Her hand rose to wrap around the locket. “This is the only thing I have with me I can spare. It’s served its purpose. It led me to the dagger and the key, but I still don’t know what those are for.”
He placed a hand over hers. “No,” he said. “You keep that.”
She looked up at him. “Why? You said it had been yours, a long time ago.”
“Because I want you to have it.” He unsheathed one his blades. Tanith had given them to him years ago, before their relationship had begun to sour after his election to Dragon Prince. He loved the delicate carvings on the blades, the fine craftsmanship that had gone into their making. He’d never been in a fight without them.
“I’ll give her these. That should suffice.” He traced the figures carved into the steel. “They’re not something I part with easily. Assuming the Oracle decides they’re a worthy sacrifice on my part.”
Echo raised an eyebrow. “And if she decides they’re not?”
Caius slid the blade back into its sheath. “Then she chooses something that is.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Echo said. “So, we let her pick what she wants. What’s the big deal?”
He studied her, taking in the delicate angle of her chin, the hair that fought its way out of her ponytail, the wary set of her eyes. He’d thought he was willing to give anything up to find the firebird, but he was starting to realize that there were some things he’d rather not lose.
“The big deal,” Caius said, “is that it might not be something you’re willing to sacrifice.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Echo was silent as they traveled across the lake, their boat propelled by an unseen force. Every now and then, she looked back at the shore. Ivy, Dorian, and Jasper grew smaller and smaller as she and Caius approached the other side. The sense of unease that had been growing in the forest swelled, suffocating her with its immensity. As she was carried farther away, she quashed the fear that she would never see their faces again. When the boat bumped against the shore, she was jolted back to reality. Ominous melancholy could wait. She had an Oracle to see and a firebird to find.
Echo stepped out of the boat, and her boots slipped on the loose pebbles of a shore that was hardly worthy of the name. They stood on a tiny spit of land, about twenty feet across, covered in rocks, with the occasional weed stubbornly growing between the cracks, facing a wall made of large stones. Caius reached out a hand to steady her, and even through the leather of her jacket, his touch was warm. Warmer than it had any right to be. Echo shrugged out of his grip, pretending not to see the hurt that flashed across his face. She looked around, taking note of the complete and utter lack of an entrance to the Oracle’s sanctum. Moss crawled along the boulder before them, though a space about three feet wide was left bare, with a series of runes etched into the stone. Echo couldn’t read them, but she’d seen them before. She touched the key that hung around her neck, fingers brushing cool silver.
“Well,” Caius said, “this is where the entrance should be.” He leaned forward to read the inscription aloud. “‘To know the truth, you must first want the truth.’ Just like the key.” He pressed a hand against the boulder, running his palm over its surface. “This wasn’t here before. Well, the runes were, but they weren’t carved on a giant wall of stone.”
Echo stood close to him, their arms just barely brushing. “How did you get in last time?”
“There was a door. I knocked,” Caius’s fist hovered over the stone as if he were considering doing just that before dropping back to his side. “I’m fairly certain this wall is designed to keep people out, not let them in.”
“To keep people out, huh?” Echo pulled the dagger from her boot. “I have an idea.” As the danger of her situation had increased with each passing day, Echo tried not to imagine home. The thought of never seeing her library again, never smelling its stale books or seeing her fairy lights dangling from her stolen shelves was too much to bear. But home was where she had designed her own door meant to keep people out, not let them in. With Caius’s gaze on her, she pricked her index finger with the tip of the blade. She pressed her finger to the wall and whispered, “By my blood.”
The familiar feel of magic crackled in the air, and with a loud rumble, the boulder slid to the side, revealing a room lit by candles. The walls were lined with shelves from floor to ceiling, packed with the most unusual assortment of objects Echo had ever seen. Crowns, signet rings, and loose jewels were strewn about like debris. A medieval harpsichord collected dust in the corner beside a broken violin and a crate full of rusting handbells. There was an entire shelf devoted to porcelain cat figurines and another lined with skulls, some human, some animal. One wall was covered with clocks of varying shapes and sizes, all surrounding a grandfather clock that listed slightly to the side. Candles blazed on every available surface, wax dripping freely onto the floor. The only other exit was a wooden door, reinforced with a dark metal latticed frame, on the opposite side of the room.
