Page 37 of Oathborn
Zari,
I must ask a favor of you. Enclosed, you will find the drafts of a document that I co-wrote with a fae who wants peace as deeply as I do. Keep my letters close to you. If you do not receive another letter from me, it means I have fallen in the war. Therefore, bring this draft to Lord Lockwood and demand he take it to Parliament.
Zari had kept the letter, though, thankfully, she hadn’t needed to confront Lord Lockwood, as the next, and final, letter arrived a week later. The Rhydonian government had taken much longer to ratify the Accords after that.
Now, she compared one of her father’s pages to Tivre’s documents. The drafted version of the Accords was two columns: one Rhydonian, one Fae. Her father’s boxy handwriting contrasted sharply with the flowing script on the right-hand side. Those symbols in silvery-hued ink must be the fae translation of the Accords. Had Tivre been the fae mentioned in the letters?
Tivre had promised her that he could be trusted, and yet, she still was not sure of that. He still hadn’t returned to the cabin and it was now hours past dawn. Where could he be? Carefully, she put away both the items from Tivre’s bag, and her own letters. When she had a chance, she’d ask him about it. She didn’t need to admit to seeing his writing to show him her father’s letters.
The train thundered onward, curtains swaying with each jolt of the tracks. Overhead, something struck the roof.Thud.
Zari held her breath, as more thuds echoed. They sounded, alarmingly, like footsteps. She turned toward the window just as a glittering pink shape appeared on it. A heartbeat later, the glass shimmered and began to melt, disappearing like frost in the sun.
Quickly, she searched for something, anything, to use as a weapon, but there was nothing. Not unless she wanted to swing a pillow or bag at whoever was melting the window, which didn’t seem effective in the least.
If she screamed, would anyone hear her?
A figure swung into the cabin through the now wide-open window frame. The intruder was tall, easily over six feet, with eyes too bright, ears too pointed, and a presence too otherworldly to be anything but fae. His Rhydonian clothing did nothing to disguise his true identity.
Long blond hair brushed against broad shoulders, and intense, cerulean blue eyes scanned over Zari, cold and calculating. There was a sword hanging from his belt, a quiver of arrows on his back, and band of knives strapped around his hip, but it was the sight of his bare wrist that scared Zari the most.
A dark birthmark covered most of the exposed skin. The same droplet and crescent on Zari’s own. Except hers was fake and she knew, from the sight of him alone, that his was real.
There was an Oathborn warrior in her train cabin.
Fear rooted Zari to the spot, and just as she opened her mouth to scream, another figure slipped in soundlessly through the window. This one landed light as a cat, the ruffle of her skirts the only sound. A pink jacket hugged her waist, trimmed to match the flared skirt beneath it. A netted pillbox hat perched atop thick blonde curls. Altogether, she looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine.
Except for the swords at her hip. And the fae eyes, gleaming with unearthly light.
Her gaze raked over Zari, as if measuring her up, or perhaps deciding how best to kill her. “Oh my,” she said, in heavily accented Rhydonian. Sharp canines flashed in her smile, adding to the stunningothernessof the two strangers. “How adorable you are, little Oathborn!”
“I…” Zari could retreat no further. Her back was already at the door. “Who are you?”
“I am Hazelle,” the female said. The woman’s left sleeve hung empty, as if no arm was there to fill it. A war wound, perhaps. “Stellaris of the South Star Isle, and this is my cousin, Daeden.”
The Oathborn inclined his head. In a low, rumbling voice, he asked, “where is Cal Tivre?”
She could only assume the word before Tivre’s name was some sort of title. She also had to assume it would be safest to be honest with the warrior. “He, uh, has stepped out of the cabin.”
“Oh, where has that brat gone now?” Hazelle rolled her eyes. “To think he left you alone!”
“He, um,” Zari bit her lip, fishing desperately for the correct response.
Before she found one, Hazelle drew one of the two gleaming swords from her belt. Zari screamed. She scrambled backward, just as the door swung open. Her collision with whoever entered knocked the air from her lungs.
“In all the stars…” Sighing, Tivre began. “Lady Hazelle and Sen Daeden, may I present Zari, the newest of our Queen’s Oathborn. Would you like to explain why you’re attacking her?”
“I’m not.” Hazelle sounded annoyed, not furious or bloodthirsty. Still, she held out the wickedly sharp sword. “I only meant to give this to her. An Oathborn is owed a sword, and a lady, a blade as sharp as the point of the crescent moon.”
The words flowed like poetry. Zari repeated, “A lady is owed a blade?”
Hazelle nodded. “This belonged to my sister, who was a brave Oathborn. I would like you to have it, as a gift, welcoming you to your now-discovered heritage.”
A heritage that didn’t belong to Zari at all. She was human, completely and entirely. No fae blood, no Oathborn magic. How long would it take these two to see through her deception? Zari risked a glance in Tivre’s direction, wondering if he had a plan in place for something like this.
“Another Oathborn. Well met indeed.” Daeden pulled her to her feet and threw his arms around her, as if she was truly a long-lost family member.
Zari ducked out of his arms. “Uh, that’s very fresh of you, sir.”
