Page 77 of The Oracle of Dusk

“I didn’t know. I thought it had abandoned me.”

Orithyia rolled her eyes.

“Goddess preserve me. They must have taken you in out of sheer pity. So? What is so special about your wild magic?”

“I…”

She didn’t want to tell her. Maybe it would be better to suffer the beating, knowing Theron could piece her back together. But she didn’t think she would be able to hold out for very long. She was no warrior, accustomed to taking blows with stoicism.

The second lash raked across her face, ripping through her scalp, her right eye, her cheek, her nose, her lips. Fire gave way to a rush of blood. Aurora’s scream only further split open the bloody wounds. She couldn’t see!She couldn’t see!Her magic surged, but nothing happened. It was too late. The damage had been done. Half her world had gone dark.

“You waste my time at the expense of people’s lives. You were warned. Answer.”

“I can p-pause time,” Aurora sobbed.

“Hmmm,” Orithyia hummed, mulling her words. “Clearly not very well, or you could have avoided my switch.”

She hated it then, this creature in her chest. All it did was writhe inside her, never obeying her will, doing whatever it liked. It had nearly killed her last night. Today, it couldn’t even protect her from having her face split open. She was no better than a mouse facing off against a lion, and she didn’t even have the protection of tooth and claw.

“I h-have no training. I only l-learned about it a few days before I was s-sent back to your time.”

The high priestess studied her for some time as Aurora wept, her blood and tears mingling on her ruined cheek and raining down on the floor beneath her. She wished she could remove it, this magic that felt more like a curse than a gift. But there was no tearing it out. It was embedded in her soul.

“I can see now why you failed in your time. You’re a brainless twit.” Orithyia grabbed her face, her finger pressing on Aurora’s open wound. Aurora shrieked. “A condition you have yet to overcome, if your choice of company is any indication. Don’t think that I’m unaware of your seduction of the Aurean king. If you have any good sense in you, then heed my words—Queen Flora has plans for him, and when he is gone,youwill still reside in the guest palace. I suggest you do your best to prove your worth to me.” She released Aurora with the flick of her wrist and pulled the bell-pull, wiping her bloodied hand with a pristine scrap of silk. The paladins entered, awaiting instruction. “Take her back. Give her parchment and ink.” She speared Aurora with an uncompromising stare. “You will draw this holy sword, as well as the beast, so that my people will know what it is they’re to look for. Now go, I have a city to care for.”

Aurora was pushed through the temple, bloody and beaten, until she was back out on the streets, the rain adding insult to injury. Every drop felt like acid against her wounds. By the time she was deposited back in the atrium of the guest palace, she was a mess, soaked to the bone. She stumbled back to her room and collapsed on her bed, hoping desperately that Theron would return.

Chapter 15

So,hislittlefairywas flustered by even the mildest flirting? Theron smiled as he tucked her in and wished her sweet dreams. He sat by the terrace, intending to enjoy the view of the gardens, but found his gaze drawn to her again and again. She had so many weaknesses, he had a veritable buffet to choose from to wrap her around his finger. Her heart was an open book.

Provided, of course, she was not the most talented spy in Viridis. In that case, he’d kept everything important from her, showing her scenic glimpses instead of areas of vital importance. But what kind of spy asked to hear epic stories of times long gone instead of stories that might give her actionable intelligence?

It wasn’t impossible, but it was beginning to look less and less likely that she was anyone’s spy. Unless she was being threatened. The spirit had taken on the form of the one she desired most to see, a small woman with pointed ears and red hair, another fairy. But the words Aurora had sobbed as it had lured her into its embrace had been genuine. The woman she most wished to see had died in Aurora’s place. Her guilt and longing had prevented her from seeing the truth, even as the spirit had tried to end her life.

Yes, his little fairy was so full of openings she would be easy to control. She was vulnerable, physically and emotionally. She was lonely, easily seduced, far too trusting, and not at all accustomed to participating in intrigues. Her honesty alone would have seen her eaten alive at even the most backwater of courts. Openly asking for an alliance, his military aid, and admitting the need to find someone? She might as well have rolled over and showed him her belly.

While Aurora had been able to hold onto some of her secrets, with the right pressure, she would crack and satisfy his curiosity. If her knowledge could free him from Viridis before that, all the better. It might not be honourable as a man to use her thus, but as a king, his honour was bound up with the fate of his kingdom. Anything and everything was acceptable for the sake of Aureum.

Yet it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Theron hated this feeling. It was a weight around his legs, sure to drag him to his death. He could admit he felt a certain spark with her—to deny it would be foolish. Her unexpected fits of boldness and familiarity held a certain charm. But to allow lust to cloud his judgement and wriggle its way past his defences was intolerable. The sooner he bedded her, the sooner he could rid himself of its hold on him. And the sooner he could control her.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

Goddess, he hated that this place had reduced him to answering his own chamber door. He supposed he should be grateful that at least they hadn’t taken to barging in unannounced.

He opened it to find a new guard, this one wearing finer armour, Viridian green and a small red earring.

“Yes?”

“You’re to be presented to Queen Flora.”

“When?”

“Now.”

Theron sighed. He was wearing clothes better suited to a merchant of modest means. Not even linen, his garments were made of plain, undyed wool without a single decorative stitch in sight. No doubt she meant to humiliate him in these rags.

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