Page 70 of Oracle of Ruin

Emilie smiles tightly this time, and grasps my hand. “I think they love you for who you are, not which name you take. You can always ask when you see them.”

I don’t know how I feel about changing my name. It has been mine for twenty years now, the one thing that Irene did not give me and could not take away. A kindly maid chose it, said it suited me. Irene did not care. I do not know if she would have named me at all if it weren’t for that nursemaid. Astria is nice—it feels like home, but yet so unfamiliar. Like it should be mine, but I’ve lost it to time.

If my parents wanted to call me by that name, I would not say no, but hearing it from the lips of Rowan, or Kya? When Vera was on Tanja’s dying lips…

Perhaps it can be a middle name. And when the kingdom is saved and it is written in history books, the name will be Verosa Astria Iales. Not Verosa Elyce of Krycolis. Elyce was Ophelus’s mother’s name, and it fit like a misshapen shoe.

Verosa Astria Iales.

Kya saunters into the room, a smile on her pretty face and fresh red paint stained on her arms. Amír found more of the paint last week and Kya was finally able to redraw the intricate swirls this morning. Her face still seems foreign, even after all these months without the red makeup she usually wore, especially that which outlined her golden eyes.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” I remark with a smile on my lips.

Her hair swishes over her shoulder in a dark cascade as she settles on the arm of the chair I rest on. “I am. We found another town. Torin brought some survivors in from it—three women, a man, and two children. We are going back tonight to survey the damage and see if we can’t find anything else.”

I feel a tightening in my core, like someone snapped a restraint. The darkness I’ve kept mostly well leashed calls out in furious, howling voices. I’ve run out of the sacrifices I kept from Mavis last week. I did my best to ration them out and release that power only when it felt like it would swallow me whole, but it gnaws at my insides and demands a release now. My blade feels heavy in my pocket, alongside a note I also swept from the mercenary queen’s desk.

“What city?”

“It’s at the base of the mountains a little to the east. Niombe.”

I’m familiar with the city. When Blaine used to list the crime report to the king each week, most of it came from there. It’s a small town, better off than the likes of Adil and Belam, but still not as good of a living as the inner city.

The city burns a hole in my pocket, an address scribbled across the paper with a name attached.

“Can I come this time?” I try as inconspicuously as possible. “I fear I may die if I do not leave soon, though Emilie has been wonderful company and my only lifeline.”

“Your only lifeline, huh?” Kya counters with a devious smirk. She smacks my shoulder. “I see how much my friendship means to you.”

“You know I love you.”

“And I guess you can join, but only because you’re cute when you beg.”

“Is that so?” Amír crosses her arms, a playful smirk teasing at the corners of her lips as she leans against the doorframe.

Rowan and Torin stand behind her, their faces equally masked with amusement. Kya whispers a response I cannot hear over the rushing in my ears. I shift my eyes away and think back to the list, of who waits in Niombe.

In her desk, Mavis kept a little book of names and addresses of men who have committed unforgivable crimes and escaped the iron fist of the law. Some had been scratched through already. Some names I recognized, either from their crimes or their obituaries. She had shown me the book a few times before and I took it upon myself to snatch a page from it. I’ve read the names on the list so many times that they’re committed to memory. Niombe is home to a man named Lars Farleson. He paid off the judges to escape his sentence for murdering a young girl.

Men like him, Mavis warned me, generally aren’t first-time offenders. He might have evaded justice for this one girl, but there were most likely countless others he harmed. His face is burned into my mind from the newspaper clippings—round jaw, thick brow, a bit of a bulge in his right eye. He has a telltale birthmark, a red smudge under his right ear. If he is alive, I’ll find him near or still in the town. Or with Torin.

The third option is less favorable, given the mess it may leave behind and the trick of sneaking past my friends and the rebellion. But I can do it. Months of training with Kya have given me the stealth, and Mavis’s dark magic has done the rest.

“We leave in an hour.” Rowan lays his hand on my arm and leans down to press a kiss atop my head.

Emilie smiles when he takes her empty cup from her hands. He offers her a new one, but she refuses, saying she’s not so old she cannot get it herself.

Kya elbows my side as I walk by to grab my gear and I respond by bumping into her with my shoulder. She lands with a small thud against the doorframe and laughs, a sound that chases me all the way to my room.

* * *

Spring has finally arrivedin the Hills of Siva and the warmth of the sun has begun the journey of melting away months’ worth of snow and ice. While flowers and grass sprout up from the melted patches, I know it will take at least another week for all the snow to melt completely. The ice is thick, the lakes solid enough for our whole group to stand on them without a groan or threatening to crack. The summer heat that will come to the mountains in a few weeks will take care of that, but for now, we will enjoy our gentle spring.

The snow crunches under the heel of my thick-soled boots as we march towards Niombe. The air is heavy with humidity and before long, sweat clings my hair to the back of my neck. I fold my cloak into my sack, allowing my arms to swing a bit more freely at my sides to break through the stagnant air.

Gold casts the sky as we approach the town, the dying rays of light painting each dilapidated home and the weather-worn roads. Fresh mounts of dirt line the town in disorderly rows.

“They buried the bodies quickly,” Amír notes.

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