“Fascinating,” Caius said.
“Creepy would be the word I’d go with.” Echo set a cautious foot across the threshold. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”
He followed her in, and the boulder slid back into place behind him. “I don’t think our visit is as unexpected as we thought it was.”
Caius walked around the room, investigating the Oracle’s collection and paused in front of the wall of clocks. There must have been dozens of them, but they were all set to the same time. A quarter to midnight.
The bird that sings at midnight, Echo thought. Whatever that means.
“What is all this stuff?” she asked. She poked at one of the skulls on the shelf in front of her. It looked as if it had belonged to a cat, but it was hard to tell.
“Gifts,” Caius replied. “The Oracle trades her wisdom for them.” He waved a hand at the hoard of objects around them. “She’s been at it for a while, as you can see.”
“And what did you give her when you came here?” Echo asked.
He walked over to a pile of weaponry in the corner opposite the harpsichord. He sorted through the items, sending a few helmets clattering to the ground, along with a shield and about half a dozen throwing stars. After a minute of rummaging, he pulled out a dented broadsword. “This. It was my first sword. My father gave it to me when I was just a boy. I was too small to handle it then, but I grew into it.” He ran a reverent hand down the dull blade. “I never thought I’d see it again.”
The skin on the back of Echo’s neck prickled with gooseflesh, and she had the uncanny feeling that they weren’t alone. Just then, a new voice spoke, coming from everywhere and nowhere.
“But I knew you’d come back.”
Echo spun around, bringing up the dagger in her hand. A figure stood in the center of the room, face obscured by a hooded black cloak. The only part that Echo could see was the hands, the backs of which were covered in feathers of every color from indigo to chartreuse. As they tapered toward her fingers, the feathers gave way to iridescent scales, like the ones on Caius’s cheekbones. The Oracle bore the markings of both Avicen and Drakharin, and Echo had never seen anything like her before.
If the Oracle was as old as Caius said, Echo doubted the dagger would do much damage, but it made her feel better. The unease in her gut grew, though she wasn’t sure why. The Oracle wasn’t supposed to be a threat, but Echo hated being taken by surprise.
“Welcome to my home.” The Oracle stepped forward, and Echo backed up. “Please put down your weapons. They won’t be necessary.” Her s’s were stretched thin, like taffy.
Echo didn’t turn around to see if Caius complied, but metal clattered against the stone floor. He’d dropped the sword. She kept the dagger in her hand.
“I didn’t hear the door open,” Echo said. “How did you get here?”
The Oracle wiggled her fingers and said, “Magic.”
Warm hands settled on Echo’s shoulders, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned her head ju
st enough to see Caius behind her.
“It’s all right,” he said. “She’ll tell us what we need to know.” He looked back at the Oracle. “If I recall correctly, a gift is customary at this point.”
When the Oracle moved toward them, her cloak drifted over the floor, as if her feet didn’t touch the ground and she was floating instead of walking. Echo tried to step away, but all she managed to do was press her back against Caius’s chest. She swallowed past the fear rising in her throat. All of her instincts were telling her to flee, to hop back in the boat and cross the lake, to leave behind the Oracle and whatever secrets she held, to forget all about the firebird. But she’d never been one to run away, and she’d come too far to turn back now.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Caius,” said the Oracle. “A gift will be paid in due time.” She slanted her hood toward Echo. “I see you’ve followed the trail of bread crumbs the last girl left.”
The last girl? Echo shrugged out of Caius’s grip. She needed room to breathe, to think. “What girl? What are you talking about?”
