Page 151 of The Shadowed Oracle
Arryn, on the other hand, had come to in a painful, sobering burst.
His pupils had returned to a natural size, revealing wide, beautiful blue eyes. Callinora had spoken of those eyes, how her greatest fear was not remembering what they looked like. Whathelooked like. And now, after going to such lengths to see him again, it would be difficult to recognize her husband at all.
He’d aged ten years, it seemed, just in the last ten minutes. Lines creased at the sides of his mouth. Wrinkles formed above his forehead. And his hair—it had turned completely white. Somewhere in the process of breaking his curse, the stress of it bleached his brown hair a pale ivory.
“What is this!? Who… who are you?” he asked hurriedly.
Raidinn cleared a sight path to his wife, gesturing to her. “She sent us to save you. So we did.”
Arryn blinked rapidly. “Is she… is she—Callinora!” He lurched forward, but didn’t have the strength to get to his feet. Raidinn helped him up, walking him to the princess’s side. “What happened to her?”
“We’re not sure,” Dean said sympathetically. “But I imagine it was something similar to what happened to you.” He stalled a moment. “Do you, umm, happen to remember what that was? What Enitha did to you?”
Arryn didn’t even flinch at the name. He only shook his head, trying to grasp onto something. “I remember saying goodbye to my wife. In Maradenn. Our home.” He looked out to sea.“Enitha, though, I can’t be sure. The name is familiar. As if I’d just dreamed it.”
“Keep searching,” Dean was gentle, but didn’t hide the insistence in his voice.
“I—I don’t know.” Arryn looked to his wife, anguish burning inside his wild eyes. For the first time in a half-year, he was conscious, wholly himself.
Bending down to place his forehead to his wife’s, he stroked her cheek and removed a strand of hair that had strayed over her eyes. He stilled, seeming to finally calm himself, then suddenly sat upright. “Wait, there is something—wassomething.”
“What?” Dean asked excitedly. “What do you remember?”
Arryn looked about the ship. “Here, on this ship. There was a male. He was here. Right here with me. Though, he was unclear. Hard to see. I don’t know. All I know is that he helped me.”
“When you say he was unclear, what do you mean?” Dean asked. “Was he a Shade? A spirit?”
Arryn nodded deliberately, looking off into the distance. “Here. But… not here. I thought I saw him once, just as he was leaving. But then again, I couldn’t tell you the first thing about him. Only that he helped me. Somehow, he helped me find my way back.”
“He helped lift the curse?” Dean was now relentless in his inquisitions. “Is that what you mean? He was?—"
“Not now,” Tyla interjected. “Let’s worry about all of this tomorrow.” She looked to Arryn. “I think we should get you two below deck. I imagine you could use some rest.”
It was an ironic suggestion considering the look of her. Out of all of them, she had put down the most soldiers with her sword and bow. The evidence was all over her. Her tattered rags were covered in blood and her eyes drooped in exhaustion, holding something like regret.
With the help of her equally ichor-covered brother, she helped the dozy couple to their feet. The twins carried the two royals down below to the cabins with easy steps, while the rest of the tortured crew began emerging from their hiding places and getting back to work. With the wind still blowing against them, they didn’t have the luxury of honoring the men they’d lost.
Ingrid felt for them. They’d been even less prepared for this than she was. After all this, it wouldn’t surprise her if they never wanted to see her or her team again.
She watched them a moment, then Dean appeared at her side.
“Don’t ask,” she said with a smirk. Now that they were alone, she didn’t need her foresight powers to know he was going to ask if she was alright. “I’m fine.”
He threw his hands up innocently. “I wasn’t going to ask.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I mean of course I was,” Dean laughed. “But I hesitated. Which I think shows progress.”
“Eh…” Ingrid looked away from him.
“Can I ask something else, then?” Dean pushed. He wiped at his face, at whatever carnage and filth still lingered. “Can I ask what it felt like? Wielding all that power?”
Ingrid shrugged. “I’m not sure. I…” She considered it. “No, I don’t want to ruin it.”
It was beyond description. Beyond feeling. So Ingrid wouldn’t try to capture it with words. She could still feel it like a seedling in the deepest part of her, waiting to grow and to be nurtured, sculpted, and until she could figure out how to do that, she would let it alone.
Ingrid paced to the edge of the ship, peering over the wooden railing and into the deep darkness of the sea. She knew Enitha was gone from that place, but she wasn’t sure if her limited power had destroyed her permanently. That unmistakableenergy of Ealis, of her magic, it had bombarded her with feelings and auras and threads of possibilities too jumbled to make sense of.
