Page 87 of Vicious Is My Throne

“None of that happened, Torin,” I said gently.

“Did you even stop to think…” She stopped as if she had to gather herself. “Did you ever stop and think how Zephryn would have felt if you two fools had died in that fire? He would have lived the rest of his life knowing he killed you idiots, and there is not a single thing we could have done to fix it.”

I flinched at her scathing tone, only our quickened breathing filling the tense silence. “No. I didn’t think about that, Torin. But I should have.” I lifted my eyes to hers. “I’m sorry.”

“I spent three hundred years waiting for Cosimo. Wondering if she’d crush that godsdamned thing”—she glanced to my pocket—“to punish me. You’ve been apart from Anaria for what? Four days? Imagine you were separated for a hundred years. Three hundred. Imagine not seeing her, or touching her, for centuries, Zor. Then look me in the eye and tell me nothing happened.”

She drew a trembling breath. “I just got him back and I could have lost him that fast.”

“I’m sorry, Torin, I am. But this was the only way.”

“Coz said the same thing, and I don’t fucking care.”

Her hands balled into fists. “I don’t fucking care because I’ve lost all of them. I’ve been alone most of my life after tasting happiness. You haven’t.” Her eyes shone. “And you’d better pray you never do.”

“I’m sorry, Torin. You’re right.” I was so fucking tired. So worn down from scrambling to survive, I’d forgotten she’d been doing this longer than the rest of us.

I finally glanced down at the table and saw what she’d been looking at when I’d walked in. “Is this accurate?” But I already knew it was the second I saw the solid mass of black to the north of the Keep. “How long?”

“A day, maybe two if we’re lucky.” Her eyes were bleak. “We’ve had wagons coming from the Havens every day taking people south, but the Havens are filling up and food’s running short. Simon and I looked for another option, but there are none.”

“Zephryn’s fire seems to burn everything it touches.”

“We tried that the day you left. He’s up there right now, holding the blight at bay, which is the only reason we still have time to evacuate. Otherwise, the city would already be lost.”

“We need to end this, Torin, before we can’t.”

A deep silence rippled through the Keep, the kind that precedes an attack or an earthquake.

As if the stones themselves knew something terrible was coming.

All the color drained from Torin’s face, and she crossed the room in two strides, lifting a painting off the wall and unlocking an iron safe I didn’t even know was there. “Give me the pendant. Quickly.” She disappeared it into the dark hole, locked the door, and rehung the painting. An old one of the Shadow King looking especially brutish, the sun setting behind him.

“Shield your mind, and whatever you do, don’t fucking think about that thing.”

We both braced our hands on the table when the Oracle strolled in, the air in the small room turning stifling as if it had fled out the windows. She was truly horrifying, even in this form. Maybe because her beauty was a shade too gleamingly perfect, her smile too bright, clever eyes seeing too much.

“The commander and seer perusing their impending destruction. I don’t think I could have imagined a more perfect start to my day.”

“I would think you’re a day too early to celebrate. Your brother isn’t quite finished.”

For the briefest second, her expression changed, some of that glee sliding off her face.

“Never too early to gloat. Besides, if I came tomorrow, you’d already be gone, and where is the fun in that?” She sidled up to the table beside me and I quelled my urge to move aside as her arm brushed mine when she dragged her fingers over the map, smearing five long vicious lines of black straight over the rendering of Blackcastle.

My every muscle clenched tight as I met Torin’s gaze over the map.

“Shame about the city. Tempeste lost, Blackcastle soon to follow. You lot are a piss-poor bunch of saviors if you ask me.” She sighed and wiped her blackened fingers down the edge of the table. “But I only have myself to blame. I must choose better next time.”

“Like there will be a next time,” Torin hissed as if she couldn’t help herself. “When your brother is finished, there will be nothing left.”

“There is always something left. A flicker of magic, of life, left in the core of the world for us to draw upon. Do you really think this is the first time we’ve sucked this world down to the marrow?” she asked, her smile wide and gleaming.

But something about the words struck false.

Like her, they were too bright, too forced.

No, she was as rattled about this development as we were. Perhaps, like us, she was scrambling for a solution. A terrible thought struck me. If that was true, then she could no longer control her own brother.

---