Page 134 of Oathborn
Only now did Tobias see the intricate craftwork on the bejeweled dagger, beautiful despite the blood beginning to crust on it. “You,” Javen muttered to Tobias, “are a liability.”
Javen was right. Tobiaswasuseless. He’d been frozen by the threat the fae had presented. To think he’d once thought himself deserving of the Iron Kestrel, capable of killing a fae.
Gingerly, Tobias stepped over the dead. For all the fae had seemed mythical, their corpses looked no different from any human’s. They’d bled and died, just like humans, without evaporating into smoke or combusting into silver flames, like the rumors said.
They were dead. Had Javen acted in self-defense? “The… the Accords,” Tobias stammered, because his captain didn’t look like himself. His teeth seemed too sharp, his eyes too bright. “Are they over?”
“No.” Javen surveyed the bodies. He knelt, brushing blood-stained hair away from one’s face, and whispered something that Tobias could not hear. There was almost a tenderness to his actions. A gentleness, like he regrettedthat the fae was dead, which made no sense when compared with the viciousness of his attack.
Tobias looked away, just as Javen doubled over. The sound of retching echoed in the night. A coarse, horrid noise, mingled with the sharp howl of a sob.
Had Javen… known the now dead fae? Could they have been related to his wife?
“Captain?” Tobias asked, his voice still unsteady.
As another branch cracked, one more shadowy figure approached. Flashes of purple light sparked in their eyes as they drew their sword. Tobias shouted a warning, but Javen didn’t move, as if frozen.
One loud, echoing shot rang out, followed by a second and a third, though the first had done its job. The fae lay dead in the grass before them.
Tobias spun, searching for whoever had fired.
A man in uniform emerged from the trees on Tobias’s right, lowering his rifle. Then, with a knife, he notched the gun, a long, carved gash next to three others. All traces of the affable veteran were gone. This cold, efficient man, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder, was the notorious Samuel Rew Lockwood, leader of the Crimsons and hunter of fae.
Reaching Javen, Lockwood shrugged off his jacket and dropped it over Javen’s shoulders. “You’re a mess,” he said, casually, ignoring the haunted look in the captain’s eyes.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Javen cleared his throat. “I agree with your plan.”
“Good. I knew you’d come around,” Lockwood said. “You do what you need to?”
“More or less.”
“Family matters settled?”
A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. “Indeed.”
The two fell in step, reminding Tobias of two old wolves after a successful hunt. The fae bodies lay behind them, the notch on Lockwood’s rifle the only marker of the battle.
It took Tobias a minute to realize he’d been completely left behind.
Chapter fifty-three
Zari
When Daeden approached, Zari turned with a start, finding herself so relieved to see him. For all that he was an Oathborn, he was a friend, and unlike many others she’d had dealings with, he’d never lied to her.
“Zari! I saw the phoenix! I didn’t know you knew to cast that sigil.”
The glowing bird Yansin had made… a phoenix. That was what it had been. Should she tell Daeden that she’d been helped? No, not without knowing what other oaths he might have vowed. “Hazelle taught me,” she whispered, lying on behalf of Yansin. “But I can’t… I can’t stand. My ribs…”
“What happened?” Daeden asked.
“A… bear attack,” she managed. If she told Daeden it had been Javen who attacked, her ruse as an Oathborn would be over. Tivre had made that clear.
“You have claimed the Crescent Blade. Well done, Zari.” Daeden smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “I felt the moment you succeeded, for I was then allowed to follow you.”
A sob caught in her throat. Because he didn’t ask about the bear, which anyone surely would have done, given how little sense the excuse made. It was as if he knew she’d lied and knew that to ask for the truth would endanger them both.
“Now, it is time for us to return.” Daeden scooped her into his arms. His chest was warm, his slow heartbeat a soothing drumlike lullaby. She wanted toprotest that she didn’t need to be carried, but she was so weary and he offered much-needed safety.
