Page 4 of Marked By the Enemy
“Pity I failed. You should be dead, and I should be rich.”
He looked at me strangely. I couldn’t tell if it was contempt or calculation. “There are laws. The vow chose you. That can’t be undone.”
I wanted to ask what the vow was and why it had chosen me, but I didn’t. He was my enemy, and I still needed to kill him. He stepped farther in, halfway to the bed.
“You should rest. Fight it, and it turns cruel.”
My head ached. “Let it try. I’m used to pain.”
He stared too long, too hard. “You’re used to small things. This is older than you. Older than your Borderlands. It’s too powerful for the simple-minded, like you.”
A tightness gripped my face, and my skin stretched into a snarl. “Simple-minded? The unseeing seem that way because you chain them. But I come from the Borderlands. We see clearly.”
“You must be simple-minded, too, if you can’t see we fae already understand that.” He growled under his breath as he turned back toward the door. “You’re a guest. Leave, and the bond ends you. This isn’t a warning—it’s how the tie works.” Then he departed.
I plopped onto the bed, all my hatred drained from defeat. The vow. The bond. It had too many names for something that didn’t ask. What was this magic? Silence filled the room. But I had company. Whatever had happened in the ritual, the vow-magic was inside me, and marks on my palm and wrist were proof. The silver had faded, leaving only circular scars behind.
A fragrance of lavender and sun-warmed linen emanated from the blankets. I didn’t lie down. He had said it couldn’t be undone. Everything could be undone. I went to the window. Below, the courtyards had emptied. A single torch crackled near the inner wall. Somewhere far off, a horn blew low and short.
The air smelled like pine smoke and lightning. A storm building out past the hills. My eyes burned, but I wouldn’t close them yet. The mission was still alive. I thought of the Boundless—what they’d given me, what they’d trained me to do. The fae lived long and ruled quietly, but they fed on our silence. Let the humans wear themselves out, building the roads and picking the crops.
Let the unseeing stay blind. That was the deal. That was how the courts kept order. And Darian was one of them. A ruler of a system that left my village starving while his gates stood gold-plated.
I touched the inside of my wrist where the second circle still burned, fine as smoke. I didn’t know what it meant. But I knew this: The prince thought he’d won. He hadn’t. Not yet.
The sun didn’t rise. Above Elaren, ash-colored clouds hung heavy, blocking out the sun. Still, it was morning. The chamber filled with silver-white haze. Cold on my skin. From the warmth of my blankets, the tie throbbed under the ribs. It sent a signal into my consciousness, telling me that Prince Darian was awake and close.
I pushed myself up. My back protested. It felt rigid, although I doubt the trip or event caused it. Was the magic making me old and frail? Would it suck the life out of me like it did the unseeing?
The vow clung to the walls. It had grafted itself to me—thought, bone, breath. I couldn’t tell where it ended. Supposing Darian to be nearby, he’d soon appear, proving my prediction right. If I walked far enough, the bond would catch like a thread stretched too far.
The maid entered. Bread, fruit, tea. I eyed the breakfast she carried, and then I studied her round face and downcast amber eyes.
“Why does the bond make people afraid?”
She didn’t meet my eyes. “Because it changes things.” She left without another word.
Midmorning, a knock. One sharp rap. A fae guard waited outside, silver-clad, silent. I followed. We marched through corridors lined with runes I couldn’t read. I felt them anyway. Like whispers brushing the base of my spine, and the vow interpreting their voices.
The hall opened into a chamber. It was lit by large windows, and I noticed the clouds had vacated the recently dismal sky. Sunlight sliced through the gloom like it had no right to be there. Intricate tapestries adorned the walls, and the scent of polished stone and wood enhanced the regal atmosphere.
A single stone table stood in the center of the room, with a lone chair placed behind it. Prince Darian sat in the chair, his long black hair falling around his smooth, pale face.
His eyes were the grey of smoke after a storm—cool, hollow, watching for a fire that hadn’t started yet. “Sit.”
I didn’t.
He shrugged and flipped a page in the book before him. “You’ll find it easier to stand for now. The bond hates silence.”
“It’ll love me.”
That almost earned a reaction—just a twitch of his lips, maybe annoyance.
“There are terms to this arrangement. You might hate them.”
“Then don’t expect me to follow them.” He closed the book and looked up at me. His eyes were a color I hated. That pale winter gray. “You don’t know what the vow is.”
“And I’m not asking.”
