Page 65 of Oathborn
“Given what you’ve survived already, I do not think this an insurmountable task,” Yansin replied. Springing up from where he’d leaned, he took the sword.
Instantly, the blade seemed like an extension of his arm as he sunk into the defensive position, showing her again how to square her shoulders to anticipate the enemy’s first attack. “Try again.”
She groaned. If she couldn’t even draw a sword without tripping over her feet, how was she ever going to survive on the isles? “It’s hopeless.”
“No,” Yansin insisted. “As long as you draw breath, nothing is hopeless.”
He gestured for her to try again. Gritting her teeth, she once more squared her feet. Her fingers curled tight around the hilt.I can do this,she thought.For the sake of my father.
Now, it was her papa’s face she saw in her mind’s eye, his patient tone and gentle expression as he helped her practice her penmanship, over and over. Though her governess had been a good teacher, her father had always set aside time to work with her. Zari let herself imagine he was standing next to her, watching over her as she attempted to draw the sword.
Finally, the blade glided free, slipping easily from the scabbard. She’d done it. A grin broke on her face, which she found matched Yansin’s own.
“Well done, brave warrior.”
After, she sat with him, near the small stream, close enough their shoulders bumped, though hers, still sore from the training, ached a bit at the contact. Yansin picked up a small stone, and with that same lazy grace, he threw the rock into the water. It skipped several times before sinking. “No doubt, you’ll travel through Kirkton to get to the isles—that’s the Rhydonian town closest to the isles. I can draw you a map.”
She had no paper except her father’s letters. At least one of them was blank on the reverse side, so she offered that, and a small pencil. Yansin smoothedthe wrinkled sheet on his thigh. With fluid, sweeping lines he created a rough map of the north-eastern part of the continent.
“Lake Lochna is here.” He tapped on the bottom left corner of the page. “Then, the easiest pass through the mountains is a north-eastern one, based on an old logging trail.” That he sketched out with a wiggly line. “Following it sends you to Kirkton, which rests miles inland from the cliffs.”
The cliffs were impossibly steep. No Rhydonian had ever climbed down them and lived to tell the tale. How she was supposed to reach the isles without undertaking that task, she wasn’t sure. She simply had to trust Tivre had a plan. After all, he certainly didn’t have the physique of someone who could climb cliffs, so he must have another route. Unless… “Fae can’t fly, right?”
Yansin laughed again. “No, they cannot. There are other ways down to the shore. Your friends will know them.” A shadow seemed to cross over Yansin’s handsome face, his grip on the pencil squeezed tighter. He used the empty space to draw a little cabin with an arched door and large berry bushes. “This home is south of Kirkton. Go alone. Not with your companions.” His gaze remained on the drawing. “I… ever since that night in the capital, Zari, I find myself remembering things. Parts of the past I’ve forgotten, or tried to place behind me.”
“Memories of the war?” she asked, thinking again of the hospital wing dedicated to those soldiers who could not leave behind terrible, haunting memories.
“I don’t have all the answers. Not yet. I know this house is a safe place. At the door, knock four times. Tell whoever answers that the robin sent you.”
That night, Zari slept soundly, bundled in Yansin’s borrowed coat. In the morning, she woke to find Yansin already putting out a small fire. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes. A twinge of guilt hit her; she should have told him to wake her, so he could get some rest, too.
She also wondered if she should have offered to let him rest by her side. The illicit thought sent a shiver racing down her spine. She shook her head, schooling herself to remember her mission. She had to get to Lochna, findTivre and the others, and then, reach the isles. Any… foolishness… with Yansin would be exactly that. Sure to only end in heartbreak.
Or worse.
Zari had helped deliver more than one baby to an unwed mother. She knew the potential consequences of laying with a man and, like most unmarried nurses, she received a shot twice a year as a precautionary measure. Still. It wasn’t foolproof. And she must not be a fool. Not even for him.
Even if a smile from him sent her heart racing, and his voice was enough to calm all her fears.
Yansin passed her a mug full of rustic porridge, studded with raspberries. “Eat up,” he said. “I’ve already had mine. We should get going soon to make the most of daylight before the soldiers catch up to us.”
The breakfast tasted as fine as any meal she’d had back home. It was Yansin’s words, however, that lingered, reminding her of Javen’s cold-hearted nature and his knowledge of Tivre, of magic, of the fae language. He was connected to the fae, she was sure of it.
She was still ruminating as they packed up the simple camp and began their walking. “Awful man,” she said under her breath.
“Surely my cooking wasn’t that bad,” Yansin replied.
Zari stopped. “Oh! No. I didn’t mean you, not at all.”
“That’s a relief.” He smiled at her. “Tell me more of this person who’s led you to look so grumpy.”
“A military officer, the one in charge of the soldiers. He’s followed me from the capital, wants to arrest me on completely made-up charges and—” And seemed to have a much deeper understanding of the fae than she would have expected. “But Javen couldn’t—”
“Javen?”
She nodded. “Captain Javen. Awful man indeed.”
“Ah.” Yansin replied. “Never liked officers much myself.”
