Chapter 33
Syneca
When making bargains, count the commas in the contract. Demons live in the pauses between promises.
The kitchen at Chancellery House had become our unofficial gathering place, probably because it was the only room that felt remotely normal.
No obvious surveillance runes. No hunters lurking in corners.
Just a space where we could pretend. Because, until we could break out from the Magistrate’s control, that’s all we were doing. Pretending.
We learned new things, but even then, it was mostly unlearning what we knew. And the unraveling was breaking my heart. The signs were all there. She’d been watching the docks to leave. She had to have killed those families to tie up her loose ends. And she’d lied from the very beginning.
But so had I. Whatever her truth was, I’d accept it if I had the chance, but there were no chances being given. Her self-preservation went so far as to let Calder and me die rather than try to help her.
Had she truly tried to kill the Oracle? Had she killed Eda Mire?
I wanted to say no. I wanted to believe that with my whole heart.
But I couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t trust a fucking thing I knew.
And the sorrow in it was purely selfish.
Because I’d joined this hunt to save her, and the only thing I’d done was damn myself.
Tonight, we were all restless. Waiting for Wickett to get back so we could pretend everything was fine and go to sleep like functional people instead of anxious wrecks.
Riot stood in the center of the room with a butter knife held like a sword, his massive frame somehow made comical by the domestic weapon. Pip hovered in front of him, her tiny blade flashing as she attempted the defensive maneuvers he was teaching her.
The size difference between the massive Guardian and the sprite, barely taller than a rolling pin, was possibly the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.
“Again,” Riot said patiently. “You’re leaving your right side exposed when you dive. Keep your blade up, wings tight, even in retreat.”
Pip swooped low, trying to parry his gentle thrust. The butter knife connected anyway, tapping her shoulder.
“Ow! That’s not fair! You’re huge!”
“Your enemies won’t care about fairness.
” But his voice was gentle, which kind of ruined the stern mentor vibe he was going for.
“The principle is the same whether you’re my size or yours.
Defensive flying while on the attack is about positioning more than strength.
When I’m in dragon form, I can promise you, if you’re smart, I’ll never see you.
You’re too small. That’s its own advantage. ”
Lucette watched from her seat at the table by the window, her eyes tracking every movement with the intensity of someone taking mental notes.
She was so observant that I was quite sure there wasn’t much that could get past her.
She’d probably absorbed more from watching this impromptu lesson than most people would learn in weeks of actual training.
The Oracle sat beside her, turning toward the sound of clashing blades.
Well, blade and butter knife, anyway. Her fingers drummed against the table’s edge, restless, agitated in a way I’d never seen from her before.
She’d been like that all morning, tension radiating from her usually serene presence.
“You could go for a walk,” Lucy suggested quietly, clearly noticing the same thing I had. “Just around the grounds.”
“With an assassin actively hunting me? Riot would have an apoplexy. And he’d be right to.” She turned toward the window, though she couldn’t see the yard beyond. “But the time is coming. Soon, I think. When staying hidden will be more dangerous than stepping into the open.”
She said it with the certainty of someone who’d already seen how this played out.
“How soon?” I asked.
“Soon enough that I should enjoy the safety while it lasts.” Her fingers stilled on the table. “And late enough that I’m going mad from the waiting.”
“The waiting is the worst part. Imagine having a clock hanging over you, counting down your final days.”
“Imagine,” Aureth whispered.
I leaned back in my chair, trying very hard not to think about the fact that Wickett should have been back hours ago, and definitely wasn’t dead in Widow’s Bay.
Definitely not.
Calder stood at the counter making sandwiches with the dedication of someone who’d discovered the meaning of life between two slices of bread. He’d eaten three already and was working on his fourth. Where he put it all, I had no idea. Pretty sure the man had the metabolism of a dragon.
“You’re wearing it,” the Oracle said, her focus shifting to me.
As if I felt the source of her attention, my hand went automatically to my newest accessory, Eda Mire’s key to the Gilded Pestle. I’d put it on a chain this morning because leaving it in my room felt too vulnerable, and wearing my dead mentor’s shop key around my neck felt... less vulnerable?
