Whatever object is stuck in my armor, it seems to have given Victor pause, and that can’t be a good thing.
When he mutters a perplexed-sounding, “Huh,” I can’t keep the sharpness from my voice. “What is it? What do you see?”
He answers my question with a question. “Has it pierced your flesh?”
Assuming he means the object that struck me, I say, “I think so. It stung at the time. But I can’t feel it anymore.” My tone becomes firmer. “Brother, what is it?”
“It’s metallic. But as for what it is, I’m not entirely certain.” He points to the chair in front of the workbench before nudging me toward it. “Sit down so I can get it out and show you.”
I respond with a growl as we move forward. “I’m not a patient person, Victor, you know this?—”
“I know it well. Now sit down.” His big hand lands on my uninjured shoulder, while he also manages to grab hold of the chair, scoop it further outward, and within seconds, I’m sitting in it, still facing the workbench.
He nudges me to lean forward, at which I prop my elbows on my knees.
Quickly removing my axe from its built-in holder at the back of my armor, he places the weapon on the workbench before hunching over me again.
“Whatever the object is, it’s welded to your armor,” he says. “Judging by how firmly it’s lodged, I’ll have to pry the plates apart to avoid ripping a wound in your flesh.”
“Don’t fuss, brother.” I reach for the concealed latches at the side of the plates that will allow me to release and remove the upper sections of my armor. “I’ll take my armor off?—”
“Do not, brother. Not unless you want to tear a hole in your flesh.”
I give a growl in frustration. “Welded, you say?”
“Solidly.”
Searching for an explanation, I venture, “Debris flew around in the explosion.”
“An explosion of ice and fire, I’m assuming?”
He knows all metals well, not just iron, and can tell at a glance when elements of heat or cooling have interacted with them.
As he gets to work with his tools, disconnecting sections of the intricately interlaced plates, he says, “So this is the Oracle.”
“So it seems,” I reply, my focus drawn to Thyra as she leans against the wall.
Her dull black hair falls about her shoulders, clumped in places now. She might have had it tied back at somepoint, but now it’s half down and half up. If it wasn’t for my keen eyesight, the strands would merge with the muted color of the stone she’s leaning against. Her blue eyes appear even more faded, her drawn features a sign of fatigue.
The day is only half over.
She will need far more energy than she’s currently exhibiting when we reach Mother.
Victor draws my attention back to him when he finally gets around to the question I expected him to ask much sooner than now. “What happened?”
I didn’t inform anyone of where I was going before I left. I couldn’t risk word spreading and the threat of other forces converging on the coastal village.
I’m certain Cassia will be fielding questions even now. I experience a twinge of guilt about this, but my sister can handle herself. She’ll evade any interrogation like an expert and let Mother and her advisors stew.
Even in this closed and private environment, I choose my speech carefully. “I came into possession of information about the Oracle’s whereabouts. When I arrived at the coastal village where she was reported to be living, Stellen and Maxim had also arrived.”
Victor’s focus snaps up from his task. “Both of them?”
I give a single nod.
“Fuck. Brother.” Victor abandons his task to grip my uninjured shoulder, his voice suddenly anything but calm. Deep with an anger I know he’ll have trouble controlling. He may seem even-tempered, and he may retreat from the public eye, but a rage burns in Victor that I fear will one day explode.
“Did you kill them?” he asks, speaking through gritted teeth.
