Page 105 of Oathborn
“Her attempts?” There was no mistaking his use of the pronoun. “You know who’s been behind that purple smoke? Then why haven’t you done anything?”
“There’s nothing to do. Not yet.”
Zari sighed. As much as part of her wanted to shake him until he listened to her, it would do no good. They needed to get to the isles. She’d talk to her father. He’d understand.
If he was still alive.
The dark thought circled back in her brain. She shook her head, forcing it away, and stared out at the horizon instead. Only faint hints of misted isles broke the endless expanse of black sea. A powerful yearning overtook her as she imagined what it would be like to dive into the water, to feel the pull of the current, to—
“Step back.” Tivre said. “Or the sea will claim you.”
Zari blinked, realizing she’d been walking forward, as if in a trance. She retreated, turning her back away from the strange siren call of the water. There was little coastline anywhere along the cliffs, except for another outcropping, barely visible in the darkness. There, a bright silvery ribbon split the cliff, as water rushed over the edge and crashed down.
Thomasin Falls. That land seemed flatter, and far wider, than the beach they stood on now. It was close to where Garrick had said he would take off for his bombing mission over the isles. “Why didn’t we—”
“Because there lies a grotto that holds the most dangerous weapon the fae possess,” Tivre replied. “The Crescent Blade slumbers close to that waterfall, and I will not risk drawing near.”
Her eyes widened. “So it’s real?”
Tivre’s white eyebrows arched. “You have traveled with fae, seen a plane fly by magic, and have slept in a tent woven from starlight. You doubt the existence of a sword?”
“A sword? No. A talking blade, perhaps.”
Tivre shook his head, muttering something about foolish mortals and their limits of imagination. Zari ignored that and pressed on with her questions. “How do other fae travel to the isles? If not by plane?”
“We use the tunnels, beneath the cliffs.” Kneeling by a cluster of rocks, Tivre pulled out a small metal box, then opened and passed her a bundle of clothes. “Get changed.”
“Tunnels? But we would have found—” Zari found herself caught on the wordwe. They’d both used it. Tivre for fae, her for her fellow Rhydonians. “The soldiers, digging trenches…”
“If they were unlucky enough to find a tunnel, they’d be dead. Sigils carved into the stone walls emit a poison that steals the breath of any without magic.”
“How can you be sure?”
Tivre’s expression darkened. “I am the one who carved them.”
Her hands tightened on the bundle of clothing, as a wave of fear washed over her. There were times Tivre terrified her, reminding her just how little she knew of the fae and their magic. Times, too, she remembered how Javen had warned her that Tivre’s hands were stained with blood.
Once assured of privacy behind another cluster of rocks, Zari examined the gorgeous clothing: a pale blue tunic with wide bell sleeves, a large band of shimmering fabric, and a pleated skirt. She grinned, realizing the skirt had pockets, and stashed her father’s pocket watch into one. Her father’s letters, she folded carefully into the other. Then, she wrapped the band of fabric over her shoulders like a stole.
Of the remaining objects, one was a hand-sewn shirt, and the other, perhaps bandages, a hand-span wide.
Walking back, the pleats of the fabric made a soft shhhh-ing noise, a tiny echo of the roaring ocean. The large sleeves, so strangely open, let cool air hit her forearms. Her bare feet sank into the wet sand, pebbles and shells poking the tender flesh.
“Ouch!” she yelped.
“Clothing shouldn’t hurt, as far as I know.” Tivre had pulled off his sweater, and wore only a now-tattered shirt, leaving most of his bare chest exposed. Though she’d tried to avert her eyes, she’d already noticed the scar, dangerously close to his heart, with the starburst pattern of a bullet wound.
“Bare feet,” she mumbled, embarrassed at how red-faced she was at the sight of him.
While Tivre spoke, he wrapped his wrists with a white strip of fabric. “You left off the undershirt and the underwrapping. For your, uh—” He made an abstract motion. “Your bosom.”
“Please don’t say that.” Her blush spread down her neck. It was one thing to imagine, to want, to havedreamedabout Yansin touching her there, and quite another forTivreto comment on it so flippantly.
“Why not? It’s a body part.”
“Some body parts should not be mentioned.” She snatched the shirt and the long strip of fabric and waited for him to turn around. He didn’t. Gesturing with a finger, she muttered a curse word at him. He laughed, winked, but finally did as directed.
The material tingled as she wrapped it close against her skin. “There’s magic in this fabric? Why?”
