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The answer. It had been with her all this time, staring her in the face.
“Fate,” Thicket said, looking up to meet the Tricker of Thoughts’ wicked eyes. “The answer is fate.”
The Tricker of Thoughts’ canine teeth bared in a grin. It stepped aside. “You may retrieve your belongings.”
A trunk sat at the back of the cave, filled with all sorts of trinkets, from glimmering jewels and golden coins to odd little nicknacks that appeared wholly out of place, yet weren’t any less of a treasure. Picture frames, well loved toys, half stitched handkerchiefs. And, sitting atop the pile was Thicket’s sword, Elian’s ring dangling from the pommel.
She reached her hand out, the relief at seeing the items again loosening the knots in her stomach. Her stomach kept unraveling, the threads of unease surging up into her throat as the floor vanished beneath her. All she saw as she plummeted down, down, down was the wicked gleam of the Tricker of Thought’s canines.
Had it fooled her? Had she gotten the riddle wrong?
Air lashed at her face, made sharp from the velocity at which she fell. Deeper and deeper and deeper into the earth beyond.
Wind grabbed at her ankles, easing her onto the hard ground beneath.
Thicket’s legs shook but she managed to stay upright. The cave around her was as tall as the wall of thorns and made of just as many jagged pieces. The dark stone drank the light from the dozens upon dozens of dandelions and crystal stones, illuminating a series of platforms protruding from the cave wall where all twelve of the Numyna sat, peering down at her with shining teeth.
“Hello, good day, how do you do? Wildfire Princess, Girl of Dreams, Walker of Two Worlds.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Thicket shivered as the Numyna’s voices melded together, forming a cacophony that trickled down the walls, almost like a vibration to shake the foundations of the cave. She couldn’t see all of them from the shadows of their perches, but she counted twelve figures.
Twelve like the number of seats on the council.
Twelve like the number of chalices.
One of the Numyna approached, its misty body and webbed wings shining as it stepped into the crystalline light of the cavern.
“Welcome, Wildfire Princess,” the Seeker of Souls said. “You have passed our trials and proven your heart is true. As promised, we will guarantee your soul wish is granted.”
“I must say,” one of the Numyna hissed. Thicket swore the flick of a forked tongue darted from the shadows. “You are much different than the others of your blood. The skin you shed is thicker, yet your soul burns the same.”
“The others of my blood? You mean Murdoc Vogeli?”
“The Exalted King, Twelfth Noble, Giver of the Chalice,” the Numyna with the forked tongue hissed.
“He feared he wasn’t worthy of the Vindryan crown,” the Seeker of Souls said, “and wished for something to prove his right to rule. I brought him here, and after passing our test, we gave him something that would guarantee he would be acknowledged by rulers all across the land.”
Their blue fire.
“But,” the second voice said, “we also warned him that with such power comes the potential for corruption.”
The prophecy.
The Numyna had given Murdoc Vogeli power that no other could rival because he was a just and noble king. He had been the only one to sacrifice his chalice to quell the Thirteenth Noble’s rage, a sacrifice that not only spared him, but set the tone for all of Vindrya.
She had seen many kingdoms since waking up.
Dymree loved wealth and beauty, using it to fill the spaces within their cold, vacant hearts.
The Desert Kingdom honored tradition and loyalty, using it to strengthen the bonds of their vast lands.
And the Vindrya she had learned about during her lessons with Lotta was the median between the two, the one who valued peace and unity. However with Lavender’s hatred and jealousy, all of that was lost, shepherding in a Council who forgot what it was like to take a risk to do the right thing.
Another figure moved from the shadows. It was black as an eclipse with eyes to match, its pupils so blown out that there was only a thin rim of orange along the edges, burning and bright. Protruding from its thin, black body were black feathery wings, only making the devastating darkness of its body feel all more consuming.
“Hello,” it purred, all too similar to that of its kin. Only this cat looked as if it held all the realities glimpsed from all the cats in the world within its molten eyes. “I am the Teller of Omens.”
