A calloused hand gripped her shoulders.
“Nio. Look at me.”
She blinked, her vision filling with tanzanite. Andrian tightened his grip.
“We should go. This isn’t a place for us.”
She nodded, still dazed. She let Andrian push her forward, his hand on the small of her back guiding her toward the temple exit. She lifted her head just in time to catch Callamus’s stare, to catch the knowing sadness gleaming in his eyes.
He knew. He knew what would happen when she touched the Oracle, and he’d let her do it anyway. Why?
Something brushed against her consciousness. The god’s voice rumbled in her head.
“Some things cannot be explained, Mariah. Not when the forces driving it are unexplainable. The Oracle knew what awaited her today. Do not fault yourself for it.”
Andrian guided her into the evening light and up the winding path to their rooms, Matheo following on their heels. Her gaze kept drifting back to the Marks twisting up her arms. The eyes woven into the pattern caught the rising moonlight, a watchful presence that she couldn’t escape.
The gods spoke of the Crieré like some altruistic, all-knowing presence. But what if they were wrong?
What if in trying to free the world from one tyrant, Mariah had brought back something far, far worse?
Chapter 68
“He made us meet him on his ship last time, when all along he hadthis?” Quentin crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.
“Are we even sure we’re in the right place? It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here.” Delaynie glanced up and down the quiet footpath. Her bare shoulder brushed his arm, his skin tingling at the contact.
He swallowed. He needed to get a grip. The last thing he should do was go into this hellhole distracted.
It also wasn’t his fault that she was so damndistracting.
Someone—one of Varyn’s lackey’s, likely—had deposited clothing for them at their prison-apartment. Quentin wore a variation of what he’d been given upon their arrival: dark, fitted pants and a short-sleeved linen shirt. It was begrudgingly comfortable, especially with the sticky ocean humidity of the island.
Delaynie, however…
“Stop fidgeting,” he murmured. Her face tipped up to his. She was guarded and uncomfortable, but perhaps that was the whole point of this test. “You look beautiful.”
Fucking gods, did he mean it.
Panels of lightweight azure silk clung to her form, revealing swaths of her flawless, creamy skin. It clasped over her shoulders with delicate silver chains, the material scooping low on her back.
He’d been trying so hard not to stare.
He knew he was failing atrociously.
Delaynie swallowed, the corner of her mouth lifting in a half-smile as her cheeks flushed with color beneath her kohl-lined eyes. “A compliment. How unusual, coming from you.”
Quentin scoffed. “Please. I give plenty of compliments.”
“None that you truly mean.”
A seriousness landed in his gut. “I mean this, though.”
They held each other’s stares for a long moment. Maybe one that was a touch too long for friends. Delaynie broke first, sliding her gaze back to the resplendent manor.
Friends, Quentin had to remind himself. They were there as friends. No matter how close their travels had pulled them together, they still had a job to do. He couldn’t risk failing his queen.
Not yet anyway. Not when her bond had finally blazed back to life earlier that day. She’d closed it seconds after, but he could feel it there, that steady reminder of her power. A reminder of what he was here to do and just how important it was.
