Page 112 of The Shadowed Oracle
Their eyes aligned, searching each other’s features.
“No more secrets,” he declared.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Warmth covered them as the heat from the sun rose, almost pushing them to draw nearer. Ingrid could see every shade of bronze and brown in his eyes. Could feel his breath on her. Could smell the soap he’d brought from Earth, getting stronger and stronger as he leaned in…
“There you fuckers are!”
The booming voice startled them both, driving a wedge between them.
Turning in unison, they saw Raidinn walking up the short staircase to the foredeck. He was shirtless, hair down and wild.
“I’ve just had a little chat with my sister. And get this, she’s saying that you saw a fucking three-headed snake or something!” He rubbed at his eyes. “I’ve only just woke up! Haven’t even had breakfast! And now this! Come on! Tell me it’s a lie. Tell me Tyla was only winding me up. Come on, tell me it’s… oh, shit, really!? A giant three-headed snake!? Fucking hell!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The capital cityof the Isles was nestled on a beautiful green island surrounded by fields of sand and shallow pools of the ocean’s run-off. After knifing through the crowd at the docks, they travelled through a circular stretch of compact townhomes and markets scattered around the protective walls. It was only a short journey from there to the main trade gate. They were let inside without issue, but once Ingrid got a glimpse of Enitha’s castle, relief faded, and the buzzing, ear-ringing anxiousness returned.
The structure spanned for miles, made of beautifully chiseled sandstone all connected by arching bridges and open verandas. It seemed more like a city than the city itself, with its architecture seemingly designed by many different minds. Manically placed towers extended upward in random corners, domed Romanesque temples popped up in the center, and an entire section of the eastern part of the castle was fronted by intricate carvings of the faces of past kings and queens.
It would be so easy, Ingrid thought frightfully, to get lost. Swallowed up. Unable to find your way out.
From the first step inside the gate, Ingrid paid extra close attention to their whereabouts. The merchant’s path they tookwas narrow and blocked off from the rest of the castle, winding around the side until they had reached a side entrance to the great hall. The two guards who had escorted them stopped suddenly at the door to the throne room, turned, and marched back to where they’d started.
Only one other party had arrived that day to meet with Queen Enitha. A local farmer and his family were there to ask for leniency on their impost for the year. By the looks of them, they’d been waiting most of the afternoon. As time slogged on, the father, of middle age with a grey scraggily beard, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, while the mother, wearing a fine dress that looked to have been washed early that morning, did her best to remain composed.
Next to the family stood a tall, slender male with short-cropped golden locks and inquisitive eyes. He wore a silver pin on his jacket to mark his station as a council member. When Ingrid first arrived, he’d introduced himself simply as Gerhardt, but added theLord of Royal Treasurymoniker once it was apparent that she and her friends had no idea who he was.
It was, after all, “a very coveted position” in the court of the Isles.
“Able?”
The mother turned her head, perplexed.
“Yes, you three,” Gerhardt said to the family, his nasally tone making the annoyance all the more obvious. “Are you able?”
The farmer and his wife only nodded, their postures straightening.
“Come with me.”
The parents took a step forward, but the odd, fidgety council member seemed to frighten the child, and she ducked behind her mother, tugging at her dress until she was almost hanging off it to keep them from going inside.
“Come, Xanthia,” the mother said. “We must see the queen now.”
“No! I wanna go home!”
Gerhardt didn’t make any effort to hide his impatience. “This way, please! Our royal highness has a full docket.” He gestured to Ingrid’s party as if a line of hundreds stood behind them.
“Coming,” the mother said with a smile.
“Apologies.” The father picked up his child and slung her over his shoulder. “She’s just a bit?—”
“Now or never, I’m afraid,” Gerhardt cut in. He turned and opened the tall white door to the throne room.
The hulking passage was adorned with carvings of the Occi Isles’ sigil, the imposing Occanthus bird, and the child’s cries grew louder as she saw the somewhat monstrous creature. The father stopped abruptly, trying to soothe her.
