Page 50 of Oathborn
Although, with the image of Garrick now fresh in her mind, Zari realized why Wesburg sounded familiar. Her heart twinged at the memory, just as Javen spoke again.
“A matter of a mouse caught in a trap. I’ll call again when I’m done.” He hung the receiver back on the telephone hook, and finished his cigarette. “Now, Miss Ankmetta, I am offering you a chance to exercise your free will, as well as your brain. Tell me where Tivre is headed, or accept your new home in a jail cell.”
It was a trap, just as he’d said. If she admitted anything about Tivre, he could use that as evidence she conspired with the fae. “That’s no choice at all!” Zari leapt to her feet.
Javen rose, slowly, and peered down at her, his gaze as unfeeling and cold as ever. “Should you not see it as such, that is your failing, not mine. Although, a word of warning; you speak the fae language so fluently, Miss Ankmetta, do try to return to Rhydonian before speaking to anyone else.”
The words sent a chill down her spine. She replayed the whole conversation, hating that she had no indication, no knowledge, of when she’d switched from one language to the other. No wonder he’d been suspicious of her.
“Captain!” The door slammed open, and a Crimson soldier charged into the room. The man hastily saluted, his rifle still in one hand, as he said, “We have a sighting of Blood Ember.”
“It was already proven false, Corporal.”
“No, sir. A new one. Close by. Matched the description exactly.”
Javen pushed past Zari. “I’ll handle it from here.” As he spoke, he pulled on his gloves, and Zari stared. There, on his wrist, was a mark that matched Zari’s own. A crescent surrounding a droplet. Oathborn. Was he like Annette, then? Born with the mark but unaware of his heritage?
Or was something more complex at play? Because he did know more about the fae than any other human she’d met.
The Crimson soldier replied, “Our orders were to accompany you. Lockwood said—”
“You would become a casualty.” Javen unsheathed his blade and checked it over. The weapon wasn’t an officer’s saber. No, this blade, with its delicate handle and deadly gleam, could only be that of a fae.
His gaze flicked in the direction of Zari, sending a silent challenge. Daring her to say something, to accuse him or ask further questions.
She gritted her teeth and glared at him. “My father despised men like you.” If he’d held the general in high regard, like he’d said, she would let that be its own insult.
Javen just smirked at her as he reached for another cigarette.
The Crimson closed a large, sweaty hand over her wrist.
“Take her to a holding cell,” Javen said. “One without windows.”
“There’s a grain cellar nearby.”
“Good. Guard the door once she’s inside.”
Zari bit back the insults she wanted to fire at Javen and, instead, let herself be tugged along through the building. No windows. So he must know that magic could dissolve glass.
The town was still quiet, and dark. The soldier pulled her along, wordlessly. Ahead, she spied the stone tower that once held grain, that would become her prison.
Would Tivre come looking for her? Would he even be able to find her? Captain Javen had made it clear the prison was to have no windows, as if he’d known how Hazelle and Daeden had melted the glass of the one on the train.
Which meant her best plan was to escape. Escape, and then find a way to get to Lochna, like she’d promised Hazelle.
Checking over a shoulder to make sure they were alone, she slipped her wrist free, and spun to face the Crimson. Her knee lifted, slamming into his groin, and he doubled over. Zari drew the sword from her back, wrapping her fingers tighter around the hilt. “Let me go,” she told the Crimson. “Or—”
Or what? Was she truly prepared to kill a soldier, another Rhydonian, for the sake of the fae? She was still a Rhydonian citizen. Her loyalties should lie with her country. Shouldn’t they?
A shadow dropped from a building and hit the ground, knocking the pistol from the soldier’s hand. Their elbow swung up, smacking his head. The soldier crumpled, motionless except for faint breathing.
The man lifted his head. “I thought I recognized my coat.”
Chapter nineteen
Zari
Yansin. Looking much the same as he had two days ago, when she’d said goodbye to him in the capital. Now he was here, standing in front of her, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world.
