Page 68 of A Dance Macabre

“So we just … wait?” Mercy mutters, slowly walking onto the obsidian platform.

“It’s our best bet,” I reply, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I follow her up. “Hopefully, she’ll sense our need for an audience.”

“Sounds a tad cryptic.”

“This, coming from the one who answers death’s call,” I reply offhandedly.

Mercy turns to face me, regarding me with a hint of amusement.

“What?” I ask. She shrugs, her eyes sweeping around the hall, a minuscule grin fighting to break over her lips. “Recalling your coup, Crèvecoeur?” I ask with surprising levity.

“What is it now?” The Oracle’s voice bounces against the walls, and I have the ridiculous urge to duck and hide but refrain from moving at all.

We find her standing near the door, her hands tucked and hidden inside opposite sleeves, her face as unimpressed as ever.

With quick steps, Mercy comes to stand by me. I can’t help but wonder if it stems from an unconscious urge for us to appear more united.

“We seek—” Mercy clears her throat, unease written clear across her face. “Consult.”

The Oracle takes a few steps toward us but keeps her distance. “If this is about your recentinvolvement,” she starts briskly, eyes bouncing between us. “I thought I had made myself clear at the Lottery.”

I can’t conceal my surprise, my hand finding Mercy’s wrist. Still, I feel mildly idiotic to have even entertained the belief that the Oracle wouldn’t have already known.

“What do you mean exactly?” I say slowly, my voice tinged with trepidation.

The Oracle huffs out a small breath before she speaks. “You shall rule together.”

Mercy barks out a shocked laugh and takes a few steps back as if physically pushed. My heartbeat spikes as I carefully digest her words and what she’s implying.

“You don’t mean …” I trail off, my mind splintering.

“I’ve known of your union long before your births. Be wise to remember that the gods make no mistakes.”

It’s my turn to push an incredulous laugh, my hand raking over my face, my thoughts a burning, flaming mess.

Mercy steps down from the platform, approaching the Oracle as if being closer to her will somehow help the spiraling effect she’s most likely experiencing. I know I am. As if invisibly leashed, I follow her down.

“What about the divine law that speaks against it?” Mercy says with urgency. “Was it even real? Did it ever even matter?”

The Oracle’s lips are a hard line, her gaze steady. “It was. It is no longer.”

Mercy scoffs and throws up her arms in exasperation. “What was the point of any of it then but to keep us under their thumbs?”

The Oracle cocks her head, her eyes narrowing. “Where do you think your thirst for absolute dominion comes from, child?” she says harshly. “Have you forgotten whose image you have been created from?”

Mercy snaps her mouth shut, seemingly taken aback. Her eyes slice to mine, her gaze cloudy with horror-stricken confusion. I fight the need to pull her into my embrace.

My focus returns to the Oracle. “Are we the only ones exempt?”

Oracle gives her head a small shake. “The gods are ushering Pravitia into a new era. This one law has been dissolved.” She takes the time to peer at us both. “You and your eventual progenies will be responsible for a smooth passage into this epoch.”

Without another word, she turns and walks out of the hall, leaving us speechless and reeling from the enormity of what has just been divulged.

38

WOLFGANG

Tithe Season began three days ago on the winter solstice. It reoccurs every three months, celebrating the passage of the seasons. It’s a week-long affair where Pravitians can tithe to the gods. Tithe to us,theirgods.

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