Page 62 of Oracle of Ruin

Ruby lowers her hood, her gaze finding mine immediately. Her jaw clicks as she bites her cheek, those pretty eyes filling with tears almost immediately. I find myself biting my lip, pain slicing through my heart. Torin dips his chin when he notices our interaction and his hand reaches out to squeeze hers. She offers a small and appreciative smile before squeezing back and turning her face to the map resting on the table.

Another hand descends from behind the woman’s head and points to a specific part. My lips peel back in a wide grin and before I can stop myself, my feet are pounding against the floor and I’m throwing my hands out towards the young knight.

“You’re okay,” I breathe into Seb’s shoulder, cradling his head against my neck with a small laugh.

The last time I saw the young man, he was facing down a crumbling castle and Kijova with nothing but a sword after Tanja’s death. The few times before that had been when he escorted me somewhere within the palace, our first meeting, of course, being when I jumped out of the palace window during his first week.

While his fiery red hair and freckles have remained the same, not much else has. New scars lace his pale skin, some still fresh enough to be red and fleshy. He’s grown slightly taller, and while he is still young in age, he has the haunted look of a seasoned soldier. Blaine wore the same tense expressions when he returned from war, his face gaunt and his motions jittery as if anticipating the next attack.

Seb’s muscles still to stone for a moment before he softens and allows his arms to tentatively wrap around my form as well. He holds me tightly enough that my feet lift from the floor and he grins. “So are you, Mei Reinhavich.”

“Please, the world is ending. You don’t need to use formalities anymore,” I offer while I release him from my tight embrace. “Just Vera will do.”

“At least let me call you Verosa instead. Vera might be too shocking right now.” He blushes. “I’m still used to only seeing you in a crown or royal portraits.”

“Fair enough, but you better call me Vera at least once before this war is over.”

“I think I will manage.”

Rowan clears his throat behind me, his hand snaking around my waist and pulling my back into his chest. A smirk fights its way to my lips at his blatant jealousy, but Seb only extends his hand.

“It is an honor to meet you, Noiteron.”

I jab Rowan’s side with my shoulder. “Just Rowan for him too.”

“Noiteron is fine,” Rowan responds coolly.

“Are you ready to start this meeting or are we going to dawdle around your pride all day?” Amír calls from her spot at the table. “We know your dick is bigger, Rowan, so just sit down.”

A few spare laughs break the only slightly awkward tension before we settle around the table again. Some of the rebels eye me with disdain, the rest opting not to look my way at all as we sit.

Rowan smirks. “At least we all know it now.”

I drive my elbow into the soft spot between his ribs and he chuckles, the sound and his breath scattering across the outer shell of my ear. I shove him back towards his chair, purposely sitting beside Kya instead of the seat next to his. He rises and follows me to my chair anyway, opting to stand protectively behind me and glower at any of the rebels who eye me for a second too long.

“Territorial bastard,” I murmur under my breath.

Kya giggles while Rowan pinches my shoulder warningly.

An imposing man who sits across from us clears his throat, and my eyes narrow in on him. Truth be told, he was the first one my gaze went to when we entered the room. He wears all white, the material surprisingly comprised entirely of leather and fur. His gray beard matches the textiles, his pale blue eyes complimenting his appearance as a whole. He’s burly, not unsimilar to the way Finneas is. However, while Finneas obviously could kill a man with his bare hands, he doesn’t appear to be the type who would. This man is every cut and jagged edge of a killer, and the thin white scar across his throat shows all he is no stranger to the face of death either.

His gnarled hands rest folded atop the table, occasionally tapping the worn wood. His piercing stare sends a chill through the air that caresses my spine and licks at the nape of my neck. I force myself to hold his gaze. Slowly, his lips twist back in a wicked smile.

Amír’s voice cuts through the tension. “—Verosa back, we can proceed with the next phase of our plan.”

Everyone’s attention remains rapt, hanging on her every word while the gray man and I continue our stare-down. How long has she been speaking?

Rowan squeezes my shoulders and Kya leans in.

“She’s asking if you’d know any potential Kijova weaknesses to exploit,” the assassin whispers.

“Which you’d know if you had been paying attention, princess.” Amír sneers, leaning back in her chair. “But seeing as you’re the only one who can kill them and save us from certain doom, I suppose I’ll give you a pass.”

Gods, she’s a bitch.

“Thank you for your kindness,” I purr.

The gunslinger mockingly salutes, her spare fingers fiddling with a loose thread in the stitching of her leather holster.

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