Page 107 of Oathborn
Time, at least measured by the watch, had stopped. “Tivre…” she began. “Are you sure…”
“I’m always sure of myself. Now, hurry along. Let’s not have the Queen waiting.”
The Queen. The immortal ruler of the fae who hated humans with a passion as deep and deadly as the sea surrounding her isles. What would she make of Zari? Tivre’s con seemed so flimsy, now that she understood what an Oathborn truly was.
But what choice did she have? Annette’s safety, her father’s rescue, depended on her.
Determined, she stepped forward, only tripping once in the strange skirt. As she ascended the steps, she saw more of the fortress ahead. Pale light gleamed in rows of distant windows.
As they climbed the stairs, she now saw hidden lush gardens with gnarled trees and beds laden with bright flowers, all unfamiliar except for white-trumpeted cadevesh. Even those grew larger and bloomed more fragrant than anywhere she’d seen before. The thorns on pale pink rose-like flowers gleamed as sharp as daggers, and the vines twisting around the ancient trees reminded her more than a little of that dangerous purple smoke.
How deadly would the Queen be? Nothing before now seemed so dangerous as this moment. Her other friends missing or gone, the mark on her arm the only proof she was a supposed Oathborn, her father, somewhere on these isles but still far from her…
“Shall we?” Tivre gestured to the garden path ahead. “Destiny awaits.”
Chapter forty-one
Tivre
Coming back to the palace never felt like a homecoming for Tivre. Even during the war, when returning meant a reprieve from violence, it was willingly reentering a cage. Because outside of the palace, there were things to discover, adventures to be had, people to meet. Inside the palace, there was only the cold, heavy weight of obligation.
He’d long since stopped seeing any enchantment in its construction, despite how the enchanted marble glowed faintly, the wrought iron details impossibly fine, like lacework on a grand scale. It certainly must seem that way to Zari, who gasped as they approached. “It’s like something from a storybook.”
Was it? The Rhydonian storybooks Tivre had read told of castles full of light, love, and laughter. None of which dwelled here. Instead, he knew the four-tiered structure, made of white stone and black iron, held nothing but malice inside.
His eyes raked over the windows, seeking out the one he used to watch the world from, and the one that Javenthal had used to sneak out to come and visit him. Two small, good memories, among so many bitter ones. When he looked at the massive steps leading to the entrance, all he could picture was how bloody they’d been the day of Liyale’s breaking.
Atop the castle was the Queen’s nest, a small tower like a wrought iron crown. He assumed she’d be there, as she so often was, staring out at thesouthern shore as if waiting forsomeone. The one she’d do anything to bring back and the one who would never return.
“Tivre?” Zari asked gently, as if she cared about him. Which of course she didn’t, he’d spent a great deal of energy ensuring she wouldn’t.
“That is my name, yes.” Or rather, the only one he’d answer to.
“Is everything all right?”
“Might I remind you of the circumstances we are facing?” he replied, his voice low. “And how none of them can be described asall right?”
Hazelle and Daeden, Zari, and now, Ashali. Would this foolish plan result in any of their deaths? He knew only that his life would be spared. Tivre was more useful to the Queen alive than dead.
“Is there anything I can do?” Zari asked.
“You can keep your head down when we meet the Queen. Do not look her in the eye unless she commands you to,” he replied. “Nod, smile, remember that an Oathborn has no choice but to obey. Learn the phrase,My word is my Oath, and my Oath my life. If one fails, then let the other be taken.”
“Those are remarkably sparse instructions.”
“They’ll have to be enough.” He gritted his teeth, for it was now apparent to him that the Queen was not in her nest, but approaching them through the garden. The rolling silver wave of her will slammed into his body with as much force as a punch.
There was no time left to warn Zari. Instead, he knelt. Thankfully, Zari did the same.Ten. Nine. He counted backward, waiting for the Queen.Eight.This close to her, his heartbeat changed its pace to match her own. The line of Artem had two goddesses in its bloodline, and the raw magical power that granted them was incredible. Few could stand against one with that much divinity mixed into their lineage.
Seven. Six.He glanced at Zari, wondering again if his lies would be enough. It had to be enough. He’d seen her in visions on the isles, in the summer, the fall, the winter. Seasons beyond this bitter spring. Proof she’d survive this first meeting.
Visions lied. He knew that. But she had to survive.
He’d made a promise.
Three. Two.
Branches rustled as the Queen moved to stand in front of them. Tivre lifted his head to peer at her impassive face. The Queen had looked the same for Tivre’s entire life. A silver crown held back her waterfall of dark hair, and the same metal twisted through her scarlet tunic, with sleeves that nearly touched the ground. A step behind her followed Olan, her ever-loyal Oathborn guard. His tall, hawkish presence loomed, his cold emerald eyes calculating every possible threat.
