Chapter 22 Syneca #2
“She needed them more than I did,” he said without turning around, flipping something in the pan.
Lucette tightened her belt. “In my defense... the skirt they gave me wouldn’t have survived the first Mortalis competition.”
“Fashion disaster averted by Calder’s questionable sense of charity,” Pip declared. “This is going in my collection of favorite moments.”
“Mine too,” I said, winking at Pip.
Cal finally turned. “You don’t collect memories.”
“Pretty sure I do now.”
Over Calder’s excellent cooking, our conversation flowed carefully around topics that mattered without quite touching them. The weather. The quality of the tea. Whether the compound had always been this oppressive or if it was just the current occupants.
I had an opinion there, of course. I hadn’t always lived in Grimora.
My parents and I lived in the Ash, near Envaris before the hunters came.
My grandmother feared that living among the Erelith—the deposits of eternal flame that plagued the world—would expose us, especially since I alone was immune to their burn.
So she fled to Grimora, which, at the time, offered a little more safety.
The calm before the storm. Before Tiberius Veyne.
Pip, honey-drunk and tactless as only she could be, flittered over to Aureth and chirped, “Why did someone try to kill you, anyway? You just tell fortunes!”
The Oracle’s laugh was unexpected, bright and genuine. “Child, I am far more than a fortune teller. I am a promise of destruction should fate demand it. The bearer of hard truths.”
The kitchen went suddenly, completely silent. Even Lucette stopped pushing food around her plate.
“I’ve never been allowed to ask about the Furies,” Pip said, floating down to sit on the table in front of the Oracle. “Are you allowed to tell us? It’s okay if you aren’t.”
“You should have the freedom to ask questions that feed you knowledge necessary for your task, little one. So, listen well. This is not a story often told outside the Sanctuary.”
Riot shifted in his seat, drawing my attention, though he kept it subtle. He was acting strangely. Even now, sitting more rigidly.
“Once there were four sisters, not three.” The Oracle’s voice took on a quality like telling a story written a millennium ago. “Beautiful beyond mortal comprehension. Powerful beyond demon dreams. They were born of vengeance and crept into the Underworld.”
Pip’s hand shot up, flailing. When the Oracle paused, the little sprite practically vibrated with her question. “If they were in the Underworld, weren’t they already dead?”
“No.” The Oracle’s face turned toward Pip with uncanny accuracy, no doubt aided by the raven on her shoulder. “The four sisters were there, yes, but they were living beings. Breathing. Bleeding. Mortal in all the ways that matter, despite their power.”
She paused, letting that sink in. “They bargained with the demon princes, who promised partnership but delivered chains. The demons wanted servants, not equals. And unfortunately, the fourth sister discovered the betrayal. When she tried to warn her siblings, the fourth prince murdered her.”
The temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop.
I watched Riot’s jaw tighten as Aureth spoke.
When she mentioned the fourth brother, his hands gripped the table.
I wondered if he was feeling the bond with his Fury.
Not Aureth, but the one he’d come into this world bound to protect.
The Fury who was waiting in the Sanctuary while he traveled without her.
My mind raced. Could reuniting with his bonded be a big enough motive for him to be conveniently absent when someone got dumb enough to try killing the Oracle? Had he known it was coming?
“The three surviving sisters,” Aureth continued, “escaped in a storm of stolen magic, locking all four demon princes behind the veil and birthing magic into this world with fire and the vengeance they were known for.” Her voice carried weight now, the kind that pressed against your chest and made breathing difficult.
“Magic was their anger made manifest. Everything you know, everything you can do with spells and runes and power exists because three grieving sisters refused to let their fourth sister’s death be meaningless. ”
“And the Phoenix?” Lucette asked quietly.
“The original Phoenix was born from that First Burning. Pure rage given form. It destroyed the world they’d created and forced them to begin again.
” The Oracle’s fingers traced patterns on the table, unconscious movements that might have been spellwork or simply habit.
