“The Oracle has lost her eyes,” said the king. The druid stilled in shock. “Whatever she saw, it left her blind.”
“Blind? How is that possible?”
“I ken not. She, like you, refused to wake.”
The vision flooded into him like the cold of the lake.
The druid had yet to make sense of what he’d seen, but vividly recalled the fear and terror; the soundless march and those burning glacial eyes searching… sowing death. His voice caught in his throat. He could do nothing but huddle near the Vaich’s warmth and chafe against the memory.
It was a quiet ride—neither the druid nor the Vaich breaking their strange silence. And strange it was, indeed. They remained, in a way, captor and captive, but the druid’s thoughts slipped out between his bars.
The Vaich avoided his gaze. He wondered what it meant. Did he resent the druid for surviving? The druid could live with that. Though his bones hurt whenever he imagined the king gloating over having gotten anything right.
From the moment he had been brought to Rhyd-hal, the druid had turned his face from fate. But it lashed his porcelain skin, and he found that he bled red.
“You shouldn’t brood,” said the Vaich. “It screws up your mouth.”
“I do not brood,” the druid argued.
“Sure.”
What a smug thing.
“What matter is my mouth to you, anyway?”
The Vaich tensed. “No matter at all. I’ve never seen you use it in a way that wasnae foul.”
“That is a fascinating way of saying it disagrees with you.”
“Aye,” said the king. “It’s disagreeable.”
Bickering was pointless. If the Vaich only knew…
Knew what?
The druid had no claim to knowledge. In fact, he knew less than when he’d come. He was confused about many things, but one settled thick.
Gnawing dread—like iron claws dragged across his skin.
As the sun settled, the king called for a rest. They reached the woods and made camp within. The Vaich dismounted first, unfastening theirwool and leaving it for the druid to bring about his shoulders. He reached up with strong hands, settling them on the druid’s narrow hips, and with an eased manner, lifted him from the horse’s nape.
There was something careful in the way the Vaich touched. Like someone carrying a precious vase—both fearful… and protective. He set the druid down, seemingly determined to continue avoiding his gaze.
The druid held tight to the wool. “Shall I tell you what I have seen?”
“It would seem the vision was for your eyes only.”
“I saw you.”
The Vaich chuckled dryly, pulling his pack from the horse’s hind. “Did you now?”
“In chaos. And blood.”
He bristled, pausing a moment over the saddle’s leather straps. “You ought to keep your witchery to yourself.”
“I am not a witch,” the druid said. “I believe it is a warning.”
“Now you profess to tell the future?” the Vaich grunted. “Wicked work you are.”
