Page 103 of Oathborn
He whispered the lyrics as if they were an incantation. But no. Lullabies were not magic, not in any conventional sense. They were sweet and simple and altogether too short. Much like the lives of far too many people Tivre had once loved.
Back at the inn, Zari had washed and dressed. Tivre cleared his throat. “Time to fly to the isles, my dear.”
“You can’t fly.” Zari snorted. The noise was completely unladylike, which was why it made him chuckle. As she shed the silly demands of Rhydonian etiquette, she seemed more vibrant, more alive. Tivre was no stranger to the pressure of obligations, the demanding rituals expected by society, and he hated them.
“No, I cannot. But othermachines can.”
Under the cover of night, the airbase lay silent, its grassy runways glistening with dew. Hangars of corrugated metal loomed like slumbering beasts, hiding all sorts of no-doubt fascinating human-built machines. Fuel drums and crates sat in neat rows, casting long shadows across the open ground.
There, ahead, unoccupied and unguarded, was a plane. Its twin wings were stacked one above the other and braced with taut wires, and its body was fabric stretched over a frame, painted with military markings. The open cockpit held a pair of leather seats and a scattering of brass dials and levers, all of them ever-so-temptingly exposed to the night air. The lone propeller spun slowly in the soft breeze.
It was, in short, absolutely perfect. Everything he’d dreamed of, since the first time he’d heard humans had invented mechanical flight.
Tivre grinned and was rather sure a purr might have escaped from him.
Zari gasped. “Tivre, no!” she said.
“Tivre,” he laughed, “yes.”
Between his gift of foresight and his observational skills, which were sharper than most gave him credit for, Tivre had drafted the plan. The solitary guard on duty had been at the restaurant where Tivre had been sure to buy the man several stiff drinks, so he was either passed out or making other bad life decisions, which left the base unguarded.
He’d always wanted to fly. He’d once thought his chance would come from finally mastering a shape-changing spell no other mage had successfully used in a thousand years, but he’d settle for a plane.
At least, for starters.
Though not the most graceful fae, Tivre managed to clear the fence without ripping his trousers. Then, he reached the plane. It loomed above him, a massive, dark shape, like the dragons that once dominated the skies long, long ago.
With a snap of his fingers, Tivre opened the channel of magic. Sigils rushed past him, and he scanned through them, selecting and discarding them like a card dealer. This was the magic only master mages could weave: no longercommanding the sigils but bartering with them, risking the danger of being consumed entirely by magic’s whims in the process.
He waved the first set of sigils toward the metal frame. When they collided, the plane’s metal groaned. Finally, the engine hummed to life, and he grinned. It worked. Finally, it worked. A motor, running entirely on magic, something that should have been impossible.
“You’re mad!” Zari shouted, pulling herself over the fence.
“Oh, absolutely.” Tivre climbed up the tiny ladder and into the cockpit. “Hurry now.”
Zari approached the tiny metal ladder with her usual determination. Her jaw was set, expression firm as she pulled herself into the second seat. The cockpit was tiny, and the frame of the plane shook as the engine hummed.
Tivre ignited the last of the spells he’d woven and the plane sprang into action. The sigils danced and the motor hummed, both in tune with each other. As it gained speed, the ground blurred beneath them. A sharp cliff face came into view. Zari’s scream mingled with Tivre’s delighted laughter.
“How?” Zari shouted over the engine. The glass cockpit was half-open, allowing the rush of air to cascade over both of them.
“The magic wants to go home,” he called back. “It’s just taking the plane with it.”
They flew due north, soaring over the land. Cold winds buffeted his face, but he stared out, mesmerized by the trees, the colors, and there, in the distance, the glimmering shield. His work held: a vast, shimmering dome spanning all the isles, with the Queen’s royal palace the central point. The isles remained safe.
For now.
What the future held, he was no longer so sure of. He’d clung to this plan, this hope, but already, things had gone far more awry than he’d ever anticipated. If Syonia had beaten them home, if the Queen had reason to suspect his duplicity…
“Promise me this will work,” he whispered to the stars, knowing they had never answered him before.
Chapter forty
Zari
Zari stared out at the night sky above and the vastness of the sea below her. She’d never seen sights like this before. Despite the practical part of her brain whispering worries, she ignored it, treasuring the unforgettable moment.
Garrick’s letters had described the thrill of flying, of trusting a structure made of canvas and wood to carry him high above the treetops. She’d read those letters a hundred times, never dreaming she might someday take flight, as well.
