“But the fourth dragon, the one who lost its Fury, disappeared centuries ago. Was presumed dead.” Lucy leaned forward slightly. “Which means there are only three dragons left. Three dragons for three living sister Furies, all accounted for.”
“Also correct.”
“So why do you have one?”
And there it was, the accusation laced behind her very blunt question.
Aureth was quiet for a long moment, her face tilted toward Lucy with something like approval. “You’re asking if I’m a Fury, not just fury-born.”
“Are you?”
“Dear girl,” she answered in the most condescending tone I’d ever heard. “I am assigned a Guardian because I am the most recognizable of my kind. I can’t hide who I am like Eda Mire and many others can. But I’m useful in this world. I must travel to deliver prophecies, to serve as the voice of what comes. So I’ve been gifted protection by powers older than nations.”
Lucy was quiet for a moment, processing, then she let out a breath that was half a laugh. “You know what? I’m too tired to unpack whatever mysterious ancient bullshit that was.”
I snorted. “That should be the official term.”
“I’m trademarking it. Better send a letter to the Department of Magical whatever, Syn.” She stretched her legs out, wincing slightly. “Furies, dragon-back is not designed for anyone over the age of twenty-five, I swear.”
I shifted, trying to find a spot that didn’t make everything ache. “Pretty sure comfort died back in Grimora when we jumped through a book.”
“Fair point.” Lucy was quiet for a beat, then: “You know, I wasn’t sure about you at first.”
I sighed. “I’d love to lie and say I’m surprised, Lucette. No one’s ever sure about witches.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She picked at the seam on her uniform. “I mean, yes, you’re terrifying, and people cross the street to avoid you and all that. But the way you don’t back down even when everyone’s waiting for you to fail?” She finally looked up. “You don’t let them make you small. Even when they try. You never once seemed smaller than your Magistrate. He wanted you to, but you hardly even blinked when he came for you. It... was impressive. That’s all I’m saying.”
I lifted a shoulder, having no words to say back to that.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what everyone expected,” Lucy continued, as the Oracle sat quietly, dragging her finger through the ash on the ground. “The perfect trainer for my brother. The dutiful daughter. And it was all a performance. But you? You’re just... you. Unapologetic. Even when it would be easier to pretend to be something else.”
If only she knew just how much I pretended. “Being a witch has resulted in me being hated by most. Not exactly a win.”
“No. But it’s honest.” She smiled slightly. “I don’t have many friends, Syn. I’m not good at it. Never learned how when I was too busy being whoever people needed me to be. But if we survive this, we could try. To be friends, I mean.”
Something warm and unexpected unfurled in my chest. Caring about people made losing them hurt more, made every risk feel heavier. But Lucy had mercy-killed her brother, had followed me through a portal into nothing, and had proven herself over and over. She’d made her own decision about me long before the others had.
“We’re surviving,” I said firmly. “And yeah. Friends. Even though you’re going to be insufferable about being right all the time.”
“I’m only right most of the time,” she corrected with a grin. “But I will absolutely be insufferable about it.”
“I knew it.”
Aureth turned toward me, the worn edges of her charcoal blindfold lifting in the chilly breeze. There was a twist to her mouth. A pointed hint that I didn’t understand. Not until she said, “Tell me, Lucette. What do you know of the missing witches?”
She knew the answer to this. But she wanted me to know.
Lucy went very still. “What?”
“The refugees. The ones fleeing cities across Vestra and beyond. Where are they going?” Aureth asked.
I whipped my head toward Lucy. “You know something about the refugees?”
She shrugged, defensive. “No one asked me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m asking now.”
Lucy was clearly weighing what to share. Then she sighed, resigned. “They’re gathering in Noreya. Have been for years, apparently. Small groups, careful movements, nothing that would draw attention individually. But collectively?” She met my eyes. “There are witches coming from all over the world. Eventually, my country won’t only belong to the shifter kings. It’ll belong to the witches who’ve banded together there.”
