Page 53 of Oathborn
“Rescue me from him?” Zari asked. She folded her arms, not annoyed at his protectiveness, but a little surprised. Nothing in that last conversation they’d had made her feel he was going to come after her. “I went of my own free will.”
“I know,” he replied, his voice heavy. “A choice freely made can still bring harm. I didn’t have time to find you before the Crimsons started searching the train, asking passengers if they’d seen a woman with your description. I slipped away to try to find you before trouble did.” He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was a little late.”
“Or just in time.” She bumped his shoulder with hers, finding herself rather touched by his heroics after all. He’d risked so much and he had saved her life. Perhaps, like Annette, his wildling nature made him a little luckier than the average human.
“If you say so. At the very least, I can offer you dinner.” He grinned. “The finest goods my hasty packing can offer, in fact.” Yansin poured water from a faded military canteen and set out olives, crackers, and dried fruit. The canteen was a standard Rhydonian soldier’s, though badly dented and scraped.
“Thank you,” Zari nodded at the small spread, which, in her current state, looked as delicious as any fancy meal she’d ever encountered. At least he’d thought to pack food, and had his bag. Her hastily thrown-together suitcase was probably left behind on the train, or perhaps with the fae, wherever they now were.
“A pleasure to offer,” Yansin replied. The bygone phrase was one she’d only heard from elderly patients. “It isn’t much, but pleasant company with a meal makes even a meager one better.”
As she leaned in, she plucked an olive and ate it in one bite. The tart, briny taste seemed to reinvigorate her, sharpening her senses so she was more awareof him. “You know, I’ve not had olives since I left home, a decade ago.” Her father had loved them, but Annette couldn’t stand the smell of them.
“Do you miss it?”
“Oh, so much. We had the most beautiful garden with apple trees and strawberry bushes. And the library…” Smiling, she trailed off, picturing the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the massive fireplace, the comfy chairs, the silver tray where the cook would leave sweets for her, and the chess board set for the next time she’d play her father. A hundred little memories of things she’d never see again.
“It sounds wonderful.” He smiled. “I confess I spent more time playing in the mud of a garden than in the library.”
Zari giggled, imagining Yansin as a boy. “I bet you had adventures, though.”
“Oh, yes. We did.”
“Siblings?” she asked, a bit envious of those who had brothers or sisters.
“None. I had two friends that helped me cause chaos. Lili especially, for she was equally good at charming her way back out of trouble.”
Smiling, Zari recalled all the times Annette would charge into the library, shouting about some new game she’d invented. “Are you two still close?” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the girl’s name. Which was foolish. She was the one who had been supposed to marry the man whose house they were now in. What did it matter if Yansin still knew a childhood friend of his?
“No.” A shadow fell over his face. Zari knew enough of grief to recognize it. Now, she realized that had been the same burden he’d carried the morning they’d both left the capital. Grief. He’d come to Annette’s house to see her, like he’d promised, but he had been weighed down with grief, which again now settled on his shoulders like a cloak. Yansin swallowed, hard. “She died a long time ago.”
Did something happen, that night in the capital, to remind him of his lost friend? Zari didn’t wish to prod a painful memory. Instead, she took a sip of water, and drew small, looping circles on the dusty table. “I am sorry.”
BANG!
An impact shuddered through the house, as if something large had been smashed into a wall.
Yansin shouted, “Hide!”
Chapter twenty
Tivre
Tivre hated the woods. Granted, he hated most places, but the woods especially. He preferred his room, or the royal library, or anyplace with a nice cozy couch, a fire, and a good assortment of snacks. Yet, he’d been the one to volunteer to head toward the village. He’d find Zari, then return with her to where the others waited. At least, he hoped Zari was in the village, based on the glimmers of his magic he’d still sensed on her.
The plan had been a difficult one to get the other two to agree to, but thankfully, Hazelle finally realized the need to keep Daeden away from Javen. An Oathborn, like Daeden, would be locked in combat to the death against Javen, it was what had doomed Quila. And unlike that death, Tivre knew Daeden’s would destroy him entirely.
After that he had her aid in crafting some cobbled-together excuses they could use as a workaround for Daeden’s Oath. Hazelle was a terrible liar, Tivre, a much better one. At least, both of them knew how to word things with just enough truth to maneuver around a given Oath. An awful talent for one to have, and yet, one Tivre had relied on far too often.
Tivre wrapped his arms tighter around himself, missing Daeden’s warmth. He longed to rest, even for a little while, but to sleep would allow the dreams to come, which he dreaded. He was a Godspeaker. His dreams were no more his than the Oathborn’s lives were their own. Magic did not value free will, nor did it care for one’s own wishes.
A branch snapped. He turned, straining his eyes in the dark. Was that a figure in black, moving in the shadows? He shook his head, reminding himself ghosts did not exist. The dead remained so.
So, why had he thought he’d seen…
Searching for a distraction, he dug in his bag until he retrieved the candy he’d bought. Each one crunched in an explosion of artificially sweet flavors. He loved how creative the Rhydonians were with their sweets, for even the candy shaped like apples or lemons tasted nothing like fruit.
Just as he popped a green candy into his mouth, another branch cracked. Tivre cleared his throat, only to feel the distinct pressure of a knife against his skin.
