Page 79 of Oracle of Ruin

“You come back to me alive,” Rowan says gruffly, his words laced with a mix of anger and another emotion I can’t quite place. “I don’t care if you come back and run a knife through my heart or never speak to me again, but you come back alive. Don’t die trying to be a hero. You don’t need to forgive me, you just need to live and live well.”

The first tear spills over, still hot with anger. I hate him so much that I love him. I hate that too. Only a choking sound comes out when I open my mouth so I close it again, just allowing myself to bask in his presence for a few seconds.

A moment later, I feel him press his lips to the top of my head. “I love you.” And then he is gone, disappearing into the shadows again just as daylight streaks across the sky.

Derrín says nothing as I all but storm up to him, my pack slamming angrily against my back with each step. He follows my lead as we allow the compass to lead us east into the thick of the trees.

“Come on,” I hiss between clenched teeth. “We have an Oracle to find.”

Chapter32

Rowan

Asense of dread follows me as soon as I wake alone in my bed. For a moment, I panic before I realize that Vera wasn’t taken, she left. And I let her.

Hours later, as I sit astride a gelding gifted to me by the rebels, that dread grows. I’ve both walked and ridden this trail many times and know that if I had veered right four miles ago, we would have reached the compound. Amír and Kya glanced that way, as well, but no one said anything.

Blaine and Torin lead the pack, with four rebels following them. I follow behind them with the two women at the rear. Roiden might have promised a peace pact, but I am nowhere near trusting him enough to let his men behind me for even a second.

I follow the track ahead, the snow melted, thankfully, as to not give away our tracks. Spring is upon Krycolis’s cities, even if it is not yet in the mountains. Any moment now, the road will fork and we will take the path to the left and follow it all the way to the palace—to my father—and if we are lucky enough, answers that could change the tide in this war.

Despite Roiden’s skepticism, Vera is convinced we can make blessed weapons, and given the fucked nature of our world, I am inclined to believe her. The gods made a balance, even if they did not want one. With cursed weapons, there must be a blessed counterpart.

Or an abomination such as a hybrid weapon. MaybeIam the weapon.

My knuckles groan and turn white as I clutch the reins. I can hear every whisper of a breath that leaves the gelding’s nostrils, can feel the vibrations of him chewing on his bit as it rubs against the corner of his muzzle. I can hear the racing hearts of the rebels before us and feel the way the wind shifts to make space for us. I can see the way the light refracts and if I wanted, I could throw myself high enough from the horse to reach one of the higher branches on the trees. Any other blissfully ignorant fool might call this a gift. I only see the curse of a reminder.

Now it is time to face the maker of this reminder and all the painful memories I’ve begun to recall. I can still see his face, unplagued by time and dark magic. His face was narrow but handsome and kind. I have his smile—not his mouth, but his smile. It is enough that I never want my lips to lift in any semblance of a grin ever again.

He held my mother gently and would sing to her even though her voice was lovely and his was shit. He taught me how to hold my wooden sword and my mother a gun. He braided ribbons in her hair and read me books and was a good father. He was good to us. And he ruined himself for us. And gods, I hate him for it.

The palace comes into view sooner than I would have liked, though I am only aware of it when I hear Torin swear under his breath. I lift my gaze to find the source and my dry response hitches in my throat.

As if some god wielded an axe against the stone, the palace is completely cleaved in two, a deep ravine splitting down the center. All the towers but two have completely crumbled, leaving the queen’s tower, and a lone watch tower that stands over what used to be the knights’ quarters. Blaine’s face blanches and Torin’s eyes water. Unrequited pity strikes my heart at the thought. This used to be their home, for better or for worse.

Blaine steels his features first and addresses the other man. “Seb was certain there would be a guard rotation at noon?”

Torin nods his head, though deep, penetrating sadness still taints his features. “Yes, and they’re running thin given Ophelus’s experiments and the little control his pets seem to have. The nobles have no more men to donate and those that ally with him have been forced to take shifts. If you do encounter anyone, they most likely aren’t trained as well as us in weaponry.”

A silent command rests over the group. Kill anyone you find.

We tie the horses just outside the southern wall, their dark bodies covered by the boughs of the overarching trees. Kya slips beside Torin and the rebels, picking her way over the rubble to follow the path laid out by Seb. Torin lets her lead, relying on her stealth and jumping each time she reemerges from the shadows until they are completely out of view. While they find and free the remaining survivors, Blaine, Amír, and I will find Irene’s study. Blaine comes as a guide and I find myself assigned to him in order to be a secondary. In truth, I know it was elected so that I had a lesser chance of running into the king. Amír follows suit, likely to keep me out of trouble, or to help us blast our way out should we encounter it.

If I thought the outside of the palace looked strange, then the inside is unrecognizable. The tapestries have been torn from the walls, deep claw marks tearing through them and even through the weathered stone. The decadent flooring has cracked and splatters of blood streak against all surfaces—gold, silver, red. All the colors swirl together in a macabre display. Blaine swears lowly but says nothing else, even as he crosses two fingers over his heart.

We creep along the walls, pausing every so often to listen for a familiar growl or the footsteps of two fallen kings—or rather, king and emperor, as Amír would correct me if she could hear my thoughts. Our breaths mingle in the cold as we wait to hear from death. Blaine’s motions beside me are stiff as he forcibly lifts his leg higher than usual to avoid the announcing drag. Amír’s fingers twitch at her side and she palms at the gun hanging low across her hip. I keep my eyes trained on my surroundings.

My hybrid blood allows me certain abilities the average person does not possess. I can feel the slightest shift in the wind to sense when an attack is coming. I can quiet my steps and breathing enough to be silent and hide among the shadows to be invisible. It is different from how Kya masks her form with shadows. Her ability is derived from her own merits, her skills and practice. Mine comes from what runs through my veins, yet I rely on these abilities now as I study the inside of the castle.

The empty, whistling corridors. The bloody walls seeming to close in ever so slowly. I imagine this must be how the palace looked to Vera every day she lived within these towers. Hollow and dismal. The perfect prison for someone like her.

Blaine traces everything with those eyes, his features sharpening like a brewing storm. He does his best not to look at the blood, instead peeking into various rooms. We pass some that I am familiar with, but ultimately, the whole palace has become a labyrinth of half-crumbling walls and broken bodies. Amír closes the eyes of the few dead we find and Blaine crosses two fingers over his heart. I keep watch, waiting for the telltale rattle of Kijova or Lucius’s assured step. None come.

“Be honest, do you know where we are going or are you running blind around these corners?” I bump Blaine’s shoulder with my own as I pull ahead, equally lost.

“Well, you stayed here a few months. If I’m so blind, perhaps you could help,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. His knuckles are white at his side and I want to push, but Amír shoots me a glare that tells me I know better. The captain stalks ahead, bumping my shoulder now with greater force than I used on him.

I bite back a bitter laugh. “Get a grip.”

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