“The last one who came around asking questions,” the Oracle said. “She didn’t like the answers I gave, so she decided to pass her problems on to you. When you picked up that music box, you put in motion a series of events that led you to me. Every action in this universe has consequences. Every domino topples the next. It’s been waiting so long for something to trigger its release.”
“What has?” Echo asked.
“The firebird,” the Oracle replied. “What else?”
Echo’s pulse pounded with such force, Caius could probably hear it. “It’s here? It’s alive?”
The Oracle’s face remained in shadow, but Echo was pretty sure there was a smirk hidden under that hood. “Oh yes. Very much so. And it is closer than you think, though sometimes, before something can rise, first it must fall.” With a glance in Caius’s direction, she added, “The last girl didn’t bring him along. That was her first mistake.”
Echo shot a look at Caius, who was staring at her, brow furrowed, as if he were seeing her for the first time. She didn’t like it. None of this was proving remotely likable.
“I don’t understand,” Echo said.
The Oracle didn’t seem to care. “Oh, you will,” she replied, cool as an autumn breeze. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. The clock is ticking, and you have places to be. It’s nearly midnight. Tell me, child, what did your Ala tell you?”
The sweat on Echo’s palms threatened to loosen her grip on the dagger. There was no reason for the Oracle to be so focused on her. She was just a girl, looking for a bird. “How do you know about the Ala?”
“I know more than you could possibly imagine, child.” The Oracle picked up a small, yellowed skull from the shelf with the bones. She examined it for a second before gently placing it back. “It’s my reason for being.”
It wasn’t the answer that Echo wanted, but she had a feeling it was the only one she’d be getting. She wanted to find her answers and get out as quickly as possible. If she had to play the Oracle’s game to do so, then that was exactly what she’d do. She swallowed before speaking, taking a moment to calm her nerves. “The Ala said that the firebird would rise soon.”
“It’s already begun,” the Oracle said. “You can feel it, can’t you?”
The dagger in Echo’s hand, along with the locket and key dangling from the chain around her neck, sent out deep, pulsating waves of heat in response.
The Oracle bowed her head in the direction of the wooden door opposite the entrance. “Down that hall, you will find a door to which you hold the key. Behind that door, you will find another gateway, one that you must unlock, as only you can. What you find in that room will show you the firebird. But remember, some doors are more difficult to open than others.”
“Do you ever just give a straight answer?” As Echo asked the question, she almost felt like herself again. Almost, but not quite. Again, that great, unknowable thing loomed over her, and she felt powerless against it.
“No.” The Oracle smiled, forked tongue flicking over her fangs. “Was that answer straight enough?”
Of course. A smart-ass Oracle, Echo thought. Because why would this be easy when nothing else is?
The Oracle turned to Caius, content to leave Echo staring at her, dissatisfied.
“And might I add,” the Oracle said, “it’s so lovely to see you again … Prince.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Echo froze. Prince?
She turned to Caius, clutching the dagger so tightly that her palm hurt, but the solidity of it anchored her. He was just a mercenary, contracted by the Dragon Prince. Not the prince himself. He was simply Caius. But the name of the Dragon Prince had been unknown, out of use for over a century, lost to time and willful forgetting.
The Oracle continued, “It’s funny, isn’t it? The way people always fail to see what’s right in front of them.” The Oracle leaned in to Echo, sniffing her hair. Echo flinched. “What’s been in front of them the whole time.”
“Prince?” Echo said. Caius reached for her, contrition in his eyes, as if he wanted to apologize, but she stepped back. If he had an explanation to give, Echo wasn’t interested in making it easy for him. “Why is she calling you a prince?”
The Oracle made a strange hissing sound that might have been a laugh. She walked over to the harpsichord and sat down on the small stool in front of it. “Tell her the truth, Caius. That you have no intention of letting her keep the firebird. That you intend to take it for yourself. That the Dragon Prince did not hire you to steal the firebird. That you are the Dragon Prince.”
