Page 100 of Vicious Is My Throne

I raced against that howling wind until I reached the room suspended over the crevice and stopped dead in the doorway.

The floor-to-ceiling windows were blown out, blood splattered across the marble floor in front of one of them like someone had been tossed through. I paused over the deep grooves gouged into the marble from enormous talons dragging across the floor. My heart hammering in my chest, I crossed the room, bracing my shaking hands on the window frame and leaning out into the emptiness.

No bodies were sprawled on the sharp rocks below, thank the gods, but what had happened here? I crouched down and pressed my finger to the blood, touching it to my tongue, and relief made my knees weak.

Not Anaria’s.

This tasted different, wilder…ancient. Tristan’s, perhaps. I swept my gaze around the room one last time and could make no sense of what happened here. The Oracle came to the palace in a rage, ready to shred Anaria apart, that much was clear.

Then she’d left after striking a new bargain with Anaria and sending them to Varitus, but the encounter wasn’t without bloodshed.

Convenient of her not to mention that.

I followed the rich smell of woodsmoke through the cold palace, climbing the steps to the bedroom we’d once shared, smiling when I found Anaria’s note—addressed to me—then built myself a fire in the hearth. Her broken-in leathers were laid carefully across the bed, so she hadn’t left here in a hurry.

She’d been safe.

I braced my hands on the dresser, relief punching me in the gut. Safe enough to fold her clothes and leave me a note. I closed my eyes and drew in the faintest hint of sweet jasmine.

Funny how such a simple thing dulled down that wicked edge of pent-up rage inside me.

Just the barest breath of the female I loved infused a deep, solid calm into my soul.

I settled myself on the bed and opened the note.

Dear Zor-

First off, I’m glad you left. The Oracle is a dreadful bore, so be glad you missed her dramatics this time around. Despite her blustering, we are all safe and sound, though Tavion is an idiot (I’ll tell you all about that when I see you).

Second, I hope you got lucky at the mage’s shop, because we struck gold at Mysthaven.

We’re heading to Varitus on another of the Oracle’s ridiculous side quests, but if you find this note, meet us at Ravenswood Castle. Come soon because I miss you terribly.

All my love, Anaria

I pressed the paper to my nose and inhaled her scent, crisp and bright and so full of life.

They had the knife. I had the pendant.

Triumph flared inside me. We were close to finishing those fuckers off. Closer than I could have hoped. Now all I had to do was get my arse to Ravenswood before the Oracle discovered we’d stolen the pendant right out from under her nose.

Again.

I woke hours later, my legs stiff and aching, my knee tight from the freshly healed gash. Magic flickered inside me once more, my head clearer than it had been in days. I pulled the pendant out of my pocket, turning it over and over between my fingers.

Thank the gods I’d detected the Oracle’s arrival and Torin had hidden this away in the iron safe, the only thing that prevented her from detecting its magic.

Thank the gods Cosimo had appeared and given me the chance to sneak away.

Maybe Zephryn had roasted her alive, though I doubted even dragonfire could kill something so inherently evil. I rolled my shoulders and felt the skin catch across my back. Healthwise, I was a walking shiteshow, but I’d get myself to Ravenswood Castle, even if the trip fucking killed me.

Dawn was still hours away.

But if Anaria only had a day to drop the ward, she’d do the honors at dawn, or soon after.

I’d be smart to get to Ravenswood long before that happened. I’d been trapped in those resurgent waves before, and getting caught again would kick my arse given the shape I was in now.

There were some stale crusts of bread and a few apple cores on the table in front of the window. I ate every last scrap then dipped some water from the old horse trough out front and drank my fill. A low whinny from the stable had me opening the door to find the poor pack mule bedded down with fresh straw and enough hay to last him for weeks.

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