Page 17 of Oracle of Ruin

Amír announces her return to our makeshift home base by tossing open the door and firing her pistol at the wall where we have pinned our map. The bullet lodges on the outskirts of an area marked in red, the exact location from which she and Derrín just returned.

“No shooting in the inn,” Blaine snaps. He rubs at his temples with two fingers. His eyes are sunken in his head with fatigue, but clear and aware.

Mother places a steaming cup in front of him, which he gratefully accepts. She passes one to me as well, then offers one to Amír. The gunslinger shakes her head, but finds the cup pressed into her hands regardless.

“Nothing. We followed the blood trail and snapped twigs, but there’s nothing. Either she’s using a glamour spell or hired hunters to lead a fake trail.”

“And who was the one who told you not to buy her that book of magic?” I note with a pointed glare.

Amír flips a vulgar gesture and holsters her pistol. “It was helpful before she stabbed you in the back.”

“It was my thigh actually,” I remind her, the scar suddenly smarting as if in remembrance.

“She should’ve gone a few inches higher,” my second growls in frustration.

Blaine snorts and rocks his chair back on two legs. He flips a dagger between his fingers and aims for the portion of the wall right beside my head. I catch it between my middle and index finger, and raise an eyebrow. He only shrugs, as if he wouldn’t care if he missed.

He’s been sober since Vera disappeared a week ago. His headaches are common, and while Vera is gone, our rooms still smell of bile thanks to the former captain. Nevertheless, he hasn’t touched a bottle.

“This isn’t the time for jokes. This area isn’t that large. Wherever they’re keeping her is right under our nose.” I slam my fist on the table, the old wood splintering and cracking throughout. Flecks of gold and silver line the splinters and I fall into the poorly cushioned chair behind me. It rocks as if debating if it should hold my weight, then steadies.

Mother lays a soft hand on my arm and brushes stray hairs from my eyes. “When did you last sleep, my Noiteron?” she murmurs. Her forehead crinkles in worry when I brush her hand away. We both know the answer to that question.

“I can’t rest, not until she’s back home.”

“Mavis won’t hurt her.” Amír throws her head back against the wall. “She’s more valuable to her alive than dead. She’s all talk, anyway. She wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Kya’s voice is soft and unsteady as she enters the inn. Her golden skin has paled and unshed tears line her eyes. In her hands, she holds a small crimson box.

Blaine steps forward and gently takes it from her as her knees begin to buckle. Amír loops her arms around Kya’s waist, holding her up with a soft curse. Blaine opens the lid. Before I can get there, he drops the box with a clatter.

A single finger falls out, the severed edges painted with dried, golden blood.

Blaine staggers back into the wall, rattling the ruined frames that are still hanging. He hits the ground retching. Derrín finds a bucket before the soldier’s breakfast can splatter across our floor.

I kneel and brush my hand across the finger. It’s cold and pale and undoubtedly Vera’s.

“—owan. Rowan!”

Their voices blend as soft hands pull at my shoulders. The room spins. Edges blur into red.

These fingers which once laced through my own, touched my face, stitched wounds. She dared to sever it from such light.

Gentle fingers pry my own open and take Vera’s finger from my hand. Mother’s face pales and she quickly places it back in the box. I can see her internal fight and her struggle to hold back her building emotions to comfort mine. “Let it go, son,” she says slowly. “You can’t hold it if you want to save the rest of her.” She places my hand over my own heart and holds it there, forcing me to breathe deeply.

The world slowly comes into focus, as does my rage.

My second’s head snaps in my direction and her face pulls into a stern frown. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Was there a note?” I ask my assassin, who only shakes her head. With a growl of frustration, I start towards the door.

Blaine wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbles to his feet.

Amír starts after us both. “Rowan, it’s probably a trap. Mavis knows glamour magic. This might not even be Vera’s finger. We need to think this through!”

“I am not willing to risk it.”

The door closes in Amír’s face before she can say anything else.

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