Page 93 of Oathborn
“I am prepared to face what I must,” Tobias said. “To keep Rhydonia safe.”
Javen regarded him for a long moment. “Very well. It’s your choice. You may have use as a gatherer of information.”
“One of us could—” Lockwood began.
Javen glared at him with an intensity Tobias was used to being on the receiving end of. It was rather enjoyable to watch someone else squirm. “Tobias is far more capable of blending in.”
So, an informant for Javen and Lockwood. Surely, staying involved was the best way to keep Zari safe, if he had to. “Tell me what I must do.”
Javen took a long drag of his cigarette. “You’ll lose the knowledge you have of Old Rhydoni as a language for a week. A temporary trade. You will be able to understand the fae in return, one language replacing another in your memory.”
Tobias scrunched his nose, trying to puzzle out the comment. One couldn’t learn a language like that so easily. Even he, who picked up Old Rhydoni quickly, still stumbled over complex translations or abstract words. “That sounds like—”
“Magic,” Lockwood said flatly. “That’s your big plan? Wave a wand around and make the boy into a spy, then drop him on the isles?”
“A spy, yes. He’s not going to the isles.” Javen stood and paced over to the solitary window. His back to them, he stared out into the night. A few errant blue sparks flickered on the edges of his fingers before he clenched them into a fist. “They’re nearby. We have no time to waste.”
Chapter thirty-six
Tivre
In one of the ancient tomes Tivre had read, a fae mage had once created a spell so powerful she’d been able to turn herself into a bird. The book spent chapters explaining how this allowed her to create useful maps. Tivre had been more enchanted by the idea of easily escaping conversations. All one would have to do was toss a few sigils into the air, and then poof, flap away from obnoxious chatter.
Granted, no record of the spell remained, and Tivre had never been able to come close to creating one. This thought crossed his mind again as Zari pestered him while they walked toward Kirkton. They’d only rested for a few hours that first night, and now were halfway through the day, and still over another day’s walk to the town.
If they were birds, Tivre mused, not only would they be flying, but Zari would be silent. Or, he supposed, chirping, or cawing, or whatever birds did. Regardless, the noise would be a welcome change from her questions.
She asked him, “Did Javen know my father? And why did the Queen kill his family? And—”
“And, and, and.” Sighing, Tivre rolled his hand with each word. “So many questions.”
“You need to be more honest with me. You didn’t tell me Javen was married to Hazelle’s sister, or how little free will an Oathborn has or—”
“I did hint at the latter, and I didn’t think the former was useful information,” Tivre replied. She’d certainly be in for a rude awakening if she thoughtthe unpleasant overlap of lives and families ended there. “Besides. When have I led you astray?”
Her lips pressed together, and her fists clenched. A thin trickle of blood coated her finger, dripping onto the tattered hem of her dress, hinting at a reopened wound.
“On second thought, don’t answer that. Give me your hand.” He waited, his own palm outstretched until she finally relented. Tivre sighed. He couldn’t tell her how much he wished she had never been hurt, because far more hurt lay in her future, unless he found a way to alter its course. To be a Godspeaker was to know the future, and to fail, again and again, to change it.
As he’d so recently been reminded.
He’d been so sure Javen would fight him, not the others. So sure that he’d wagered Daeden’s life on the bet, and nearly lost him. Even if Daeden had survived the fight, it would be at the cost of Javen’s life. Despite everything… Tivre still couldn’t dream of losing the one he’d considered his only friend.
“Can you explain Oathbreaking, at least?” Zari asked.
“Not much to explain. Breaking an Oath shatters one’s mental and physical state. Every moment brings another wave of ceaseless pain. Their sleep, plagued by nightmares. Their waking days, cursed. Even the smallest Oathborn child, upon making eye contact with an Oathbroken, will fight to destroy the broken one or end up perishing themselves.”
Zari shuddered. “So they can never be around another Oathborn.”
He nodded. The pain, the tortuous whispers of Oathbreaking, those could be accepted by anyone with a strong will to live, but to break was to lose the camaraderie and shared destiny the Oathborn grew up believing in. Oathbreaking cursed one to an immortal, lonely life.
Understanding dawned on her face. “Javen knew I wasn’t really an Oathborn because I didn’t fight him.”
Tivre nodded. “Magic is both wondrous and horrifying. It is that latter trait most forget.”
He wouldn’t. Not after watching Liyale break. All of those she’d called family turning on her, her loved ones suddenly her greatest foes. Her blood,staining the floor of the great hall where she’d once practiced. Her laughter and smile, gone forever, all because she’d dared to stand against the Queen’s cruelty.
With a wave of his free hand, he summoned a chain of sigils and wrapped them around Zari’s palm. The green light paled as the wound healed. Zari watched, her eyes wide, clearly fascinated by the process. When the healing was complete, he plunged a hand into his pocket. “Would you like a horehound candy?”