The words were stones, sinking to the bottom of Echo’s stomach. They’d come so far together. She’d killed for him, and he wasn’t even the person he’d said he was. She’d trusted him. After a lifetime of keeping herself closed off to all but a select few, she’d opened up to him in ways she’d never expected. She’d turned her back on Rowan, put her friends’ lives in danger, and all he’d done was lie to her. His betrayal cut as sharply as a knife to the chest.
“Is that true?” Echo asked. “Caius, tell me it’s not. Tell me she’s screwing with me, because I don’t know if I can handle the alternative.”
He parted his lips as if to respond, but all that came out was a shaky sigh. He ground his fingers into his temples, as though rubbing away a headache, and said, “I’m sorry.”
Two words. Two small words, and Echo’s world collapsed under the weight of them.
“I trusted you,” she bit out through clenched teeth. Once she said it, the words ran through her mind, a mantra that twisted the knife deeper and deeper. I trusted you. I trusted you. I trusted you.
Caius held out a hand to her as if he was begging for forgiveness. He wasn’t going to get it. “Echo, I—”
“I killed for you!”
He recoiled, as if Echo had punched him. She wished she had. She wanted to sink the dagger into his chest the way she’d plunged it into Ruby’s back. She’d taken a life because of him, and he was nothing more than a manipulator, a liar. He buried his face in his hands and sighed behind them. Running his fingers through his hair, he said, “Echo, I can explain.”
“I don’t care what you have to say,” Echo said, stepping away from him. She couldn’t be near him. She couldn’t even bear to look at him. All she saw was the person she’d kissed in the forest, the person who held her as she cried, soothing her to sleep. “You’ll just lie to me again.”
She grabbed the key and the locket at her neck, pulling hard on the chain until it snapped. She slipped the locket into her jacket pocket, but kept the key held tightly in her fist. Caius’s eyes, dark and shiny with what looked suspiciously like unshed tears, followed the motion of her hand. What the Oracle had said was true, she realized. He meant to take the key from her.
“I never lied to you about anything important,” Caius pleaded. “My title doesn’t change anything. I meant everything I said.”
A broken ex
cuse for a laugh dug its talons in her throat and scratched its way out, dragging her innards with it. “Anything important? You didn’t think the fact that you’re the Dragon Prince was important? Oh, God, the things you must have done. How many deaths are you responsible for? How many Avicen have you killed?”
It was one thing for him to lie to her, but to try to talk his way out of it was just insulting. Echo may have been played for a fool once, but she wasn’t going to let it happen twice. Not with him.
Caius took a step forward, and Echo lifted the dagger. He stopped, but continued, “Echo, please, let me explain—”
“No,” she said. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t have the right. I’m going to go find the firebird. Without you. You goddamn liar.”
“Please.” Caius moved to stand between Echo and the wooden door leading deeper into the Oracle’s cavern. “Nothing’s changed. Let me go with you. We’ll find the firebird, just like we planned.”
“Why?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. The nerve of him. Pretending they were still in this together, that they were on the same side. She’d been brought low before, but no one had ever made her feel like such an idiot. “Why would I let you have it? The Oracle’s right. You’re going to steal it. You’re going to take it back to the Drakharin, aren’t you? Was that your plan all along?”
“No.” Caius spoke, his voice laced with desperation. “I meant what I said. I want peace. I’ll use it to protect you, to protect everyone. Please, Echo.”
“And how am I supposed to trust a single word you say?” She circled around him, bringing herself closer to the door the Oracle had said would lead her to the firebird. “You’re a liar, Caius. I don’t trust liars.”
The Oracle tsked from her seat in the corner. “So stubborn, these children,” she said, as if Caius and Echo weren’t right there. “Fighting fate like they can stop it.”
“No, Echo, please,” Caius said, hands out, pleading. “I have to find the firebird. If I fail, we both lose everything. You’ll lose your home. I saw it, Echo, in a dream. I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me.”
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