I’m standing, not on the dry riverbed but in some kind of workroom. The scent of burning iron fills my chest. The clang of hammering metal rings in my ears. But while the smell and sounds are clear, every other detail is blurry.
Disoriented, I try to focus on the two figures standing only five paces away from me, both of whose forms are blurred.
Then, with another flash of golden light, one of the figures becomes startlingly clear.
The Oracle!
Her right hand is upraised, an image of the Dragonstone Blade emblazoned on the inside of her arm.
I’m startled to see its golden hilt clearly extending down her palm, its cross-guard wrapped around her wrist, and its blade stretching along her arm, its tip pointing to the inside of her elbow. Even the white ribbon that the blade was wrapped in appears now inked onto her skin, decorating her forearm and biceps.
A moment later, I’m conscious of the fiery, amber thread that extends between her and me, twining through the air, anchoring her heart to mine. This same thread connected us back at the village. I didn’t understand how it formed then, or what power it has, but it must be related to the blade, because a stream of golden light is coursing up her arm, pulsing with energy that then reappears and shimmers along the thread between me and her.
As I reach for the thread, the Oracle’s appearance transforms, just as it did back in the village.
Her irises transform from dull blue to vivid amber, and her hair becomes lush and thick, falling down her sides and caressing her curves. The scent of white roses fills every breath I take, heavy and mesmerizing.
She is, once more, treacherously alluring.
I don’t know how I’m seeing her, but I can’t let her go again.
My hand closes around the amber thread, finding it as solid as a rope between us, tangible and real. It’s my lifeline to drag myself toward her, every step taking me closer to the peace she gives me.
But it’s like stepping through mud, my feet bogged, my legs sluggish, even as the scent of roses grows more intoxicating with every inch of progress I make.
The closer I get to her, the clearer my view of the other figure becomes. He’s partially dressed in steel, his head and torso bare, while his left arm and both of his legs are concealed in black armor.
Antony’s features are blurry, but to even glimpse his face is unsettling. He never exposes it. Not even to his people. Or, so I’ve heard.
I always assumed he covered himself in steel to hide some unsightly feature or because he needed the protection.
Clearly not fucking so.
The wild light in his eyes, the savage twist of his lips, and the hunch of his shoulders remind me of the bloodthirsty beasts that roam my kingdom, killing not for food but because they can.
The Oracle dares to reach for his face, her fingertips close to brushing his jaw, a touch I would give anything to feel, but the threat in his eyes only grows.
I would sacrifice anything for her to close the gap between her and me, to turn to me now in whatever cursed moment this is, and grant me the reprieve it seems only she can bring.
But her focusis on him.
And it’s clear he’s a danger to her.
With a roar, I clamp my hands as tightly around the thread as I can, willing her to stop, willing her to stay right where she is, needing her to turn and face me.
With all my might, I draw myself closer and closer, near enough to extend my hand toward her upraised arm.
I need to get her away from him!
I’m an inch away from touching her, agonizingly close, when a shout reaches me through the haze. “Stop!”—
The thread snaps, and the riverbed crashes back into view.
I drop to my knees with a shout of deprivation, the change in scenery so sudden that my head spins, a splitting pain striking through my forehead.
With a groan, I wrap my head in my hands, rocking forward, vaguely aware of the sound of flapping wings.
Cassia is escaping, her arms and legs pumping as she races toward her eagle.
