Page 8 of Oathborn
Zari turned to Annette. “Who is—”
“I am!” A wicked grin flashed on her face, reminding Zari of all the times she’d led a childhood expedition. Even if women were not allowed to have driver’s licenses, Annette seemed to have learned anyway.
Trusting her friend, Zari slipped into the automobile, sinking into the leather seat, though her grip turned white-knuckled as Annette pulled away from the curb. With one high-heeled foot on the gas, Annette revved the engine.
Soon, the city flew past them in a dizzying reel. People filled the sidewalks; men in long coats, their hats pulled low against the chill of the evening, women wrapped in fur-lined shawls, construction workers in faded overalls, children weaving amid the crowd. As they passed a theater, the red marquee lights flickered on, casting a brief moment of bright color across the shades of gray.
“How was work?” Annette yanked the wheel around a particularly sharp turn.
Zari braced herself with fingers splayed over the dashboard. She was beginning to wonder if Annette had ever actually driven an automobile before. As the vehicle’s speed slowed, Zari caught her breath enough to reply. “Uneventful, most of my shift was spent in the memory-care unit today. One of the patients can’t stop reliving an attack on his trench.”
Annette’s painted lips frowned. “Terrible, isn’t it? You’d think after ten years… is it an effect of… you know… the fae magic?”
Officially, no one was supposed acknowledge, that the Rhydonians’ enemy had supernatural powers. Unofficially, everyone did gossip. Folklore and hearsay melded over the years. Some people claimed their great-grandparents had met fae, before the war began. Others said that no fae had ever learned to speak Rhydonian. Still others talked of wildlings, part-fae humans who had magic in their blood and restlessness in their hearts. Bedtime stories told of distant times, when the fae walked among humans, enchanting them and tricking them into terrible deals.
As a child, Zari had eavesdropped on her father’s military meetings, desperate to learn more about the mysterious beings, but he was too smart to say much about confidential matters where she might hear.
“I don’t think so,” she said, finally answering Annette’s question. “It seems more an effect of grief than magic.”
“Still.” Annette slammed on the brake. “I can’t help wondering if there is any magic left here, or if the fae took it all back to their isles.”
“Let’s hope they did. I’ve never heard of a story where magic helped more than it hurt.”
“Maybe you haven’t read the right stories.” Annette grinned. “Perhaps it’s a little fae dust you need tonight, to win the heart of a handsome man!”
At that, Zari laughed. It would take far more than a bit of glittering magic to do such a thing. Still, with Annette’s optimism wrapped around her like an embrace, a bit of hope welled up within her heart.
Closer to the complex of soot-stained marble buildings that made up the governmental center of the city, the crowds faded away. Most of those who worked in the administration had already headed home.
The shadows grew darker. Even the streetlamps’ light couldn’t pierce the gloom. It was as if a fog had settled on the road ahead, but a darker, thickergloom than any Zari had seen. She shivered. An odd sheen clung to the foggy smoke, like oil on water.
Zari rolled down the window and peered into the miasma. It was purple, an uncanny color that didn’t belong in nature. “Strange,” she murmured, as Annette slowed the automobile’s speed. A single blue cap, the standard one worn by military officers, rolled past them in the breeze. Zari shuddered.
Ahead lay the governmental building where the ceremony would be held. There were no crowds, no reporters. Instead, the steps were littered with motionless bodies of soldiers.
An attack.
Someone had attacked the soldiers.
Annette, muffling her scream behind a gloved hand, slammed on the brakes. Only now did Zari remember where she’d heard of smoke like this. Soldiers’ reports, during the war… Were the fae to blame for whatever happened?
No. Surely not. The Accords forbade it.
Someone moaned. There were still soldiers still living!
Scanning the stairs, she saw movement. Chests, rising and falling. One soldier struggling in an attempt to stand.
Zari tugged her door open.
“Wait!” Annette called. “We don’t even know what attacked them! What if it’s still out there? What if it was,” Annette’s voice dropped to a low whisper, “Blood Ember?”
The monster was the beast at the heart of every story. With its endless bloodthirst, it had terrorized the northern front for decades, killing countless men, Zari’s father among them. Bodies were sliced to ribbons from its claws, and almost always, the corpses were found without their heads. The fae Queen’s pet, as it was rumored to be, destroyed all who encountered it.
Blood Ember was gone, though. Even before the war ended, its attacks had slowed, then stopped entirely. It couldn’t still be alive. Surely not.
The sounds of men moaning in agony greeted Zari as she opened the car door. “There’s survivors!” she shouted.
Annette yanked the brake down on the car, “Then we should help them.” She tugged open the small compartment of the car in front of Zari to reveal a set of pistols.
