Page 48 of Oathborn
Quila had been doomed the minute she’d locked eyes with the Traitor. Daeden, too, would be. If his path crossed with Javen, that damned Oathborn magic would activate. None with the magic still in their veins would ever be allowed to let an Oathbroken out of their sight.
Hazelle’s jaw set stubbornly. “We shouldn’t leave her in danger.”
Tivre ignored her. After all, his visions had assured him Zari would reach the isles. She alone was safe.
Instead, he focused on adding more protection to his cloaking spell. Because what his visionshadn’tshown was Daeden back safe and sound on the isles. With one hand, Tivre sketched out the last sigil,Vesh.A shape made of a swooping curve, which added the concept of speed into any woven magic. Tivre needed its speed, for they had so little time left.
This spell would be his best attempt at protecting the stubborn Oathborn now glaring at him. Daeden said, “I do not like fleeing.” His jaw clenched, and tension rippled through every muscle, as though bracing for a fight. He was a warrior, by blood and by training, even if it was his gentle heart that Tivre was so fond of. “Why can’t we just seize this train instead?”
“We are not at war.”
Flashes of prior battlefields ran through his mind, each one a horrible memory he’d tried so hard to forget. Maqui, cutting through countless Rhydonians. Ishni, with a bloody blade, surrounded by corpses. Dozens of other Oathborn, killing because they could no sooner stop an Oath than stop the tide.
They were at peace. He’d never seen Daeden with blood on his sword. Tivre hoped he never would.
“We can wait,” Hazelle said.
“Not if Tivre insists on leaving.” Daeden checked his weapons, the Oathborn equivalent of biting one’s fingernails. First the knives under his sleeves, then the blades in his belt, and even the one masquerading as a pin holding his blond hair. “We should follow him.”
The way he’d said it—cold, factual, calm—made Tivre’s stomach churn. “Dae,” he whispered. “Are you… what Oath did she give you, before you left?”
“None,” Daeden said, but his eyes flashed like sparks, proving the words were a lie. If nothing else, he had been compelled not to reveal the Oaths he had taken. Fae’s eyes glowed when magic flowed through them.
To keep Daeden safe, Tivre would need to parse out exactly what rules bound him, and be sure to do nothing to challenge them. “Let’s go,” Tivre said. “I’ve enough magic to cushion our fall if we jump from the window.”
Thankfully, the two fae knew to trust Tivre on that, if nothing else. No fae still living would ever question Tivre’s magic, not when his shielding kept the isles safe.
Daeden pulled up the window and jerked his head, motioning for Tivre to go first. “You are the most valuable of us all,” Daeden said.
Tivre knew now it wasn’t out of fondness, but because his Oath offered no other path. Obey, and remain the Queen’s loyal soldier, or rebel and endure unspeakable agony.
For Daeden’s sake, Tivre jumped.
Chapter eighteen
Zari
The small house Javen had led Zari to served as Wesburg’s military headquarters. They passed a few soldiers on their way down the hall. Each one saluted Javen and ignored Zari entirely. It was a far cry from how she’d once been treated when she would visit military bases with her father.
Javen stopped at the second door and opened it, motioning for her to enter in a mockery of polite manners.
Inside, a massive wooden desk took up most of the room. Hardwood bookshelves flanked it, and two gas lamps on pedestals provided light. A telephone, one of the gleaming black new models, sat on the desk near a stack of papers. It was an office Zari’s father would have appreciated, though lacking in any of the homey touches he always added. He’d decorated with little crafts she’d made him, embroidered pillows, a quilt handed down through the family, and a painting of their family. Her father had loved those details, always smiling when she brought a new creation to adorn his desk.
Zari didn’t think Javen would ever enjoy anything described ashomey.
Javen set his gloves down, making sure they lay flat. One of the two ivory-colored gloves was stained with blood. Just what had he been doing before finding her and Tobias?
“Zari Ankmetta…” he mused, as he lifted a sheet of paper, scanning it with lazy disdain. “No relation to the general, I presume?” Condescension crept into his voice, as if he doubted the high-ranking officer could ever be related to her.
“He was my father.” She had no wish to hear Javen mock her papa, so she added, “and a good man.”
“On that point, we agree.” Javen replied. “I assume you miss him?”
Every day. Every hour. “I do.” Why else would she be so desperate as to believe Tivre and risk her life on this chance he still lived? Even now, part of her thought of following through on Hazelle’s suggestion and making her way, somehow, to Lochna. If she reunited with the fae, would she truly see her father again?
“So why have you betrayed what he fought and died for?”
“Betrayed? I did no such thing!”
