Page 74 of Vicious Is My Throne

A lie, of course, but…

A wave of déjà vu hit me, recounting that terrible vision where Tavion and I stood on the edge of that ravine.

“So if I freed Varitus and handed you back the magic, you would stop Corvus?”

The Oracle hugged her arms around her body, her shadows wrapping around her tightly enough I couldn’t see a sliver of pale skin as she gazed forlornly over the blackened forest. “It’s one thing to watch this world wither over a thousand years, knowing it will be remade. Quite another to watch it die the moment it was born.”

“Yes or no? A simple answer will suffice.”

Something peered sharply out of that deep well at my center, a watcher with no eyes, no ears, only a sentient presence focused wholly on the creature before me. As if telling me to pay close attention.

“Defeating him will take more than the Varitus magic. I need all the magic you stole.” Dark eyes brimming with hate met mine and held.

“Every last drop, Princess. Only then can I face him and hope to succeed. It will be no simple matter to contain Corvus to that cave. You’ve seen how fast his rot moves; he’s unstoppable. Shoving him back into his box will take everything I have.” Her words echoed through my blood.

An obvious trick to finally get what she always wanted.

A trade I might be desperate enough to make.

I paused, peering into the dark hole inside me. Give her what she wants, a soft voice seemed to whisper. Make the trade you know you must make to save this world.

That had, after all, been my sworn promise made by a naïve slave who hadn’t seen the world she’d hoped to save.

“Until I free Varitus and our bargain is complete, my friends are all off-limits,” I stipulated, choosing my words carefully. “Everyone, including Torin and her men, everyone in Blackcastle is under my protection. You touch a hair on anyone’s heads, you so much as look in their direction, this bargain is off.”

Her arms squeezed tighter, her expression sharpening. “You’re learning, Princess. I agree to your terms.”

“Tell me how you plan to stop him.”

“A fire can be snuffed out just as easily by too much fuel as by not enough. That is all I’m willing to tell you until you hold up your end and drop the Varitus ward.”

“So I get a riddle and you get all the magic of the three realms?” I wanted to chuck her out the window into the canyon below. “Not exactly an equitable trade.”

“It’s not my fault you mortals are so dense. Perhaps between the lot of you, if you put your heads together, you can figure out the answer. Go free Varitus, Anaria, and I’ll save what’s left of this world,” she murmured, turning back to the view.

“No deadline this time?”

Her laugh was as brittle as the drag of a match across a flint. “Take a look outside, Princess. That’s all the deadline you’ll need to get this done quickly.”

The air shifted, lost its cloying darkness, and then I was alone, wondering if I’d signed our death warrants.

I rushed through the palace, counting down the seconds, scribbling a note to Zor, tossing it onto the rumpled bed before I retrieved the keystone from the bedside table and changed into my fresh set of leathers—the black ones—which would have been far more pleasant if I’d had time for a bath, then headed outside to find my men, who really deserved a lecture.

I found them on the northern side of the palace, Tavion flat on his back, bare feet sticking out of the overgrowth, Raziel frantically feeding healing magic into him while Bexley tentatively mumbled suggestions.

“What happened?” Panic clogged my throat. “A few minutes ago, he was in his wolf form sneaking around the back of the palace.”

“Well, he’s not sneaking now,” Bexley muttered.

Raz stopped long enough to scan me from head to toe, lips pinched into a tight line. He must have deemed me intact because he went back to work, his ministrations frantic enough I fell to my knees beside them.

“Was he attacked?” I scanned Tavion’s face, his bloodless lips parted enough for me to tell he was barely breathing. “Reapers? Or something else?”

An icy calm fell over me and I pulled up my magic, waiting for something horrid to spring out of the dense undergrowth, pincers or claws or talons snapping at our faces.

“We weren’t attacked. He touched that.” Bexley jerked his head toward the carved box clutched in Tristan’s hands. Tristan was barely standing, draped in an old horse blanket and swaying on his feet.

Oh gods, what had I missed?

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