Ur’syth cackled. “Oh! Did I startle you?”
“I don’t like being touched.”
“Of course not. That’s the easiest way to see the truth, isn’t it?” The Oracle pointed at the thick silver band around Cheyenne’s wrist. “Especially when someone went through such pains to hide it from the rest of us. Born Earthside to a human mother, I see.”
“My mother has nothing to do with this,” Cheyenne snarled, her composure snapping as her drow magic burned up her spine. Purple light flared behind her golden eyes.
Ur’syth grinned. “Not yet.” She pointed at the metal cuff and turned toward L’zar. “I should have known your hand was the one to snatch up that little trinket.”
The drow thief smiled back at her with a shrug of fake humility. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, Ur’syth, and we both know you wouldn’t have given it to me.”
“It’s been put to an acceptable use.” The Oracle stepped away from Cheyenne, giving her another once-over with those glistening black eyes. “L’zar’s halfling heir, eh? It shouldn’t make a difference in the matter of a new Crown turning her own Cycle. But it might. Or it might not.”
Cheyenne gave the old magical a bitter smile. “It hasn’t stopped me so far.”
“Indeed.”
“Ur’syth.” L’zar lifted his chin when the Oracle turned to face him again. “Read the weave for my daughter.”
“What do you bring as an offering?”
He removed his hand from behind his back and held out a small vial filled with a dark liquid that looked like muddy water. Wiggling the vial at her, L’zar raised his eyebrows. “Right off a darkseller.”
“Ah. Come then.” Ur’syth waved her hand for L’zar to approach, and he set the vial gently in her wrinkled gray palm. Her hand and the vial disappeared into her tattered robes, and she sneered up at the thief.
“Make it a good one, Oracle.”
“That’s for her to decide.” The crone sidled past Cheyenne toward the base of the gnarled tree on the right and grunted as she lowered herself to the stone floor.
L’zar headed toward his daughter and dipped his head. “This will be fun.”
“What?” Cheyenne glanced at the haggard gray face emerging from the pile of tattered black rags on the ground and shook her head. “No. No one said anything about more prophecies. I don’t need any more of that kind of crazy in my life.”
“Too bad, Cheyenne. It’s already been paid for.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “You don’t change your mind once the offering’s been accepted. Not in Ur’syth’s house.” L’zar nodded, then stepped past his daughter and calmly sat in front of the crone, crossing his legs beneath him.
Cheyenne let out a deep, frustrated sigh and swallowed. I already know this is gonna be bad.
Chapter Thirteen
Ur’syth reached out for the closest potted plant on the ground beside her. The courtyard echoed with the grating crunch of small stones scraping across the ground beneath the metal pot. The dead-looking plant inside it shrieked when the crone’s hand plunged into the pot and ripped out a large, blue-pulsing root. The thing squirmed in her tight grip, mewling like a baby animal. Ur’syth scooted the pot aside and raised the root to her mouth. Her pointy teeth tore into its flesh, and it let out a piercing scream as glowing bright blue sludge squirted from its center. Most of it dribbled down the Oracle’s open mouth as she laughed, but a handful of wayward specks splattered the hem of Cheyenne’s trenchcoat where she sat beside her father.
“Ugh.” She leaned away from the crone, her drow sense of smell picking up the thick decaying odors mixed with the scent of copper and the stench of rancid fish.
Beside her, L’zar chuckled.
“Shut up, both of you.” Ur’syth thoughtfully chewed the piece of root in her mouth and used the other half of it like a paintbrush, drawing the blue sludge down the line of paint on her face from forehead to chin. Grinning, she tossed the other root away and spat a purple-blue wad into her gnarled hands. Once she’d rubbed that into her palms like skin lotion, she set the backs of both hands on her knees and closed her eyes.
Cheyenne shot L’zar a sidelong glance. He gestured for her to keep watching. Maleshi was right about Oracles. I’m done with them.
A low, crackling moan came from Ur’syth’s slightly parted lips. When her eyes fluttered open, they were white, rolling around in her head. Her voice rose in volume, not in thousands of tones like the raug Oracle’s voice but just hers, grating and gravelly.
“The Cycle turns.”
The crone was silent for so long, Cheyenne snorted. “Is that it?”
L’zar raised a finger to his smiling lips and stared at the Oracle.
“Crowns rise and fall. Tides of power raise all bloodlines into the Everweave. The bright is no more, and the darkness abides. The sword will pierce the heart. Shackles unbinding. Shackles pinned to pillars of hidden dreaming. A Crown is not a Crown without the blood of all. The blood of one will consume the Crown. The blood of one will lift the tides. The blood of one will sway the doorways into endless flux, and the gates will fall to ruin. To tear, to grieve, to unite the rift between what has always been and what will never be. But only here.”
Ur’syth swayed where she sat, her voice lowered again into mumbled words Cheyenne couldn’t make out. Then she sucked in a deep breath, her eyes rolling back in her head, and slumped against the tree. When she opened her eyes again, they’d returned to their unnatural all-black shade.
“Really?” L’zar stroked his chin and frowned at the crone, who was struggling to push herself away from the rough bark at her back. The tree shuddered and groaned in protest. “I said, make it a good one.”
“And I said it was up to the Aranél to decide whether or not it’s a good one.” Ur’syth coughed and pointed
