Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
TAVISH
Icouldn’t speak.
My throat had closed, words dying in the face of the Oracle’s power. Reading about Asmira was one thing, although I hadn’t done much of that. But Albie had, and he’d told me all about Mullo’s infamous trade. According to Albie, the witch had risked his life when he approached the gods.
Now that I’d seen the Oracle, I understood what that meant. Asmira was terrible the way volcanoes and hurricanes were terrible. Those things weren’t evil—they were indifferent, their destruction impersonal and complete.
Albie moaned, and not even the gods’ representative made flesh could hold my attention. I held a shaking hand over Albie’s cheek, terrified to touch him and make his pain worse.
He curled tighter. Tears leaked from under his fingers and ran down his pale cheeks. It was one of his headaches. Next came vomiting and agony that chewed him to pieces.
“Easy, darling,” I said through the lump in my throat. “I’ve got you.”
But I didn’t. I couldn’t do anything to help him when he got like this. Helplessness was like acid in my gut.
A soft sound brought my head up. Asmira gazed at Albie, and for a moment, I could look at her directly. Stars swam in her eyes, which were huge, dark pools that seemed to contain the whole night sky.
“You have suffered a great deal, scholar,” she said slowly, “and for greed that was not your own.”
A clawed hand emerged from the portal behind her.
Portia cried out. My dragon surged, and I leapt to my feet, ready to protect my mates.
The hand stretched, filling the portal. Black and twisted fingers ended in long talons that gleamed like obsidian.
A shadow followed, a man-shaped form stepping one foot outside the portal.
Smoke coiled upward from its leg to its shoulders.
But where its face should have been, there was only a void.
Niall Balfour sucked in a sharp breath. He threw his arms wide, magic crackling and snapping around him as he shielded Cormac and Isolde. Power hovered around him, the elements ready and waiting.
Asmira appeared unbothered as she turned to the shadow behind her. “Halt, shade,” she said, and thunder rumbled overhead. “You have no power here. You traded it long ago.”
The shadow shrank back. Its form blurred at the edges like it struggled to hold its shape.
Asmira turned her gaze back to Albie, and something that might have been pity flickered over her face. “Although,” she said softly, “an echo of it lingers here.”
The shade shrieked. I winced, the inhuman sound lodging in my molars. The clawed hand expanded once more, rapidly filling the portal. Its fingers stretched past Asmira and headed straight toward me.
I grabbed Portia and tucked her behind me.
“No!” Niall bellowed. He flung himself between me and the shade. “You won’t touch my child!”
The hand recoiled. Then it surged forward again, its long fingers clawing the air. It didn’t give a shite about me, I realized. It wanted Portia.
Niall thrust out his hands, and steam exploded from his palms. It slammed into the hand, and the shade shrieked and recoiled once more. Its form wavered, the shadows around its face swirling like water circling a drain.
Features appeared in the smoke—a nose, a mouth, eyes that burned with hatred. Dark eyes I’d seen before, when I watched Mullo Balfour burn the demons’ boat in Razrothia.
He stared out from the portal, his gaze locked on Niall.
Portia gasped at my shoulder. “You’re dead. Chloe killed you.”
The Oracle of Asmira turned to Portia. “Your great-grandfather is indeed dead, young one. But his curse lives on.”
The words loosened my tongue.
“Why?” I demanded. “The gods must have known what he would do with the power they gave him. Why accept his fertility knowing he’d use it to kill so many?”
Every eye turned to me. Portia’s mouth fell open. Niall looked like he wanted to strangle me for questioning the gods’ mouthpiece.
But when Asmira turned her gaze on me, I could have sworn amusement appeared briefly on her face.
“The gods do not trade in certainty, warrior,” she said.
“They trade in possibilities.” She looked around the clearing, her attention resting briefly on everyone assembled before settling on me.
“Each curse contains the seed of its own breaking. Mullo Balfour made his choice. But so did those who came after. Niall, who chose love over vengeance. Isolde, who chose to survive. Cormac, who chose to endure. And your mate, who chose duty over desire.” She spread her hands, and lightning flashed overhead.
“Would you undo the curse if it meant she was never born?”
Images of Portia rushed me. Her flashing green eyes. Her proud chin—so often raised when she challenged me. Her sweet curves made for my hands. The reluctant quirk of her lips when she didn’t want to laugh at me but couldn’t help it. The soft way she looked at Albie. The soft way she looked at me.
“No,” I said hoarsely.
Lightning flashed again, temporarily throwing the stones behind her into day.
“Then the gods were wise,” Asmira said.
The shade in the portal writhed, Mullo’s face twisting with rage.
“Mullo is dead,” Niall said in a tight voice. He still stood between us and the Oracle, his power whispering around him. “The Curse is broken. Our women live.”
Asmira tilted her head. “How many daughters does the dragon race have?”
Silence fell.
My heart sped up. I looked at Portia, who was rigid at my side, then to Isolde, who was just as rigid next to Cormac. Portia was the only female born since Mullo’s death, and her birth had nearly killed Isolde.
“One,” Niall said softly. “Just one.”
The breeze around Asmira picked up. It drifted toward me, ruffling the grass and stirring Albie’s hair.
He stirred, too, lowering his hands from his face and opening his eyes. The undamaged one was clear and free of pain.
“Mullo’s Curse died with him,” Asmira said, “but his other curse lives on, buried in the past where he first cast it.”
Albie sat up.
Asmira looked at him. “And now the past and present have collided.”