Page 11 of Oathborn
Zari realized that Annette’s plan had worked, though a newspaper worker did not bring in the same salary, or command the same respect, as an officer. It might have mattered to Annette but Zari would rather spend her time with a kind man than a wealthy one, having known plenty of the latter and few of the former. “You said you would see me again. Is that a promise?”
“Indeed.” His smile spread across his face like sunlight breaking through dark clouds.
Chapter three
Zari
The ambulance headlights provided the only illumination as Zari made her way toward the vehicle. A military medic stood by its open rear door.
“How many casualties?” Zari asked. “Was anyone apprehended?”
“Don’t ask questions,” he scoffed. “Bad enough we’ve got women like you running around in hospitals. Last thing we need is women getting into military business.”
“If it wasn’t for me, at least a dozen soldiers would have bled out!”
“See. Emotional outbursts like that are why you lot don’t deserve the right to vote.”
Zari bit her tongue as she climbed into the vehicle. Yansin had called her a hero. He probably had no idea how rare praise was for her.
Three wounded soldiers lay on cots. The one closest to her fought with the thin blanket covering him. “Water…” he moaned. “I’m burning.” His youthful face twisted in pain, his fingers clawing at the bandage wrapping his upper shoulder. The white bandage, now crimson, was thoroughly soaked with blood.
Every hint of the color brought back the grim rhyme that had echoed earlier. The Accords stopped the fae from killing… but Blood Ember was a monster, and perhaps not bound by any peace treaty. Zari knelt by the soldier and tipped a canteen into his mouth. He drank with unsteady slurps, before slumping back down. Crusted blood clung to his tanned face and short-cropped dark hair.
Zari scanned his uniform for his name and rank badge. “Lieutenant Bridger,” she said, “you must rest.”
“Call me Tobias.” He mustered a ghost of a smile while she checked where the blood had soaked through the fabric. The gash was as raw as if the attack had happened minutes ago. Why had no one stitched it for him?
“Any chance you remember what happened?” Zari started on the stitches, working as efficiently as she could.
“Can’t remember,” he muttered. “Been trying to. Gotta give a full report to the captain.”
If his captain was still alive.
As soon as the ambulance parked, Zari leapt out and took the stairs to the hospital two at a time, then pushed open the large double doors. As she did, her shoe smudged a thick line of salt. Emmett, the clerk on duty, was busy lighting beeswax candles. Apparently one superstition wasn’t enough for him. She spotted an old wooden broom, laid crosswise over a chair, and a vase of fresh-picked marigolds. Each one a ward against fae, as the stories went.
Foolish stories that practical people should know better than to believe in. Yet, the handful of soldiers who remained in the lobby, either guarding it or waiting for news seemed just as superstitious as Emmet, for at least two of them had tucked a marigold into their coat buttonhole.
“I see word travels fast,” Zari told Emmett while she clocked in. Though no one had asked her to, she knew her help would be needed to get through the worst of the night.
Pushing up his horn-rimmed glasses, he nodded. “I’m thinking it’s Blood Ember, back to haunt us once more.”
“As there were survivors,” a crisp, cold voice announced from behind Zari. “That rules out Blood Ember.”
Zari spun. An imposing figure stood in the hospital doorway. His dark uniform was crisp, without any wrinkles. Unlike the other soldiers, he woreno cap over his impeccably styled black hair, which matched the sharpness of every other detail, from his white gloves to his high cheekbones and cold blue eyes. One hand rested on the pommel of an elaborate sword. The other held a lit cigarette, which he took a deep draw from.
As he exhaled a thin plume of smoke, the soldiers sprang into salutes, all of them chorusing, “Captain Javen, sir!”
She found herself disliking him on sight. Something about him seemed too smug, too confident, especially on a tragic night like tonight.
Striding through the lobby, he reached Zari in seconds. “Are you one of the ones seeing to the wounded, nurse?”
“I am. And I’ll ask you to put that cigarette out.” She found her courage, despite how high she had to lift her chin to stare at him. She’d once had tea parties with generals. A captain shouldn’t intimidate her. “This is a hospital.”
He raised a dark eyebrow, clearly questioning her.
A nurse rushed into the lobby from down the long hall. Her hands twisted in her apron and as soon as her eyes landed on Zari, she gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, I’m glad you’re here. We need help. Something’s wrong! The patients… their stitches… Their wounds are all open again.”
That made no sense. She’d been the one to stitch up at least five of the wounded. Except… She recalled Lieutenant Bridger, in the ambulance, and his open wound. She’d thought it a simple oversight, but now she wondered if it was related to whatever was going on.