“Every two hundred years, a marked Phoenix returns. Every two hundred years, we rebuild from ash.”
“Except for now,” Pip whispered, clearly unaware that she hovered inches from the fury-born’s face.
“Except for now,” Aureth echoed.
“The Guardians never leave the Sanctuary,” I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral. “Everyone knows that. But only three dragons protect the Fury descendants, and from what I understand, they hardly leave.”
Riot’s jaw tightened, but it was the Oracle who answered.
“All four Guardians came to Fuerlis with the Sister Furies. But Lyric, the fourth dragon, lost his ability to communicate with his brothers when his bonded Fury died. Some say he died long ago of a broken heart. Others claim they can still hear his lament across the skies.”
Pip made a small sound, somewhere between awe and terror.
The Oracle’s attention shifted. I could feel it like a weight settling on my shoulders.
“Demons are patient, child. They whisper in dreams, corrupt slowly, offer everything hearts desire most. They appear beautiful, reasonable, even loving. But they are evil. Never, ever trust one.” Her voice dropped to something that made my spine crawl.
“And should you meet the fourth brother if you fall to the Underworld, may the Furies have mercy on your soul.”
“Good thing we’ll never meet one, then!” Pip’s nervous laugh was too loud. “Probably. Maybe. And when we’re dead, we won’t be afraid anymore anyway, right?”
The kitchen door slammed open hard enough to rattle the jars on the shelves.
“Maybe,” the Oracle answered, her voice falling to a whisper as Wickett stomped into the kitchen.
Rain-soaked from whatever storm had come up, anger radiating from every line of his body, nestled within scowl lines on his aggravatingly attractive face. Water dripped from his hair, his uniform, and even his lashes before pooling at his feet in puddles.
“What the hells are you doing here?” His silvery eyes locked on me. “Didn’t you get my note?”
I set down my fork with deliberate calm. “What note? I haven’t seen anything.” I glanced at Pip, who was frantically shoving an entire piece of bread in her mouth. “You see any notes, Pip?”
The sprite shook her head vigorously, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk.
Wickett’s jaw worked as he processed this tiny rebellion, his eyes moving between us like he was compartmentalizing every detail for a later punishment. “The Oracle’s time is valuable. You’ve wasted—”
“Nothing,” Aureth interjected smoothly, turning toward him with unnerving accuracy as she brushed a finger over her blindfold. “I came here of my own accord. Prophecy finds its own schedule, young hunter. You’d do well to remember that.”
His eyes found mine again, promising this wasn’t over. “Training field. All of you. Now.”
Lucette broke the silence as she pushed her empty plate away. “I’d love to know why you still think you’re in charge.”
Riot spoke for the first time since the Oracle’s story, his voice carrying dry amusement. “Have you met his father?”
“Pip has to be excused from whatever torture you’re planning,” I said, setting my plate in the sink.
“And why the hells is that?” Wickett all but growled, that deep tone tingling down my spine.
I crossed the kitchen to stand directly in front of the fucker, throwing my hands on my hips to match the attitude he was giving.
“In case you’ve forgotten, we have a job to do here.
I’m not interested in being run ragged in some soppy field with weapons I don’t want to use because you need to burn off whatever that hunter’s pride is made of.
Pip has a job to do. And it’s far more important than whatever you’ve done today. ”
Wickett took a step toward me, but I stood my ground, craning my neck to look up at him as the others watched from the sidelines. “That defiance is going to be the end of you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.” I patted him on the chest as I squeezed past him and into the hallway, with Pip directly behind me. “May the rest of your day be as pleasant as your disposition, Wickett Veyne.”
I could feel those eyes burning into my back as I walked down the hall, Pip giggling behind me the whole way. Another step across his boundary. Another move to test just how far he’d let me push him. Maybe I was channeling Vitoria’s recklessness, but maybe I was also enjoying it.