But now, she’s clearly enthralled.
Never could I have imagined the breathtaking force inevery soft vowel and sharp consonant or the impact on my Lethian hearing.
My ears, attuned to catching and holding the power in sounds, are now tormented by the purity of her scream.
It’s the same power that knocked me to the ground the very first time I heard her voice when I was standing on that coastal beach, before I had even laid eyes on her.
I had crashed to my knees, waves of emotion rushing through me. Love and hate and grief and happiness and warmth and hope and, above all, a terrifying need to claim her.
Now, her scream delivers a punch that throws me sideways into the snow, my ice blasting wildly wide of Fable, raking across the air and down to the ground, blasting such a deep turret that dirt sprays around me.
Closer to Thyra, Nara throws herself backward, yelping as she dives to the side, nearly crashing into Lilis, who launches herself out of Nara’s path.
Brunkil roars, a cry of pain, his fists flying to his ears, beating them over and over as if he would rather crush his eardrums than endure Thyra’s Oracle voice again.
And Fable…
She stumbles back from Thyra but only for two paces, her hands flying toward her ears but not over them, her palms hovering on either side of her head. “What did you say?”
Unlike Thyra’s voice, Fable’s is scratchy. Rasping like she rarely speaks.
“Fly west, not east,” Thyra says. Her body appears frozen, still paralyzed, but even at a murmur, her voice packs power. “Never east.”
I push against the force rippling through the air with every breath she exhales.
Nearby, Brunkil hunches down to the snow, becoming a mound of scars and fur. Shapeshifting won’t help him. I’mcertain his wolfish ears will only bemoresensitive to the breathtaking force of Thyra’s cries.
Fable’s question is barely louder than a breath. “How do you know about that?”
Thyra remains transfixed, her focus remaining far away. “I saw your mother give you the feather.”
Fable’s left hand flies to her right wrist, but I don’t know why. I don’t know what feather Thyra’s talking about. Fable certainly isn’t holding one. I can’t see a feather anywhere.
Fable gasps as she stumbles back another step. “I didn’t imagine it. It really happened.”
And then she half-turns, a snarl on her lips, and I’m confronted by her dark gaze, furious and accusing, as it sweeps across me and stops on Brunkil.
His head is still lowered and shoulders hunched, so I’m not sure he sees the way Fable bares her teeth at him.
Her growl abruptly cuts short when Thyra speaks again.
“I’ve seen your death.”
Once again, Thyra’s voice crashes across the air, rife with power, pushing me down, but this time, I’m prepared for the impact, digging my heels in and remaining upright. Somewhat. Barely.
Her declaration strikes a chill through my heart, but a glance tells me she isn’t speaking to me. Or to Brunkil. Her focus is locked on Fable. “Strike me now, and your death is assured.”
Fable trembles.
For another moment, she remains where she is.
Then, slowly, she backs away, her footfalls at first heavy and then becoming light. A moment later, she shapeshifts into her wolf form and retreats from Thyra, backing farther away from Lilis, who has rolled back up to a crouch, and even farther away fromBrunkil.
His hands finally leave his ears, his growls speaking to his anger as he unfurls from his self-protective crouch.
“So it’s true,” he says, his dark gaze fixed on Thyra. “The female Oracle has been found at last. And she brings dire warnings, it seems.”
Thyra’s gaze snaps back into focus, pinpointed on Brunkil, and I’m not sure what to make of the suddenly sharp pounding of her heart or the intensifying wariness in her eyes.
