Page 12 of Oracle of Ruin

“No, but we know what these are.” Derrín taps a bandaged finger against the page.

We trace his gaze and Kya swears softly.

“Mages.”

“Or at least where theyusedto live before the royals wiped them all out,” I correct my assassin. “They’re avoiding Ialenia.”

Beneath Derrín’s finger is a ridge of mountains at the northernmost portion of the Hills of Siva. The base of the ridge nearly crosses into Tesslari territory, but more importantly, a few days ride away from us. The Kijova have only been tracking me and my mother so far, so to see them head in a separate direction proves something: there’s something else out there that Ophelus wants.

“How do you know what that is?” Blaine asks. He poorly masks his emotions these days, and his irritation at Derrín knowing something he doesn’t is clearly written across his face.

Kya answers for him, her eyes narrowing to match Blaine’s glare. “When you’re fleeing a place that hunts people like you, one tends to look for places they might be more accepted. For example, chasing a legend of mages whose blood runs the same color. People who can protect you.”

My second clears her throat at the frigid atmosphere and traces a finger down her lover’s forearm. The assassin visibly relaxes under her touch, and something like guilt flashes across Blaine’s features.

“So we have two ideas now,” Amír declares. “One: they’re drawn to dark magic in the same way they are repelled by light magic. Two: Ophelus is sending them to search for something.”

Amír’s reasoning seems plausible, but I am drawn to another smudge of red on the weathered map. There’s another portion of the mountains they’ve been avoiding—the only mark of red on this map that was placed there originally, before it was at Amír’s mercy.

I nudge my second with my elbow and she inhales sharply when she sees where I’m looking.

“Do you think…”

“It could be.”

I don’t want to think of what the implications are if the Kijova are also avoiding the Bone Wood.

“Vera is taking a long time. I’m going to go check on her,” I announce, pushing myself away from the table.

Blaine stiffens, and Kya lays a hand on my shoulder. “She’s probably unwinding. She’s been taking this harder than the rest of us.” Then she leans in to whisper in my ear. “It’s probably best for everyone’s sake that you give her some space. Especially while she’s in the bathhouse.”

The thought of her alone when we are potentially so close to another Kijova attack causes anxiety to surge in my chest. I move to brush past my assassin, but Kya’s grip firmly stays planted on my shoulder and she shakes her head.

“I’ll go,” Amír groans finally. “Laei, just sit down and relax. You’re going to give us all stress ulcers.” As she leaves, she mutters something under her breath about how we don’t need any babies while the world is ending.

Blaine leaps from the stool he was sitting on. His knee hits the table and the chair falls back.

I open my mouth to respond with a snide remark when I note the clarity of the man’s eyes and the subtle shake of my mother’s head. Her eyes beg me not to start another scene, not when we are so close to getting even a semblance of the old captain back. I ball my fists, but let the tension in my shoulders release. If the Kijova did attack, Vera is the only one who can kill them anyway. All we can offer is a distraction. She will be okay.

Shehasto be okay.

Not even a minute later, the thick walls of the inn begin to rattle. Pounding footsteps echo in the hallway and we leap to our feet just as Amír bursts into the room, her face pale yet flushed with exertion. Familiar fabric is bunched in one fist, a crumpled piece of paper in the other. “She’s gone,” she breathes.

Emilie pales and Blaine stalks towards my gunslinger. I snatch the note from her hands before he can, and my eyes race to scan the text. I find the familiar signature I was looking for and crumble the paper past legibility. The table rattles as I bang my fist against the aging wood and glare at a particular ring of red marks on our map.

Kya delicately picks up the paper from where it lay discarded on the floor. Her espas are unsheathed in an instant and the Nightwalkers stand at attention.

“Spread out and find an entrance to this point.” My finger screams with pain as I jab it solidly against the area I was eyeing. “Someone find me a piece of paper. I owe Mavis a response.”

Blaine stalks forward, his leg dragging slightly, resulting in an unpleasant scraping noise against the wood. I imagine the terror a soldier might feel hearing that sound in an echoey hallway, or a criminal in a rundown bar. His face is that of a seasoned warrior, and as much as I enjoy taking my jabs at him, it is hard to forget where he comes from. He places a pen and paper in my hand, a silent treaty. Despite our past, a spark of pride flickers in my chest. His eyes are clear and his motions precise. Consciously, he chooses to trust me. Consciously, he places her life in my hands. I do not need his permission, but what he means to Vera, and what this means to him…

I take the ink and parchment and scrawl out a warning. Three simple words that I nail to the door of the inn.

This means war.

Chapter7

Verosa

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