Page 81 of Oathborn
As a longer-term strategy, Tivre was not so sure it would be a sound one. He feared Hazelle was doomed to follow in both her sisters’ footsteps. Like her sisters, Hazelle had a soft heart, and unfortunately, she too was bold enough to defy the Queen. Liyale had broken her Oath to save innocents, and died as a result. Celene had wanted peace and had been killed for such desires. Those two daughters of the Phoenix had already fallen. Would Hazelle be the third?
At least Tivre knew, based on his visions, Hazelle would survive tonight, and therefore, her company was a safer bet for Daeden.
“Because,” Tivre said. “She’s your only living relative, and I am nothing but an occasional pleasant diversion for you.”
“You make it sound as if you are separating from us,” Daeden, always so annoyingly perceptive, said. “Are you?”
Tivre looked away from those intense, guilt-inducing blue eyes. Tivre had no family of his own, but had read enough about the general concept to know it mattered to most. Family was why Zari trusted him as soon as he showed her General Ankmetta’s watch. And why Daeden would follow Hazelle, away from Tivre, and away from where Javen most likely waited. Family, too, or the lack of it, was why Tivre couldn’t ever bring himself to think of killing Javen himself. Not when he had been the closest thing resembling the word that Tivre had ever had.
Still, Daeden lingered, watching Tivre in that way he had, as if he cared what would happen to Tivre once he was out of eyesight. That drew Tivre back to Daeden, like a moth to a flame. Daeden cared so much more than anylover Tivre had before, and in return, Tivre grew fond of him, his laughter, his touch, the concern in his eyes. Even the way Daeden held him when one of the Godspeaking seizures descended upon him. That was a comfort no one before had ever offered. He doubted if anyone else ever would.
Yes, fond was the right word for how he felt. Any other would be too dangerous.
Tivre refused to let that fondness cause his death. “Go.”
Daeden shook his head. “Come with me.”
“How simple must you be?” Tivre’s tone turned acidic, “for you not to realize that I do not wish to engage in your company. I grow tired of both you and this conversation. Go, leave me.” Tivre needed Daeden to stay away from him, to go with Hazelle and remain safe. If it took painful words to achieve that goal, so be it.
Schooling his features to hide the pain, Daeden turned on his heel. His silent steps took him further away from Tivre; with each one, Daeden’s safety became more assured.
Once Daeden was out of sight, Tivre walked in the opposite direction, toward the rocky western side of the lake. Wind whipped around him. He couldn’t tell if it was salt water in the air or tears on his skin he tasted.
Brush and weeds had grown in abundance over the path in the past decade. Tivre tripped more than once, cursing the stones beneath his feet. A lifetime ago, when he’d first come to Lochna, he had marveled at how swiftly the misty tempests would swirl into existence. He’d often escape from his tent to study them, especially late at night.
Wandering again, little brother?He could still hear Javenthal’s bemused voice, never mentioning all the reasons Tivre shouldn’t be outside in a war zone. They weren’t siblings, not by blood, but they’d been close enough Tivre had believed him when he’d called him brother. Tivre had always believed Javenthal, and he, in turn, had always fixed Tivre’s messes. Even something as simple as a dying plant on a windowsill would end up being rescued by Javenthal.
You must keep at least one foot on solid ground, Tivre, or you are sure to stumble.Javenthal’s voice was so clear in Tivre’s mind, it was as if he were there, talking to him.
Such a thing was impossible. The one now called Javen would never speak so kindly to Tivre, would never again care for him as a brother might. Instead, Javen would kill him if he had the chance.
If the visions Tivre witnessed proved true, that death might occur tonight. He’d seen Javen waiting on the western side of the lake, which was why Tivre had forced Daeden to take the other route. Given a choice between breaking Daeden’s heart and losing him, Tivre would choose the heartbreak every time.
He trudged along as the fog thickened.
Wandering again?
Again, again, again…
The memory echoed, as ceaseless as the wind itself.
Ahead, Tivre spied the outcropping that he used to sit upon during the war. In every vision Tivre had seen of this night at Lochna, Javen had stood there, hand on the hilt of his sword, waiting. Daring Tivre to approach, expecting the showdown he’d long been denied.
Those were only visions.
In this bitter reality, Javen wasn’t there.
The rock was empty, howling wind the only noise. Nor were there footprints or motorbike tracks, nothing to hint he’d merely mistimed the meeting. Even when he peered out at the surrounding area, Tivre saw no signs of life.
The goddesses had lied. Tivre had gambled, and he’d lost.
“Were you waiting for someone, Tivre?” A honeyed voice asked, in the perfect intonation of a fae aristocrat.
Tivre whirled around, searching for the too-familiar speaker. “Syonia!” What was she doing out here? The Queen never approved of both Godspeakers being away from the isles. His skin prickled into goosebumps. “Show yourself.”
The air near him shimmered, an indication of someone attempting to remain hidden in glamour. Syonia was weaker than him. Surely, her cloakingspell would break if he just poked at it a bit more. He sketched three sigils and flung them toward the shimmering air. The glamour evaporated like steam, revealing a white-haired female fae, dressed in a traveling tunic and leggings. Her violet eyes held scathing disdain, matched by the tone of her voice. “You broke my glamour.”
“Oops.” Tivre shrugged. “Perhaps you should not have ventured south with so flimsy of one.”
