Page 28 of Oathborn
“They are not broken. The one who killed my companion is not bound by those documents.” Tivre sighed. He did not look the way she’d imagined a fae might, nor did he look human, either. His youthful face had a certain angularity to it, and a faint glow pulsed beneath his skin. His attractiveness, however, was diminished by his smugness. “As for why I am here, I am following my Queen’s orders to bring an Oathborn to the isles where she belongs.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not even a fae.”
“Ah, but her great-great-grandmother was one.” He sat up and smoothed his hands over his vest. The fae in tales wore strange robes and black armor. They did not wear fashionable, double-breasted jackets with green linen vests. “And the proof of her Oathborn status lies on her wrist.”
“It never did before.” Surely, Zari would have seen it.
“It had been hidden. A relative, perhaps, upon her birth, made sure to do so. My song removed the glamour, revealing her truth.”
“That sounds impossible.”
He dug in his vest for a battered gold pocket watch. “How many seconds are in a minute?”
Confused by the non-sequitur of a response, Zari answered slowly. “Sixty.”
“In mortal lands, yes. On the isles, where fae magic reigns… it can be far longer. That is the power of magic. And this watch, too, shows the power of something else.” He clicked it closed, allowing her to see the front of the watch. “Hope.”
Zari’s jaw dropped. Carved inside was her father’s name. This was the same watch she’d learned to tell time on, the watch she hadn’t been able to find on the body she’d believed was her papa’s. For Tivre to have this… Zari shook her head. It was a trick, a conjuring. “You can’t use this to distract me from Annette’s safety.”
“I could summon an entire constellation of stars to distract you. I don’t need such trifles as the truth to do so.”
“What is the point of telling me this, of insisting my father is alive?” Zari balled her fists. “If he is, why has he not come home?”
“It is a long journey,” Tivre replied, offhand. “As your friend will no doubt discover.”
“Annette’s not going with you! She has a family here. She can’t go to the isles.” Nor did Zari think any human would be able to reach that mystical place. No spy ever sent during the war returned. The cliffs leading down to the sea around the fae isle had killed countless more intrepid soldiers. As far as she knew, no Rhydonian had ever set foot on fae lands but she was to believe her father, somehow, had?
“It is not my choice,” Tivre said. “The Queen wants her Oathborn returned to her.”
Zari stood. “All of this—it’s all fake. I’m taking her home and you won’t stop me.”
“If you do, you will never see your father again.”
Mid-step, Zari froze. What if he was telling the truth? She thought again of her father’s bronze statue, the empty eyes, the tears she’d shed.
A wild hope arose within her, coursing through her veins like fire. Could there be a way she might both see her father and save Annette? “What if I take her place?” Zari asked. The stories said that fae delighted in making deals. “Use your magic to make Annette forget tonight and ensure she is kept safe. I will go with you, and bring my father home.”
A small smile curved Tivre’s lips. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, as something about that expression, about those sharp teeth glinting in the half-light, set off a deep, primal fear within her. The stories also said that fae were the greatest danger humans had ever known.
“You are sure of this?” he asked.
Why didn’t he sound surprised? It sounded almost as if… as if he’d always expected her to offer. What other choice was there? She couldn’t sacrifice Annette, not when she had a family and Zari had no one.
No one, except perhaps her father? Mind made up, Zari nodded. “Yes. I am sure.”
“Very well. It shall be so. Your life in place of Annette’s.” He said it so simply. She’d gotten her wish and he’d accepted her deal, just like in the stories. With a snap of his fingers, green lights flickered to life above his hand.
Magic. Real, impossible, magic. Zari stared at the lights, which danced like captured fireflies, until Tivre took her hand. The green lights buzzed against her skin, vibrating like a violin string. She lifted her head to the broken stained glass above them. Color still clung to the shattered fragments, beauty clinging amid destruction.
He muttered words, low and deep, in a language that sounded like thunder. The ocean roared in Zari’s ears. She staggered, feeling as if the tide pulled her down. Only the sensation of Tivre’s fingers tightening around hers brought her back, gasping. The taste of saltwater lingered on her lips. Somewhere, deep in the shadows of the ruins, laughter rumbled.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Frozen as the lights raced up her arms, winding around her like ribbons around a maypole. Frozen as her skin burned, then shimmered silver, before that same birthmark appeared on her skin.
“It is done.”
Cautiously, she brushed her other hand over the mark. It was as permanent as a freckle, and as impossible as holding starlight. “Is it… real?”
“It’s a real birthmark, yes, but don’t worry, you’re still as mortal as a mosquito. Not even I can create a true Oathborn.” Tivre picked up the hat he’d worn earlier and tugged it on. As he did, green magic shimmered around him, shifting his hair color to light brown. His pointed ears disappeared, replaced by normal-looking human ones.
