“It’s like he wants us to fail,” I muttered. “Every order he gives is designed to put us in impossible situations. Investigate the docks, but make sure everyone sees you. Find the Phoenix, but don’t actually look in places that might be useful.”
“If his son wasn’t bound to us in this blood oath, I’d swear the goal was for us to die,” Lucy said.
And that was exactly what it felt like. Twenty-two days left, and the Magistrate was actively sabotaging our investigation while pretending to support it.
“So, what do we do?” Pip asked quietly.
I thought about those bodies we’d found. About Jorn likely dying in that explosion. About Crimson tracing three letters with his last breath. “We stop playing by his rules.”
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 quitesure 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.
