Page 33 of Oathborn
“Hence the request for coffee?”
That finally earned her a smile, though it was a softer, more muted version of the grin which had so enchanted her last night. “Indeed. So, we shall have coffee for my woes, and as for yours, you’ve yet to tell me the rest of the story. Your friend, Annette, must be a wildling then, like me.”
In stories, a wildling was a child with fae blood, fitting in nowhere, full of mischief. She’d not thought to compare Annette to that folklore, but now that she did, it made sense. Annette was always getting into trouble, struggling to sit still and stay indoors. She often escaped her governess to find Zari and convince her to race horses or climb trees. Not only that, but Annette had that luck, that strange ability to guess right so often, and always seemed to land on her feet in a fall. A thought rose to Zari’s mind, and she dared to ask it, figuring Yansin would know better than most. “If it’s not rude to ask, can part-fae do magic?”
He tilted his head, clearly weighing both her question and his answer. “I cannot speak for all with fae blood. I daresay not even most full fae would be able to, this far south. It’s said magic fades the further one travels from the isles.” An intensity cut into his voice, like a warning. “Which means for one to be able to conjure anything, here in the capital, they would have to be a powerful mage indeed.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” He arched one auburn brow. “Zari, if you break a deal with a fae, your life could be forfeit. What exactly did you promise?
“I said I would go to the isles, in her place, and pretend to be the Oathborn one they were looking for. It’s just a mark, I didn’t think…”
“It’s not just a birthmark. It’s a sign of magic that some fae, or in the case of your friend, part-fae, are born with. I don’t see how this plan is going to work.”
“It will. He promised. The fae gave me a train ticket and told me to meet him. The train leaves this morning.” She bit her bottom lip, locking away any mention of her father. Hope was such a fragile thing. It felt as if she spoke aloud about his survival, she’d realize it was impossible.
“Oh, Zari…” Yansin murmured, his voice thick with something that made her chest tighten. Suddenly, he pulled her into his arms. Her cheek pressed against the warm skin of his chest, separated only by the thinnest layer of cotton. She could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath it, as he tightened his hold, like he wasn’t sure when he’d get the chance again. “It’s going to be a dangerous journey,” he whispered. “And I’m afraid for you.”
“I’ll be safe.” Closing her eyes, Zari breathed in, wishing this moment could last forever. Even his scent was comforting to her, mint and smoke and the hint of a spiced soap. “It is for the right reasons that I am going.”
“As are many quests, though their worthiness does not decrease the danger.” He stepped back, once more looking at her with tender eyes. A deep conflict seemed to war within him, as if there were words he was holding back, something he was desperate to tell her, but couldn’t.
They barely knew each other. After a fire-forged first meeting and a wonderful date, what were they to each other, after all? Zari bit her lip, rocking on her heels. “I’ll be back soon.” She told herself that was implied in Tivre’s words, that there was no reason for him to need a false Oathborn on the isles for long. “When I return… could we meet again?”
Yansin turned away. “You should get to the station. You don’t want to miss your train.”
“But—” she’d asked a question and he’d ignored it. The coffee, too, seemed all but forgotten. “Won’t I see you again?”
“No.” He stared out to the sun, rising in the distance. “I do not think you will.”
Chapter twelve
Tivre
Once Zari left, Tivre set to work cleaning up the mess. With a quick flare of magic, he burned Quila’s body, whispering the funeral rites as he did. Even after the corpse had been rendered to ash, no feeling of grief came to Tivre. Her death was tragic, yes, but so was every death he’d witnessed. If he stopped to grieve any one, he’d have to grieve all of them.
Besides, his bones were aching from all the use of his magic. Annette would have no memory of the night, though it had drained him. She would wake with an aching head, nothing more. He wasn’t even sure if she’d remember Zari at all; memory spells were always risky in that way. A wielder could never quite determine how deep the forgetting would go, or how long it would last.
At dawn, he glamoured a handful of leaves into currency, then used them to pay for trolley fare to the station. He fell asleep on a bench, woke, bought a few assorted pastries and ate all of them; only then did he spy Zari Ankmetta, sitting on another bench, looking lost in thought. She’d gained a purse, a hat and a faded overcoat. The color made her olive skin sallow, the dark circles under her eyes far more pronounced. She was short, with dark curly hair that didn’t even brush her shoulders, and peculiarly mortal brown eyes.
He approached her, making sure he sported his most gallant grin. “Well met by moonlight,” he added, “figuratively, of course.”
“You’re awfully jovial,” she replied, coldly. “I’d expect a little more solemnity from someone who—”
“Who is a dashing fae mage?” he whispered to her, trying for a seductive tone. Not that he planned anything of the sort with her. Tivre preferred to keep his romantic entanglements short, pleasurable, and utterly uncomplicated by destinies.
Zari shook her head. “Who has had the night you’ve had?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“If I come with you,” she spoke slowly, in that way Tivre was very used to people—both fae and humans—speaking to him, “you promise I will see my father?”
“Of course.” He was thankful that the way she worded the request required no lies. Unlike in the stories mortals often believed, fae could lie. Still, he’d rather stick to some semblance of the truth.
Finally, Zari joined the queueing passengers, and he followed. Within minutes, they were on board and at the door of cabin 113, their home for the next week. As Zari opened the door, Tivre leaned past her, rocking on his heels with excitement.
Of all the mortal inventions, trains were among his favorites, far surpassing fae’s chosen form of travel. Horses, after all, had far more bodily functions, and opinions, than any train or automobile.
