Page 11 of Oracle of Ruin

The cold nearly took me then, too, but that was nothing compared to now. Then, I at least was dry and wearing a thick nightgown. Here, my hair has frozen to my scalp and no scrap of cloth protects any part of me from the unforgiving freeze of the night.

“Y-you would’ve liked… my mother.” I spit the word at Argon’s feet with a painful grin. “You’re both sadistic bitches.”

“Shut your mouth before I show you how sadistic I can be.”

Dawn etches the sky a rusty auburn color, mostly muddied by a thick layer of dark clouds. Fat raindrops plop against my face, streaming down my bare body in rivulets. Some of the men grumble something about rust, chafing, and chills. I don’t care that the extra water freezes to my already frozen skin. I don’t care that I probably already have hypothermia and frostbite. I grin into the cool precipitation. Serves them right.

My smile soon fades as I notice a hulking form before me, carefully hidden within the high arches of the mountains. I recognize where I am as a map flashes across my mind, marks surrounding this area, but never here exactly.

Argon notices the blood draining from my face and his lips curve upwards wickedly. “Boss has been waiting a long time to meet you, pureblood. Best not to disappoint her.”

Her.

The last I checked, both the rebellion leader and my father are male. That leaves only one adversary willing to go to such lengths to kidnap me. But why? If she already has Rowan and…

The thought hits me harder than it should. Theydon’thave Rowan and the Nightwalkers. They didn’t bother to look. They only took me, and I haven’t seen any sign of a second party joining us as we enter through the large gates.

Mavis’s compound is larger than I imagined it to be. Carved into the side of the mountain, the safehold boasts tall, cavernous rooms, well-lit with thousands of oil lamps. Mostly women are seen wearing anything from a soldier’s uniform to a fine gown. The few men either wear uniforms matching those of my kidnappers, or servants’ clothes. I nearly sag further with relief when the heat of the space warms my bones.

The shattering of glass echoes through the entry room as a woman in a deep blue dress drops her drink. Her face is a mask of pure disgust and horror as her gaze falls to me. However, her disdain is not aimed in my direction, but rather at the man holding me up.

His face immediately pales, but he keeps his mouth set in a firm line.

Now that I notice it, everyone in the room has stopped to glare at him.

One woman in a highly decorated soldier’s uniform steps forward. Her footsteps shake the cavern walls, her fury palpable, even from my spot on the floor. She brings her face close to Argon’s, who, much to his credit, doesn’t flinch.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” the woman seethes, her slicked-back ponytail pinching her already intense features as she glares. Her eyes are narrowed to slits, her features that of a serpent ready to strike.

Argon says nothing but forces me to try and stand. The broken skin on my feet screams when it comes in contact with the pristine floors, and I cry out, falling to my knees. The woman is there in an instant, kneeling and shielding me with her cloak.

“It’s notthatbad. Stand.” Argon hauls me to my feet again.

This time, I spit in his face.

Despite the situation, someone in the crowd laughs and his face reddens. Before he can lift his hand against me, a stern voice booms through the cavernous room.

“What is the meaning of this?”

I don’t need to look to know who is speaking.

The female soldier smirks at Argon, who is growing ever paler, then bows deeply at the waist with dramatic flair. “Mavis,” she croons, still in her bow. “We seem to have a problem.”

Chapter6

Rowan

If Blaine breathes down my neck one more time, I might just reach back and flip the man over my shoulder and onto the table before us. We’ve been crowded around this round table in the inn’s main room for just long enough that tempers have begun to rise.

“Dammit.” Amír finally slams her palms on the table, pushing the map away from her. Whatever answer she thought was there originally has clearly evaded her.

Kya holds a candle closer to the map to light her view and swears as the paper begins to singe and the cheap ink bubbles. She pulls the open flame back and Amír carefully takes it from her hands while Derrín attempts to heat a piece of scrap metal over its burning heat. The map hisses as it cools.

I narrow my focus on a blur of red that streaks across the map. Amír has tracked each Kijova sighting for the past five months. Most of their patterns are predictable. Anywhere we are or have been prominently in the past is denoted with red, but the marked locations have begun trailing north recently—further north than we have ever been. They flock to a place under constant fog cover and ice, somewhere very few men have ever trekked.

“Anyone know what’s there?” Blaine asks irritably.

I bite my tongue before I can offer a sharp reply that as former captain of the guard, he should know what is out there. He hasn’t had a drink since we last ran, and we tossed all alcohol from the inn as soon as we arrived. His forced sobriety finally lights his face with rash irritation and pain. He runs his scarred hand down his face, pulling at his chin and jaw where faint stubble has begun to form. Vera has tried begging him to shave it, but he only fixes her with a look and raises his shaking hands as evidence of his plight. Her offer to shave it for him was also ignored.

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