Page 98 of Oracle of Ruin

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Truly come to cease the bloodshed?” they ask, stalking even closer somehow.

I fear if I breathe too deeply, I might inhale their dusty skin right off those decrepit bones.

“Many men have come to see me through the years. Humans, you all seek the same thing. Power in one shape or form. Some ask for the guide to money or love, some political positions. You all seek some kind of power, and all for your own selfish gain.”

“I come for the people. Not myself.”

The Oracle motions for me to sit, and I oblige.

“Do you even understand the weight of those words?”

Their question is left lingering in the dank cave air as the shuffling of paws on stone draws my attention. A dark cat circles by her feet, occasionally rubbing against her knees before it plods its way over to where I sit and crawls to purr in my lap. I stroke its back with soft hands and coo.

The Oracle watches blindly, those violet eyes never blinking. “You don’t recognize him?” they ask, then lean back. “Interesting.”

I frown and stare at the creature. “Should I?”

Before the words leave my mouth, the Oracle snaps their withered fingers and the cat leaps into the air in a cloud of blackened smoke. I barely have time to jump up before a familiar black stallion stamps his hooves against the stone ground where I sat moments before.

“Vestíg,” I breathe.

Vestíg tosses his head in the air, shaking out that long mane. Powerful, corded muscle ripples beneath his dark coat and he snorts into my palm.

“It’s not just anyone who can catch the attention of a minor god, let alone the favor of one.”

I am sure they do not need their sight to know that my jaw has dropped to graze the floor. God? I was taught there are only two gods, neither of which would ever curl up on my lap.

“Deungrid and Raonkin each have many children. The scriptures won’t tell of them because, unlike their parents, the minor deities do not receive followers. The only gifts they received from their parents are their immortality and power.”

Vestíg tosses his head one more time before dissolving into a cloud of darkness and reappearing as a panther. He snarls.Hello again, Verosa.

I jump, and the Oracle laughs, a dry, heaving sound.

So the god speaks. I press the flat of my palm to his snout, feeling his cold breath skitter across my skin. “What does your true form look like?”

Something between shadows and nightmares. No mortal can withstand the sight.

Shuddering, I picture the Kijova. I cannot imagine anything worse than that, and yet what he claims… I swallow thickly, afraid of what answer this question might heed. “Are you responsible for these dreams that have plagued me all these months?”

The little god hisses.I have kept the worst of them from you.

“Some of what you’ve seen have been images sent by the fallen prince,” the Oracle interjects. “Vestíg has kept none of those from you, only those that are dreams.”

My heart stutters in my chest as I retract my hand. A minor god taking interest in a mortal. I know how the stories end—death at the forefront of all epilogues.

Vestíg shifts again, this time merely staying as a darkened smoke, swirling through my fingers and weaving through my hair. His body forms a crown atop my head and a skein of darkness wraps around the base of my throat.Queen of the shadows and daughter of light.His voice rings out through the cave before he bursts into nothing more than dust that evaporates in the wind.

The Oracle cracks open their eyes and allows their energy to focus on me. Their assessing prowess coats my every cell and ushers my mind under the cover of darkness. Panic grips at my heart for only a moment before it subsides.

The Oracle rises, shaking their head. “Pesky god, telling me what I already know.” They tut their tongue as they start down a darkened path. “Well? Come, then. We have much to do.”

Chapter40

Verosa

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