconds, as if the magic was only hiding. “Was it you!?” Enitha pointed at Ingrid. “You lying bitch! You criminal!” She straightened, stopping to catch her breath. “Thief! Youstoleit! Didn’t you!?”
Madness danced in the queen’s neon green eyes. She was stripped of her grace, her pomp, and now all she had was the ugliness inside. This wasn’t just about magic. It ran deeper than her abilities. Ingrid could see that now. It was as if Enitha was talking about her very soul. Some final and crucial piece of who she was. What made her whole.
“Who… TOOK IT!” The echo of her screech bounced off the city walls, hung there pointedly before evaporating into the air, creating a silence so full of violent possibilities it caused a sharp pain to pulse in the very center of Ingrid’s mind.
“Give it back!” Enitha screeched. “I know you took it! Give it to me! Give it back! Now! Right NOW!”
Ingrid winced, clutching at her head.
“Give… it… back!”
“Now!”
“This instant!”
Enitha’s shouts slowly faded, replaced by a much harsher sensation in Ingrid’s ears. That wave of memory and sight and smell and sound overwhelmed the Oracle. Only Dean’s hand onher shoulder kept her from collapsing. It was as if he knew what was happening. He’d seen it before. Missed it once. But here, in the thick of their impending doom, he recognized what ailed her.
The visions. Persistent and agonizing, they sliced through her mind like a hot blade through a frozen lake. She could see what Enitha wanted to do to them. Feel the exact nature of the torture she’d carry out on them.
And then she knew, without any doubt, what Enithahad done to claim the throne.
First, she saw Horace. Young and handsome and ambitious, waiting anxiously on his throne. Then she saw the ships of the opportunistic males and females arriving in hordes, saw them demonstrating their power for the court, for Horace to marvel at. She saw their happy faces as they were hired to work for the wealthy king.
Enitha was among them, even younger then, just a girl, unkempt and thin, but enormous in feeling. Even in the vision, the jealousy almost steamed off of her like a fever. It was a girlish envy that grew more sinister as so many other wielders outshone her, gaining favor with the king she loved so dearly.
She became jaded, poisoned with greed, ridden with resentment and desire. Ingrid could see it so clearly now. What Enitha had resorted to, what she’d sacrificed for power. She may have had some ability when first coming to Occi, yes—something Ingrid couldn’t quite make out yet—but the usurper queen hadn’t always possessed that roiling black magic she so easily conjured with just a wave of her hands.
No, that magic wasn’t hers. She’d been the real thief. She’d stolen it from Horace’s studies. Somewhere in that extensive research for gaining power of his own, she’d found a way to permanently siphon powers from other Viator. To steal their gifts and make them her own. Dozens of unsuspecting wielders had been reduced to test dummies and crash course casualties,over and over and over again. All so Enitha could have the adequate power it would take to single-handedly take over a kingdom.
It was her true and only love—this power. The magic that she held dearer than anything. The glue holding together her broken heart.
Ingrid’s mind came back to the present, left with only the residue.
“Who!?” Enitha was still shouting, repeating herself. She sucked in one long breath, puffing her chest out and digging her nails into her thighs. “Who… Took… My…MAGIC!”
“I did.”
This new voice was so contrasting to the dry rasp of Enitha’s that everyone turned in shock toward it. And the shock only grew once they tracked where it had come from.
“I slipped something in your drink, your majesty. Something that would drain that awful mess pumping in your veins.”
Enitha couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as she beheld Lucilla, sweet and diminutive Lucilla, almost child-sized in comparison to all those iron-clad soldiers behind her.
