Page 124 of Oathborn
A rough shelter was better than nothing. Just as she reached the edge of the dark opening, the clouds above let out a tremendous downpour of rain. Quickly, Zari slipped inside the cave.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the truth of the place unfolded. It wasn’t a simple rocky cave at all, but the threshold to something far older: a vast cavern, cathedral-like in scale, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the center, a small lake shimmered as if the moon was trapped within, somehow providing enough illumination for her to see by. The water cast dancing reflections across the stone walls like scattered stars. Pale blue moss clung to rocks, glowing faintly, illuminating a stepping-stone-like path to the smallest grotto, where four statutes stood.
The first was a small child with a lyre; the second, a young woman holding a sword flat in her palms. The third was a pregnant woman, drawing an arrow on a bow; and the last held a scale, weighing a sphere against a crescent moon.Zari was sure of their identities as soon as she gazed upon them. These were the fae goddesses. The same that Tivre allegedly communicated with.
This must be a forgotten shrine. Even the plants around the statues were withered and dried, as if no one had attended to them in years. A singular tree’s skeletal branches bore only a few dead leaves. How anything grew in such a strange cave, Zari wasn’t sure.
Unless, perhaps, magic. That was the only thing that made sense, and the thing she had no real understanding of. Her skin prickled with goosebumps. She didn’t belong here. Not in this shrine to divine beings she held no belief in. Even if they were real, surely, the goddesses knew her as a fake and an imposter.
Still, she had no other place to shelter from the storm.
In the center of the grotto, a glimmering glass box sat, displaying the most beautiful sword. The blade looked as if it was forged from pure silver, with a hilt made of crisscrossed crescent moons, and a massive pommel stone that, if it truly was a diamond, was easily worth more than her father’s entire manor.
This must be the Crescent Blade. A sword created by the divine and given to their chosen fae. A blade waiting for its next wielder, for Javen had cast it aside. All of Yansin’s stories about the sword, and his warnings about magic, came back to her as she stared.
“It can’t be so simple,” she whispered. Otherwise, why had no one before her dared to do so?
Can’t it? Can’t it?
The cave echoed her voice, and yet, not her voice at all. It changed her words slightly, turning them into a challenge, as if daring her to try to break the case.
For all she knew, there was a curse trapped within the glass walls. Better to take her time and think of the best course of action. As she pondered, her stomach gurgled. She checked her pockets, remembering how tightly Daeden had held her, and found a small bundle. He’d slipped her food, the same way Tivre had slipped a note into her pocket that fateful night in the capital.
Feeling the weight of the goddesses’ stone stares, Zari kept moving, past the grotto, and across the few rocks studding the placid, glowing water. Her tired feet slipped, more than once, and the water splashed upward, soaking her clothing.
Had one of the statues turned its head to watch her?
No. She was seeing things.
Except… the statue of the young woman holding the sword… Hadn’t she been presenting the blade before? Holding it flat in her open palms? Zari was sure of it, and equally sure that now, the stone goddess stood with her feet square and the sword drawn, ready to fight some invisible foe.
With a tired hand, Zari scrubbed at her eyes. She was seeing things. How long had it been since she’d slept restfully? Out of habit, she checked her father’s pocket watch. Barely a minute had passed since the last time she’d looked at it. Yet that had been before she’d left the Queen’s palace.
The pocket watch lied, just like Tivre had. The fae could not be trusted. She’d been a fool to ever think otherwise.
Exhausted, Zari curled up behind a cluster of rocks and stalagmites. Unwrapping the bundle, she found hard cheese and dried meat, and quickly wolfed both down. Water dripped somewhere in the distance.
Maybe an idea would come to her after a few minutes of sleep. Maybe this grotto was cursed, and she’d never wake again.
When she woke, it was to someone speaking. The low, rumbling baritone echoed in the cave, barely louder than the soft rhythm of the water lapping at the stones.
The hair along her arms stood as she recognized the voice. Carefully, she peeked around the stone only to see a dark-haired figure kneeling at the foot of one statue. From this distance, she couldn’t make out his facial features, but she didn’t need to. Only one man would be wearing a Rhydonian officer’s clothes here.
Javen.
Despite her hammering heart, she regulated her breathing to make as little sound as possible. If she simply remained undetected…
“You told me the stars would always be ours,” his voice, thick with emotion, echoed in the empty cavern. “To look up and know that I was not alone. Now… I see nothing but darkness above, Celene. Nothing but an eternity without you.”
Zari squeezed her eyes closed, wishing she could shut her ears as well, for his grief was too private for her to hear. He spoke to his dead wife. The same way she’d talked to the statue of her father. Except he had no hope left, no chance of ever seeing her again.
“I tried to forget,” Javen said. “All we spoke of, all we dreamed of. But I can’t. Not as long asshelives.” Out of the corner of her eye, Zari saw him approach the withered tree. When he reached the nearest branch, blue magic flickered at his fingertips. The magic sputtered, fading out like a snuffed candle. Javen growled, curling his fingers tight.
Zari’s skin ignited with pain. It radiated from her neck and burned through her veins. Her breath caught in a ragged gasp. Putting her hand to her neck, her fingers came away sticky with blood. Where the Queen had marked her was now an open wound.
Javen howled, as if he was in pain too. He cursed, loudly. Once more, he extended his hand, and once more, the blue sparks flickered out, as if too weak to last.
Horrible, slow seconds passed, as Zari’s neck wound throbbed and she bit back any scream of agony, all too aware of Javen nearby. What was he doing here?
