Page 68 of Oathborn
“Has that been suggested?” A sharp note of worry cut into Tivre’s voice. “By whom?”
“Easy, easy.” Daeden held a hand up, his good-natured smile returning. “I would not dream of offending the goddesses’ will with my unworthy hands. You have no need to lecture me.”
It wasn’t the goddesses Tivre cared about. The Crescent Blade took the life of the one who wielded it, a deal made in exchange for its power. He could not allow Daeden to make such a bargain. With the Crescent Blade’s magic fused to Daeden’s natural talent, he would become a perfect weapon for the Queen, for as long as he could withstand the blade’s curse. Eventually, all who wielded the Crescent Blade perished by it. Such was the nature of its limitless power.
When he returned to the isles, Tivre would have to find a way to entrap the blade even more than it already was. Locking it inside a cursed crystal coffin had seemed like overkill. Now, he wondered if he would have been better off throwing it into the ocean.
“Anyway,” he told Daeden. “If you wish for me to keep up, you’re going to have to take shorter strides, you handsome giant.”
Daeden threw back his head to laugh, and Tivre used the moment to deploy the spell he’d woven as he eavesdropped. Though it looked like no more than him plucking a few of those leaves from his hair and dropping them, each one that fell would soon turn into a wall of thorns, thick enough it would take the pursuing humans a day to hack through it.
By then, they’d be long gone.
They eventually reached the stream he’d been leading them toward, based on his memories of covert missions in the area. It was a fast-flowing ribbon of water, bisected by a massive stone which glimmered like cut glass. Rich purple magic danced at the edge of his vision, little hints of the mage who had spun the spell.
Tivre only knew of two fae with that shade of magic.
One was the kindest, most forgiving fae he’d ever met. The other, the least. Unsurprisingly, it was only the latter who lived. Why did death have such a way of taking the least deserving while leaving those the world would be better off without?
Daeden was already seeing to their supplies, refilling canteens and reorganizing the packs they’d brought. Every Oathborn was trained to survive, no matter the conditions.
Hazelle glided her hand through the water. “It’s so cool, and clear.”
“Yes, your sister saw to that.” Tivre gestured at the massive stone splitting the stream. “Or did you not notice her work?” To Tivre, the mastery of magic that had been wielded was as obvious as the markers of a painter’s brush. Perhaps she’d forgotten Celene’s shade of magic in the eleven years since her death.
“Oh,” Hazelle’s brown eyes widened as she looked to the rock. “Oh, Celene… She was always so talented at making practical things beautiful.”
Tivre nodded. If Liyale had been stubbornly reckless in her rebellion against the Queen, Celene had been elegantly noncompliant with her spells.
“This stream is south of Lochna.” Hazelle sketched the rough shape of a map in the air, as if to confirm her suspicions. “I thought our forces never made it this far.”
Beyond the occasional Oathborn assassin, no. Glancing to make sure Daeden was out of earshot, Tivre said, “Celene was worried the corpses frombattles would pollute the waters humans drank. So she came here and enchanted the water, ensuring their health.”
Hazelle wasn’t a child. She was an adult, a powerful spell-caster and sword fighter, ruler of the second-most powerful isle. Yet, there still seemed to be some naivety, some lingering bit of innocent wonder in her gaze as she stared out at the water. Tivre doubted that aspect of her would last much longer, given how things were going.
“But this would have helped them.”
“Yes, a thorough poisoning from polluted waters would have reduced their numbers and improved our odds.” Tivre tried to keep his voice dispassionate. “She did not wish for anyone to suffer.”
“She would have made a far better Queen than Cassendelle ever could hope to be,” Hazelle whispered.
“Perhaps,” Tivre replied. Absolute power did have a tendency to corrupt. “Our Queens are not known for their mercy, Hazelle. Nor their gentleness.”
“For now. Such a thing can change. Zari could help us. She’s from Rhydonia, she will know more ways that perhaps we can work with the humans, rather than against them.”
“She is Oathborn,” Tivre lied, easily, as he so often did. “She is a tool of the current Queen.”
Hazelle pressed her lips together, frowning. “We need to spend more time searching for her.”
“We will find her before we reach Lake Lochna, I am certain of it.” In fact, he was certain of a great many things, but most of them were considerably less pleasant than the fact they’d soon find Zari.
“You Godspeakers,” Hazelle rolled her eyes. “Always so certain, even when you are wrong.”
“I’m never wrong,” he retorted. Except he had been. He’d filled his years with countless transgressions, and it had been Celene who had paid the cost of his most dreadful one.
As if Hazelle sensed his thoughts, she said, “Stars above, do I miss Celene. I swear it, if we meet the Traitor, I will have my vengeance against him for her death.”
“Are you so sure that will bring you peace?” Tivre replied, still staring at that stone, thinking of all the human lives it must have saved, and all the fae who died at the hands of those humans. If anyone deserved to have lived in peace, it would have been Celene.
