Page 70 of Oathborn
A barrier of smoke rose up, as thick as a retaining wall, separating them from each other.
“Zari!” Yansin’s voice was distant, muffled by the thickening air.
She needed to fight back. Could anything cut through the smoke?
Another tendril wrapped around her ankle. It jerked backward, slamming her to the ground. With one hand, Zari reached desperately for the sword, which lay just out of reach. Her fingers closed around the hilt, warmed from the sun. She slashed at the smoke, desperately, but nothing she did had any effect. Where was Yansin? She couldn’t see anything beyond the cloudy mass of purple.
She screamed as another tendril wrapped around her wrist. The sword twisted in her hand. She pulled back. The smoke tightened, cutting off circulation. Her fingers no longer obeyed her wishes. Gritting her teeth, she tried again to move her hand, to cut through the tendrils.
The smoke yanked at her arm, as if it knew her intentions, and the blade’s arc landed against Zari’s own left shoulder.
The blood bloomed for a second before the pain set in. Zari hissed, dropping the sword. A smoke tendril knocked it away. She lunged forward, trying to grasp the weapon, but fell onto her knees. Her balance was off, her head spinning from the wound. Without silverbane, it wouldn’t clot.
Panic set in. She was unarmed, dizzy, and the smoky tendrils seemed to be growing larger and stronger. She pushed herself to stand, desperate to try again, just as a hand closed on the dropped sword.
Yansin!
As soon as his fingers wrapped around the hilt, he sprang forward. With the first sweep of his arm, he sliced through the thickest tendril. Unlike her feeble attack, his cut through the smoke. The blade shimmered as he whirled, turning to feint and lunge again.
“Get to the fire!” he shouted to her. “Flames will chase it back.”
Understanding, Zari nodded and sprinted toward the campfire. She seized the largest branch. With a yank, she tugged it away from the others until it was free. As if it was a torch, she held it aloft, wincing as the sparks fell.
Yansin was already at her side. He was swift, far faster than any human she’d ever met, with steps so silent they seemed to never land fully on the ground. “Follow my attacks,” he told her. “That smoke will weaken with each cut.”
Together, they moved. Yansin first, the blade a bright shining beacon in his hands, and Zari, with the fiery torch behind him. It was as if she followed his lead in a dance. A deadly serious dance, where a wrong move might mean that same sword swinging directly into her body. Tightening her grip on the burning stick, Zari kept her focus solely on Yansin, watching his every movement, mirroring his effortless slashes and dodges as best she could.
The smoke recoiled from their attacks.
“Keep it up,” Yansin whispered, his tone deadly serious. All his languid grace, his playfulness, had vanished. Instead, he moved with furious intention, every arc of his blade a perfect sweep, every lunge surely enough to fell a human… or a fae. If he had been a soldier, he must have trained hard to fight as he did.
More tendrils of smoke fell to their attacks. Piece by piece, it diminished. Finally, only one thick vine of smoke remained. With a curt exhale, Yansin charged forward. He leapt, blade raised above his head, before bringing it down, cutting the vine in half.
The bits that remained fell to the forest floor like spilled ink, rippling away into the undergrowth.
Zari waited until it was entirely gone to drop her weapon. Only then did she allow herself to look at the wound, pulling away the sliced fabric with trembling fingers. It wasn’t deep. It didn’t matter. She had no silverbane. Overwhelmed, she sank to her knees, a single soft sob escaping her.
Yansin kneeled beside her. “You’re hurt.”
She nodded numbly. “My own sword,” she muttered.
“I am sorry for that. The magic in its forging must have made it easier for the smoke to control. No fae blade is ever truly safe for a human. Magic can always twist their will.” Yansin pulled a small flask from his coat and uncorked it, the sharp, herbal scent rising between them.
She’d come to love that sharp aroma for the magic it offered humans in need. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked, her eyes widening with hope.
“Yes. Distilled silverbane. Found it at the Lockwood manor.”
“But why would he…” Zari trailed off. If Lockwood had enough silverbane to be able to distill it, then clearly, the knowledge of the plant had been shared with others, and kept away from nurses like her.
“The distilled stuff’s a lot stronger but it will sting,” Yansin said, confirming her suspicions that soldiers, or former soldiers, seemed to know more about it than she did. “Hold still.”
Zari winced, teeth clenched as he poured it onto the wound. The cut sizzled, her skin tightening around the edges; already the bleeding had slowed.She stretched slowly, testing the pain. Manageable. “Thank you,” she told Yansin.
He didn’t respond. He was staring down at the grass, where her blood had fallen and mingled with bits of ash from her makeshift torch. His jaw tightened, as if he was holding something back.
Zari spoke first. “You weren’t surprised by the smoke.”
“I had a sense that we were being followed by another fae. Not one of your friends, I don’t think. Whoever it was must be powerful, for that smoke spell is no easy charm.”
