Page 167 of The Shadowed Oracle
Sylan poised himself, clasping his hands behind his back, “A lady’s maid heading to a guest’s bedroom? Yes, very suspicious.”
The sarcasm pulled Enitha further down the staircase. “I won’t argue with you, Prince. Nor will I be undermined. This ismyprisoner. I shall question her as I like.” Entiha halted, pulled away by the searching look her High King was now giving her. “Your input is appreciated,” she added. “But not needed.”
Sylan didn’t speak. He only retraced the step he’d taken, falling back behind Monia.
“Names,” Enitha repeated. She’d gripped her right hand with her left, wringing it anxiously. “Give me names. Cooperate, and I will have mercy on you when the time comes for punishment.” Her blonde, complexly braided hair swung over her shoulder as she lifted her chin.
Seeing the intricate styling, Monia was reminded of the many nights she and Lucilla had braided the hair of Enitha’s guestsin such a manner. A boring, tedious job, she’d always thought. The kind of jobs her mother had worked before the illness took her. The kind of job she’d always sworn she wouldn’t waste a moment of her life working. And alas, the only job that she could keep for longer than a fortnight.
She was unmotivated by coin and despised taking orders, possibly the two least attractive attributes for any prospective business owner. Only Lucilla had ever been able to keep her in line, keep her employed. And before all this mess, Monia had a creeping suspicion Lucilla would let her go from her position, too.
It would’ve hurt to be separated from her, one of the few she could call a friend, but it didn’t bother her enough to change the way she viewed work. She liked her solitude. Delighted in days when there were no responsibilities, no obligations holding her down. She was a simple Viator. She only wanted to live, and live the way she liked.
So when Queen Enitha offered her a way out, she considered it. Thought, maybe, just maybe, if she recounted the exact story of how she wound up there, Enitha and the High King would believe the story. That they would be merciful. Would let her live.
But again, words failed her.
She couldn’t speak. Could barely move.
Had she been drugged? Or was it more magic? A hex? Some kind of spell ensnaring her? She could only stand, and even that felt like it was being aided. Her muscles were numb, all sensation in her toes and fingers had gone, and her tongue turned to heavy lead.
Silence again mantled the room.
“I was afraid,” a shy, nearby voice said finally.
Monia’s neck tingled at the sound of it. She tried to turn, to see where the voice came from. But again, her body failed her.
“I ran,” the voice went on. “When I saw what you were doing, I ran.”
The tingle spread, working its way up, then branching off over the top of Monia’s head.
“And what exactly was I doing?” Enitha hissed. The cruel queen was looking directly at Monia. Those lime green eyes firing bolts of disdain at her, as if Monia was the one speaking.
“You were changing them,” the voice said. “Changing them!”
Now Monia felt a hum in her throat, and that tingle was now covering her entire face, her neck, her head, fluctuating from hot to cold, cold to hot. She felt sick. Thought she’d surely faint, crumbling to the black marble floor any second now.
But she remained upright.
Held in place by something.
And then thesmellseeped into her nose. An unplaceable, somewhat sweet, woody fragrance. So strong. So complex, so distracting. Her insides shuddered at it.
At that moment, all of her guessing ceased.
She knew the smell. Hadn’t smelled it herself, but she’d heard it recounted. In her first week in the Occi Isles, washing laundry in the basin outside the servant’s entrance to the kitchen, she overheard one of Enitha’s male attendants describing it. Out of boredom or mild interest or maybe just plain lust, the queen summoned this male servant to her side during one of her parties. He remembered taking a drink of something Enitha offered him, smelling something like honey mixed with freshly chopped firewood. Then the next thing he knew, he was buried within himself. Like a permanent breeze inside his mind, and his body was only moved when driven by the magic Enitha had slipped into his cup.
He’d been bewitched.
Mother help me.
“Changing them?” Sylan asked, “What do you mean?”
“Using her magic,” Monia’s voice answered. She could only listen, watching and praying that what was said—whatshesaid—wouldn’t get her killed. “She changed them.”
“Them?” Enitha asked. “Who do you mean, child? The traitorous princess? On the docks?”
“No,” Monia’s voice said, a surge of confidence now evident. “You were using your magic onall of them. The princess. Lady Ingrid.” Monia’s body creaked as she tried to stop herself, the joints in her jaw pushing back painfully. “Even General Sylan,” the voice continued.
