Page 119 of Oathborn
Zari gritted her teeth. “Fine. Help me carry him.”
“Where?” he asked.
“Out of here. Onto that boat. Back to…” To the shore, with its impossible cliffs that she wouldn’t be able to climb even without the burden of her father’s body. She blinked, hard and fast, fighting the urge to give in to panic. “How am I supposed to get him back to Rhydonia?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that.” Tivre leaned past her. He waved his hand over the handle of the door and a lock clicked tightly into place.
Something heavy and horrible curled tight around Zari’s heart, squeezing so hard she thought it might burst. Tivre knew how to lock her father’s jail cell.
The fae she’d trusted to bring her to the isles was her father’s prison guard.
“You never were going to let me bring him home, were you?” She didn’t wait for Tivre to answer, as her own thoughts caught up, every little inconsistency stringing together like beads on a necklace. The way he’d met herat her father’s memorial. The note he’d passed her, ensuring she would find Annette. The deal he’d struck. “It was never about rescuing my papa. This was all because you wanted me here on the isles. To use me as leverage? Am I to move into the jail cell next to his?”
“Not leverage,” he replied, his voice low, less playful than she’d ever heard it. “Insurance.”
“What do you…”
He grabbed her arm, turning it to show the false Oathborn mark. “This means nothing,” he told her. “It does nothing, has no power. You retain your free will. Yourfriendwould not have been so lucky. You are here as insurance against the Queen’s desires, a simple pawn in a game played long before you were born.”
How stupid was she? How many times had she been warned? By Yansin, even by Captain Javen. “So what is to be done with me?”
“You will be given your first mission soon enough. An assassination, most likely. Some lesser political figure to test your deadly skills. And—”
“Are you out of your mind?”
He shrugged again. “Occasionally. Depends on the day.”
“You expect me to kill a politician?”
“No!” He cut her off, and then dropped his voice. “I expect you to disappear once you are given the so-called Oath to go to Rhydonia. You will head as far south as you can. Anything south of the capital, and no Oathborn will be able to survive long enough to track you. Karsic would be ideal, if you can manage that.”
He was still holding her wrist and when he stepped forward, toward the door out of the prison, he gave her arm a tug. “Granted,” he added, “this plan was much simpler before the Queen decided to give you that lovely little artwork on your neck. She’s connected to you now. To your very heartbeat. So she’ll know you’re alive.”
“Which means she knows that you’re a liar.” Zari wrested her arm back. Though Tivre’s fingers hadn’t held tight enough to bruise, she still rubbedthe spot where he touched her, wishing she could simply rub the horrid Oathborn mark off entirely.
“Not yet.” He opened the door. “After you, my lady.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“And don’t scorn me.” He caught up to her, bent to whisper in her ear. “I am the only one who has enough magic to get you safely off the isles, Zari. You need me.”
“No.” She strode forward, heading toward the stairs. “I don’t. I don’t need people in my life that I cannot trust. I’ll find my own way home, and I’ll find a way to free my father.”
“Zari!” Tivre yelled.
She didn’t turn around.
Not until he caught up with her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her, hard, on the lips. Just as she was about to push him away, she heard echoing, oily laughter.
“Tivre?” a voice called. “This is a new low for you, truly.”
Tivre’s hand went to the back of Zari’s head, guiding her to bury her face against his neck. The scent of him—a rich, spicy cologne and the salt of the sea—filled her senses. The trembling of his hands, though, revealed a fear that didn’t match his flippant tone. “We are low in elevation, yes, Syonia, how observant you are.”
From where she was pressed against Tivre, Zari barely made out the figure of the speaker. She looked young, perhaps eighteen, with a button nose and dimpled cheeks. Yet, the glow of magic around her warned Zari not to underestimate her.
Syonia let out an annoyed huff. “Bringing someone to the dungeons for a late-night tryst? Not just anyone, but the Queen’s newest Oathborn? You disgust me.”
“I am rather fond of her,” Tivre retorted. “So, please, do give us some space unless you’re volunteering to join in on the fun.”
