Calder’s eyes flashed to the drawer where he knew the Life Runes were kept. If this had truly been anything but a setup, this entire shop would have been ransacked. Nothing was touched. Not one damn stone out of place. As his eyes narrowed on me, I knew it was following where I was leading. He trusted me. Even in grief.
But even with that steadfast loyalty, there was no way for him to truly know what kind of reckless plan I was concocting. Because as much as I wanted to lead this hunt, I couldn’t unless my opinions had value. I needed to make myself more valuable.
“Following obvious evidence like trained dogs instead of asking why someone would serve us their identity on a silver platter does make one pause,” Calder said.
Wickett’s head turned toward us. “Careful. That sounds dangerously close to defending known criminals.”
Something hot and vicious snapped inside me.
“We’re not defending anyone.” I stood, facing him with fury that burned away tears. “I’m reading a crime scene, just like you. You have a brain; I’m reasonably convinced of it. So tell us what you actually know about our target!”
I hoped he’d give me something, anything, to point us in a direction to go when he wasn’t fucking looking. But there was nothing.
My voice cracked. “Absolutely nothing. So don’t sit on your pillar and look down on me for making a valid point.” I had to stop, had to breathe before I said too much. But the words tore out anyway. “You never had to warn me about the witch we’d find in here. Because I knew her.” My voice broke completely. “She was my family. This fucking means something to me.”
Wickett studied me for a heartbeat, then his eyes dropped to the spreading pool beneath Eda Mire’s body. “I’d almost believe you, but you’ve gotten one detail wrong.” He pointed to wherethe blood caught the light. “Eda Mire wasn’t a witch. She was fury-born.”
The world stopped as I turned. The dark blood gleamed with a shimmer of gold in the candlelight. Not red.Gold.
My hand flew to my mouth as bile rose in my throat. All those years. All those conversations about bloodlines and magic, about survival. She’d sat across from me, teaching me to be a smarter witch but never showing me her power no matter how many times I begged.
Because she couldn’t.
Because she wasn’t a witch.
And all this time I thought it was to prove a point. That knowledge was a sharper weapon than magic. The room spun, and I had to plant my hands on the floor to keep from collapsing completely.
Eda Mire. A descendant of the Furies. And she’d never told me. Never trusted me with that truth. But I guess that was fair, because I’d never trusted her with mine either.
“Tell me it’s not true.” The Guardian filled the doorway, and for the first time since I’d seen him, his composure cracked. His amber eyes weren’t just taking in the scene, they were drowning in it, massive frame swaying slightly, one hand gripping the doorframe hard enough to splinter the wood.
“How’d you find us, Riot?” Wickett asked, his voice full of speculation.
Good. Let him start questioning what he thinks he knows.
“I felt it,” The Guardian said, his voice hollow. “Felt her light extinguish from across the city. I told myself it couldn’t be, that no one would dare—” He stopped, his throat working as he fought for control. “The blood. I could smell Fury blood from the sky, and I hoped I was wrong.”
His gaze found mine, lingering on the tears I couldn’t stop, and something shifted in his expression. Not pity. Recognition of grief.
Maybe Wickett had a reason to question the Guardian though. Eda Mire had asked specifically after him. I shifted, pulling Silas toward me as I thought about it. He’d never left the Oracle’s side unless he was in the sky with eyes on her. Except for her alleged attempted murder... and now.
But even as I thought the words, I wasn’t sure. There was something broken in the way he looked at Eda Mire. In the way his eyes hollowed and his breath fell short. “Four hundred years,” he whispered, moving into the room like a man in a dream. “Four hundred years since the last fallen fury-born. And this one had known. Aureth tried to warn her the last time we visited Grimora.”
Aureth must have been the Oracle’s real name, not that I could focus on anything beyond small bits of his story and the woman on the floor.
Calder straightened. “She knew of her own death?”
“Not everything, of course. Small details came in a warning years and years ago. That she was not to be here when we returned, or she would fall. We thought she’d gone home.”
Perhaps that’s why she was afraid of their return. Not because they were the threat, but because she knew it meant she’d die. And I’d bet I was the reason she didn’t leave. I clamped my teeth together to hold back the onslaught of tears. I never even told her how much I loved her. And yet, she’d stayed.
Riot dropped to his knees beside Eda Mire’s body with none of his usual grace, just devastation. He looked up at Wickett. “With your permission, she deserves proper rites. She deserves...” His voice cracked. “She deserved so much more than this.”
“My father won’t like that you’ve interfered.”
“Your father holds no jurisdiction over the divine,” came a sharp snap from the door. The Oracle, Aureth, stood there, silhouetted by the cool glow of the moon, her raven still as death on her shoulder.
Wickett’s tone lowered. “My father is the leader of the hunters. And this murderer needs to be found. I think you’ll find he has jurisdiction everywhere he chooses when it comes to the Phoenix.”
