The room was tiny. Dark. One tiny window letting in hardly any light.
Chained to the floor, slumped and broken, was my grandmother.
I rushed forward, falling to my knees beside her. Her skin was cold. Too cold. Blood matted her white hair, bruises covered every visible inch of skin.
But she was breathing. Barely.
“I need water,” I said, scanning the chains for weak points as I looked back at the Oracle. “I need?—”
There was no water. Just dry stone and the scent of old blood.
“Perhaps fire,” Aureth said, kneeling beside me to pull on the chains. “Quickly now.”
But I couldn’t control fire. I’d spent too much time repressing it. With no other options, I reached for it anyway. Felt the heat building in my palms.
Footsteps sounded behind us. The Oracle gasped.
I stood and spun, finding Wickett standing in the doorway.
Relief crashed through me so suddenly I nearly sobbed. “Wickett. Thank the Furies. I need help. The chains are?—”
Gran lost it. Using every ounce of strength she likely had, the frail woman yanked herself as far away from the hunter as she could. Scrambling and scraping her hands against the floor.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Gran, it’s okay. He’s with me. He can be trusted.”
She shook her head, her eyes fixed on Wickett with unmistakable terror.
The Oracle rose, stepping between Wickett and me. “You cannot destroy fate, Wickett Veyne, only delay it.”
I turned back to him, desperation clawing through every cell. “She’s just afraid. Everything is fine. But I need to free her. Please. Help me break these chains.”
He just stared at me.
“She’s my grandmother,” I said, the confession tearing out of me. “That’s why I needed to find her. That’s why I couldn’t let them kill her.” My voice broke. “I’m the Phoenix. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but?—”
“This isn’t going to end how you think it will,” he said, drawing his blades. “I never believed for a second that you weren’t close friends with Vitoria. And if you were going to lie, then I was going to lie too. And do it better. I worked so hard to gain your trust.” His voice was flat. Empty. “Played the conflicted hunter. The man torn between duty and feelings. Made you believe I could be something other than what I wasmade to be. And you fell for every word. Every touch. Every promise.”
The ground tilted beneath me. My entire world collapsed in one horrible moment.
“You were so easy to manipulate. So desperate to believe someone could choose you over their purpose. You led me straight to Vitoria. You took me into your bed, and you trusted me. All I had to do was pretend to care. Shame you kept the most important secret so close.”
This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t him. He... “Wickett?—”
He moved.
Fast. Too fast. Speed that I couldn’t match even with runes.
His blade came for my throat. I wasn’t quick enough. I knew I’d be dead in the next second. But Aureth stepped into the path. Stepped into the blade that was meant for me.
For a single moment, nothing mattered. In that one breath, the world screamed, bucked, rocked. He’d stabbed her. And though Aureth had taken that blade to stop him, it didn’t work. Wickett’s hand shot out, grabbed her throat, and threw her into the wall.
The sound of her spine cracking was worse than any scream. Worse than any gasp. Worse than a thousand blades. She slid down the stone and fell face first.
Wings, brown, soft, beautiful, feathered wings erupted from her back, giving away her final secret. Aureth was a Fury. Not born.Created.
She hadn’t let Riot come because she’d known what she was walking into. A sister Fury walking into their own death. For me. To buy me this single second.
Wickett came at me again.
