Page 79 of Oathborn
“Don’t say that. Not when the Accords have saved so many! My own father, he—” she cut herself off. “He believed in theAccords.”
“As did my mother.” Hazelle turned to look at Zari. Her fae-bright eyes seemed strange, as if seeing something different on Zari’s face. “However, the Queen does not want peace. Does this not change how you feel?”
Zari shook her head. “I will always believe in peace, even if it is impossible.”
Hazelle smiled at her, and although the braid wasn’t finished, pulled Zari into a tight hug. “I am so glad to have met you, Zari. Gladder still that you found your way back to us. I was so worried about you.”
“Doesn’t an Oathborn always find their way?” Zari tried to joke. Tivre had called Daeden a walking compass more than once as they’d traveled, implying something about the Oathborn magic aided him. It reminded Zari of Annette’s luck, making her miss her friend once more.
“Indeed.” Hazelle’s smile weakened at the words.
Later, the two of them left the tent, lured by the smell of sizzling meat. Zari was distracted by Daeden practicing with his sword. He flowed through powerful, deadly movements, each one designed to kill Rhydonians like her. Daeden was an Oathborn; for all she knew, he could have orders to kill any human that ventured onto the isles. She shivered, despite the relatively warm air.
“Zari!” Daeden called, spotting her. “Do you wish to practice? I can ask Zelle if I could borrow her sword and—”
“No, no,” Zari backed up one step, then another. “I came out for food.”
“Ah, good.” He sheathed the blade, then raked a hand through his tousled blond hair. “The heart and tongue should be ready. I’ve got most of the other meat smoking so that—”
She heard nothing else he said. Disgust at the idea of eating offal replaced any hunger. “I, um… Thank you. That’s quite kind.” And quite disgusting.
Zari stuck to the fruit and dry flatbread. She figured that if there was any curse that came from eating fae food, starving would be a worse one. Even the bread tasted strange, the herbs unusual, bittersweet on her tongue.
What I wouldn’t give for a proper pot roast, Zari thought. Something that tasted familiar. There would be nothing familiar to her on the isles, nothing except her father. She kept reminding herself of that as Daeden sharpened his sword, and Hazelle hummed a song about a maiden who could kill ten men with a single arrow.
Zari’s chest tightened as images flashed of dead soldiers, corpses, and claws, as if all the violence of the war closed around her like a noose. When Tivre lifted the violin to join in with Hazelle, the opening notes made Zari jump. The three fae stared at her.
“S-sorry,” she stammered. “I’m just a little uneasy.”
“I’ll teach you the song,” Hazelle offered. “It is a dedication to our four goddesses. The Child, the Maiden, the Mother, and the Matron.”
There were no goddesses. No gods either. Every Rhydonian knew that. They believed in science and the reliability of natural laws.
Zari let out a shaky breath. “I’ll just listen.”
The night stretched on as stars blinked into the sky above. Each song Tivre coaxed from the violin sounded stranger. Daeden polished an endless supply of knives, and even Hazelle’s fangs were on display as she sang in an ethereal, haunting register.
You are not one of them, the wind blowing off the lake seemed to say, whispering as the ruins loomed beyond.They are predators to prey like you.
Zari balled her fists in her skirt. She wanted to think of the fae as friends, and wanted to believe that they desired peace as much as she did, but what if she was wrong? It was hard to think of anything else in the shadow of the ruined fort. Somewhere close by, ten years ago, Blood Ember had stalked this land, killing without mercy.
If Javen was to be believed, Blood Emberstilllived.
Suddenly, Tivre pitched backward, mouth open in a wordless cry. “Tivre!” Daeden shouted. He leapt over the fire and caught the fae before his head smashed into the ground.
Zari rushed to Tivre’s side. As his eyes blinked open, Zari screamed. His eyes were entirely silver, like pools of mercury. His body arched, his mouth once more opening in a nameless cry.
“What’s happening?”
“Tivre’s life belongs to the goddesses,” Daeden said. “Every breath he takes is one they permit him. He is theirs to speak through, theirs to use as an instrument of their divine will. When the day comes that they have no more use for him…” Daeden cradled him to his chest.
Tivre began to mutter things she couldn’t quite hear, names she didn’t know. Syonia, Cassendelle, Javenthal, and then, over and over again, “The Maiden’s will. The Maiden’s choice. Stars above, let me rest.”
Hazelle and Daeden exchanged a glance that contained pure panic. His mutterings made sense to them. Unease crept down Zari’s back, a cold sweat dampening her dress. “What is he saying?”
Daeden looked to his cousin, and Hazelle nodded at the unspoken question. She spoke softly, slowly, as if Zari was nothing more than a child asking simple questions. “The goddesses are sharing a message with him. They speak of the Queen, of another Godspeaker, and of the fae known as the Traitor.”
“Javenthal?” Zari asked. The similarity of the name to Javen’s own was not lost on her. Could he be the same person?
