Chapter 199: The Surfaced Ring
Lorraine lifted her hand at last. She hated that she was surrendering, but she had no other choice. She felt helpless, but that was her only choice.
The moment her fingers brushed the Oracle’s soft palm, something inside her snapped, like a fist slamming into her gut.
Her breath tore out of her. She opened her eyes, and she was back. Back to he library, the stench of blood, the chaos... and her brother, pale and trembling, was held fast by the mercenary’s blade.
But something was wrong. Aldric and the others weren’t moving. They stared at her, no, through her, as though witnessing something beyond mortal sense.
Confusion tangled in her chest. Then it hit her. A surge, sharp and electric, flooding her veins. Her right arm lifted... not by her will. It moved on her own. She didn’t feel it but she saw her hand moving. Her heart pounded.
She looked down and saw her own hand glowing faintly, light racing through her skin like molten silver. Half her body...her entire right side...She could not feel it. It was no longer hers.
And the air... gods, the air obeyed. It coiled and whipped around her, tugging at her skirts, pulling her hair loose, as though the very wind bent its knee to her.
What...what was happening?
Her glowing hand turned of its own accord, fingers stretching toward the mercenary. The one pressing the dagger deeper into her brother’s ribs, drawing scarlet across his shirt.
"No—!" Lorraine tried to pull back, but her body didn’t listen.
The Oracle’s will moved instead.
Her hand twisted sharply, and in that same instant, the dagger in the mercenary’s grip twisted, as though yanked by invisible force. His wrist bent unnaturally, bones snapping with a sharp, sickening crack. He screamed, stumbling back.
But it didn’t stop.
The wind rose, a furious cyclone tearing through the shelves, knocking tomes loose, scattering parchment in a storm of pages. The power surged again, irresistible. Lorraine’s fingers curled into a final, merciless gesture.
Snap.
The mercenary’s neck twisted, his scream dying in his throat. He crumpled, lifeless, to the blood-slick floor.
Silence fell, broken only by the restless whisper of the wind.
Lorraine stared at her glowing hand in horror. That... wasn’t her. The Oracle. It was her.
Aldric dropped to one knee, head bowed. The other men followed suit without hesitation, as though in worship.
Her brother collapsed to the floor, having fainted. The boys were already limp, having fainted long before.
And Lorraine... She could only stand there, her body still half-possessed, the terrible truth pressing down on her like the weight of a crown.
She tried to move, but only her left side obeyed. Panic prickled along her spine as she realized what had happened. Her own body was half-possessed, wielding a power she did not understand.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, she was pulled back, the familiar glassy surface of the mirror-lake rising to meet her.
"You did that?" Lorraine demanded, her voice trembling. The Oracle had left her side and now stood before her, calm and radiant.
"I understood you did not wish to lose yourself when I acted," the Oracle said, her tone soft, melodic, almost comforting.
Lorraine found no answer to that. What could she say?
"You killed a man!" Lorraine’s words rang sharp, disbelief cutting through the cool lake air. "I was told... you were kind and merciful."
The coldness she felt when the oracle killed that mercenary... that was not someone who had kindness in her heart. It was vengeance. Pure judgement. How could she trust anything now? Who was this Oracle?
The Oracle smiled, patience like sunlight curling across her features. "Child, you mistake me. Kindness is not in letting evil roam unchecked. That is cowardice draped in virtue. Do not confuse mercy with kindness. Mercy spares the wolf; kindness shields the lamb. I chose the lamb."
Lorraine blinked, absorbing the logic. Her mind churned. It was unsettling, yet... elegant. "Makes sense," she muttered, half-impressed despite the horror she had felt.
But she was restless, yearning for more. "Give me that power too," she said, voice low but urgent. "The power to protect myself... and those I love. I want to do... what you did back there."
If she had that power, she would shield her husband from all enemies. That was all she wanted.
The Oracle tilted her head, a cryptic smile dancing across her face. "It is not yours to command," she said simply. "I am a demigod. You are human. That power—true power—cannot be borrowed; it only flows in me."
Lorraine’s pulse quickened. She leaned forward, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. "Unless... I let you take control of me."
The Oracle did not answer immediately. She let the words hang, delicate yet heavy, like a blade suspended over a chasm.
Was this a test? A temptation? A warning? Lorraine could not tell.
The mirrored lake reflected her own uncertainty back at her, and for the first time, she wondered if escape was even possible, or if she had already stepped into a web far more intricate than her own resolve could untangle.
-----
Meanwhile, in the grand audience hall, Leroy pressed a hand to his chest. A deep unease gnawed at him; a sensation he rarely felt, but one he always associated with his wife. His instincts screamed that something was wrong, and wherever she was, she was suffering.
He longed to leave, to rush back to her side. But protocol, presence, and the Emperor’s piercing gaze held him in place.
The Justice Minister cleared his throat, reading from the report in a meticulous, deliberate cadence. The Emperor’s eyes, however, seemed distant, fixed on nothing, as though he were measuring the weight of every word for his own amusement or his own trap.
"There is enough proof that it was the Grand Duke," the Justice Minister concluded. The words rippled through the hall like a stone tossed into still water. Murmurs swelled, reverberating off the gilded walls.
"I shall investigate these witnesses myself to conclude this case," the Justice Minister said with a bow, his tone carefully measured. The Emperor merely waved a hand in acknowledgment, dismissing the formality.
"With the Grand Duke already dead, we can safely assume justice has been served," the minister added.
Leroy exhaled sharply, aware of the scrutiny that would have inevitably fallen upon him had he killed Hadrian as he wished. Hadrian’s death was public enough to absolve him; his wife’s strategy had been precise: Hadrian’s death in a public space, witnessed by many and no finger could point to them.
Yet, out of the corner of his eye, Leroy caught the Dowager’s subtle gesture. She inclined her head toward one of the ministers, a near-imperceptible signal.
Lord Leville, a staunch ally of the Dowager, strode forward, every step calculated. He paused before the Emperor, hands folded neatly, a practiced bow punctuating his presence.
"Your Majesty is wise, as always," Leville began, his words laced with honeyed flattery. "Yet, I humbly submit that this investigation requires a more... trusted hand. One whose judgment is beyond reproach."
All eyes turned to the Justice Minister. Murmurs rose again. Was Lord Leville implying that Prince Leroy was untrustworthy? The suggestion crackled through the hall like static electricity. Leroy’s jaw tightened. Every instinct braced for what was coming next.
"State your reason," the Emperor demanded, his voice cold steel beneath the gilded formality.
Leville’s hand slid into his pocket. With a casual elegance, he drew something small and metallic, holding it aloft so that the light caught its emblem.
Leroy’s eyes widened.
Gaston’s signet ring.
A thousand questions collided in his mind. How had it reached Leville? Why here, why now? And most importantly, what scheme was this signaling?
The hall held its breath, the weight of politics and blood-thin intrigue pressing down on every soul present.