Page 13 of Oathborn
Once more squaring her shoulders, Zari walked in, heading straight for the critical care room. A nurse sat by each cot, either applying cold compresses to the wounded soldiers’ foreheads or murmuring reassuring words.
Captain Javen had not followed her.
As she approached Tobias’s cot, he stirred but did not open his eyes. Zari grabbed a handful of silverbane. Crushed between her fingers, the leaves’ sweet scent filled the air. Javen had given no directions; however, she assumed he would have explained a complex process.
After all, he was sodelightfullychatty.
Carefully, she placed the crushed leaves on the wound. A hush fell; she heard only her own heart and Tobais’s labored breathing.
What if this wasn’t enough?
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the angry redness around the wound began to fade. A thin scab formed, closing over torn skin far faster than it should have been able to. Tobias sagged back against the bed, his breathing evening out. Bit by bit, color crept back into his cheeks, and the glassy look in his eyes faded.
Zari stared in wonder. The silverbane had worked.
“Droughts,” the nearest nurse muttered, the mild curse slipping from her lips. “That’s not…” She trailed off and made the same warding gesture Zari had hours earlier.
Only this time, Zari was thankful for magic, for there could be no other explanation. The tiny leaves had done what no human hands could imagine.
The other nurse shuddered. She whispered an old poem while Zari moved to the next cot, silverbane in hand.
Trust not the fae, nor what they weave,
Their honeyed words are made to deceive.
What’s wrought by magic, bright and fine,
May turn to bitter ash when it is thine.
Hours later, Zari stood in a small bathroom in the back of an empty set of rooms. She’d walked to the end of the hall of the wing where the soldiers were recovering, needing a bit of time to clear her head. Leaning against the cool ceramic of the sink, she took a few uneven breaths. There was a small showerto the left of the sink, and she considered washing up, but the thought of pulling on her dirty clothes again made her shudder. Better to wait until she’d returned to Annette’s house for the evening. It was only a short walk and two trolley rides there. If she left soon, she’d be home before dawn.
Home, perhaps, wasn’t the right word for her bedroom in her friend’s house. She had wanted to move out sooner, but with the looming tuition bill for her medical degree… every bit of change mattered. It was rather unfair that they were expected to be both the historic first-ever class of female doctors and to pay the same rate as men, who had access to far more lucrative careers.
How was any nurse or teacher supposed to have enough for all the years required?
As she turned on the sink to wash her face, a crisp, polished voice spoke from the other side of the door.
“Officially, Javen, we will record this as nothing more than a civilian terrorist attack.”
Zari froze. She knew that voice well. Lord Commander Samuel Lockwood. Her father and Lockwood had been old friends, and co-commanders of the military during the war. They’d grown up together, with neighboring family estates.
Lockwood was now the Minister of Defense, so what was he doing in her run-down hospital?
“Understood,” Captain Javen replied. “And yes, we lost a total of eleven soldiers. Be thankful it wasn’t more. They didn’t even know to use silverbane on the wounds.”
“The doctor?” Lockwood asked.
“The nurses. One argued with me when I told her to harvest the plant.”
“Ah.” Lockwood exhaled, long and slow, the sound as smug as the rest of his words. “Nurses are such flighty little things. Like all women, they can only be trusted with small matters and bits of the truth. Any more would send their pretty heads spinning.”
Anger burned Zari’s face. That arrogant, arrogant man. How dare he? She didn’t risk exiting the washroom. Not until he left. She’d not seen Lockwoodsince the funeral of his son, Garrick, years ago. Would he recognize her now? If so, no doubt he’d mock just how low she’d fallen.
“What else?” Lockwood asked Javen. “Why were you not at the ceremony?”
“I got there as soon as I could. There are other… complications I am trying to hunt down.” Javen spoke to Lockwood not as a captain to a commander, but as a peer. “There’s an Oathborn somewhere in this city.”
Zari’s mouth went dry. Oathborn were the fae Queen’s shock troops, faster than wildfire and full of bloodthirst. Stories said they wore all black, had fangs and strange glowing marks carved onto their cheeks, though no Oathborn had ever been captured alive. There weren’t even photographs of them. The bodies, she’d been told, dissolved into ash upon their death.