My coping mechanisms were clearly excellent.
I tucked it under my shirt. “I’ll find the strength to go back there one day.”
“You will,” she agreed. “When the time is right.”
I hesitated, then asked the question that had been burning in my mind since the docks. “Have you seen anything? Of Vitoria? Any visions that might help us find her? Sitting around this house is testing our patience. The Magistrate is controlling everything we do. We need more freedom here.”
Before we all die, I added mentally.
The Oracle’s expression didn’t change, but something subtle shifted in her posture. “I cannot control which visions are delivered to me. They come as they will, show what they choose. I am merely their vessel.”
I knew it, but I also hated it.
She paused, her head tilting slightly as if she were listening to something only she could hear.
Which, knowing her, she probably was. “But I can tell you this. When the dragon flies once more, the wolf’s shadows dim, the lost twin is found and the reflections fade, thirteen moons will gather.
Seek a path of abandoned stories when the time comes. You will know when.”
A vague doom prophecy. That’s exactly what I needed tonight.
I looked around the kitchen, expecting everyone to be staring, waiting for someone to ask what the hells that meant. Nothing. Not even a glance.
Lucette watched Pip and Riot. Calder kept building his sandwich tower of emotional support.
Only Silas, curled up on the table like he owned the place, all social convention be damned, had lifted his head.
His watchful eyes were fixed on the Oracle with an intensity that meant he’d heard every word.
Little fucker probably even understood it. Not that it would help me at all.
“I give up!” Pip announced, attempting one final parry that Riot deflected with insulting ease. She flew to the table and plopped down next to Silas, leaning back against his warm bulk.
The griffin huffed but didn’t move. In fact, he shifted slightly to give her a more comfortable spot. My terrifying familiar was a softie for a sprite with a button collection. At least he was a good judge of character.
Pip pulled a button from her pocket and began spinning it on the table’s surface, watching it blur into a circle of reflected light with the fascination of someone who’d had a very long day and was easily entertained.
I could relate.
“Your trinket. How interesting,” the Oracle murmured.
Pip’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Can you... can you see it?”
“No, child. But I have an awareness of it.” She gestured to Corvus on her shoulder. The raven’s head swiveled toward the spinning button like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “He sees. And through him, I know.”
“Oh.” Pip caught the button mid-spin, examining it with the reverence usually reserved for relics. “It’s one I got recently. Pretty, isn’t it?” She yawned wide enough to show all her teeth. “When is Wickett coming back? I want to go to bed, but I feel like we should wait.”
Calder finished his fourth sandwich and immediately started constructing a fifth because, apparently the apocalypse required carbs. “It’s past nineteen bells. We should call it. We can check in with him in the morning.”
The words were casual, but I caught the look he gave me. It was well past time for Wickett to be back. Something felt wrong in my gut. That same instinct that had kept me alive this long.
But I didn’t protest as everyone began to drift toward their rooms. Pip flew off still clutching her button like a tiny armed treasure goblin.
Riot helped the Oracle navigate the hallway with more gentleness than someone his size should possess.
Lucette stretched and headed out with a final glance at the butter knife still on the counter, probably strategizing how to weaponize kitchen utensils.
Calder paused at the door, waited a beat and then spun around, sliding his hands into his pockets as he leaned on the doorframe. “Okay?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I’m fine, Cal.”
“Maybe, but you’re a shit liar.”
“Probably.”
Except I wasn’t. And if he knew the truth, I’d lose the rest of my family.
I pushed away from the table and took Calder’s arm. “Walk me to my room, will you? I’m exhausted.”
I didn’t need his help, but he needed someone to save. So I’d give him this, and we’d hold on to our friendship for just a little while longer.
Because the math was simple, even if the truth was complicated. Twenty-two days was plain enough.
But I’d known how I was going to die since the day I learned what the mark on my skin meant. The prophecy, the promise, the curse, whatever you wanted to call it, had been absolute: I would burn this world to ash. That’s what the Phoenix mark meant. That’s what it had always meant.
Not death by blood oath. Not execution, or old age, or any peaceful fade into nothing.
Fire. Destruction. Chaos.