Page 137 of Oathborn
“She was already deep in her mage’s studies. My childhood was lonely, though in comparison to now, it seems like paradise.” Hazelle toyed with her empty sleeve, a nervous habit.
Zari said, “I feel the war robbed us both of so much.” Their families. Their futures. All the things they’d once dreamed of.
“I’m so weary of war, of loss, of death. If I was Queen, I would do anything to ensure peace forever.” How much better the world would be if golden-hearted Hazelle ruled the fae instead. “Before the war… I wish you could have seen these halls, so full of light and laughter; Liyale, Javenthal, and Ishni causing trouble; Mama scolding them and Auntie Maqui encouraging them.”
Zari couldn’t picture Javen as a child, let alone one who’d caused mischief. The other names all washed over her. Maqui must have been Daeden’s mother, and the other name sounded familiar. “Ishni?”
“Liyale’s best friend. Taught me some Rhydonian. That, and Celene spent much of her youth traveling through the mortal lands, back before Rhydonia was called such.”
The comment about Celene’s age made Zari’s jaw drop. Rhydonian unification happened over six hundred years ago. “How old was Celene?”
“Much older than me. We shared only a mother.” Hazelle’s bittersweet smile reappeared. “She was always so graceful. I admired her so very much.”
“I wonder what she saw in Javen…”
“He was different then. Gallant. Kind. Skilled in magic and song. The most desired fae by all, indeed.”
None of those words described the man now. “He chose Celene?”
“According to her letters, I think she did the choosing.” Hazelle laughed in a way Zari knew well, a ripple of joy in the tidepool of grief. Even after a loved one was gone, the little jokes remained. “The two were not fond of each other at first. I barely knew of their courtship, nor did we know when she was with child.”
“Javen still misses her.” Zari decided to trust Hazelle with the truth of the quest for the sword. She began, and Hazelle listened intently. When she mentioned Javen’s bloody neck, Hazelle interrupted her.
“It’s the line of Artem’s mark. It is usually only given to the Queen’s heir. For her to emblazon it upon your skin.” Hazelle shook her head. “I do not like that, not one bit.”
After telling the rest of the story, Zari found herself yawning. Hazelle tsked at her, as if she was a child in need of a bedtime reminder. “Rest, Zari. You are home. You are safe.”
The words settled over Zari like the silken coverlet Hazelle had tucked around her. Home. The very sound of it was a lullaby. Safe. As she sank into the softness of the feather-stuffed mattress, the scent of lavender and old wood enveloping her, Zari desperately wanted to believe them. She let her eyes drift closed, the tension slowly unwinding from her knotted muscles.
Chapter fifty-four
Zari
Asoft breeze, carrying the scent of flowers, woke her. Moonlight flooded the room, illuminating it in soft, silvery shades. She pushed herself up to sit, marveling at how much better she already felt. The wounds no longer ached and even her ribs seemed completely healed.
Magic,she thought, with a strange thrill running down her spine.
Then, she caught sight of why the breeze woke her, and gasped. Her window was open, and Yansin himself was sitting on its ledge. His hazel eyes met hers, as he put a finger to his lips. She nodded. He slipped down, his feet landing silently on the floor, and moved across the room to lock her door.
Zari’s heart pounded. Had she been a fool to trust him? “How did you find me?”
“Yours is the only room not lit by sigil light,” he replied. “Easy to spot from outside.”
“But you know this castle?”
He nodded, just once, as he came to stand close to the bed. Her eyes raked over his body, over his lean, strong form, his confident stance, the easy way he wore the sword at his hip. Altogether, he seemed familiar, in a way she hadn’t expected.
Before she could think too hard, she shot out a hand and gripped his arm. Pushing the sleeve up, she held her breath until she saw unmarked skin, freeof any crescent symbol. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wincing at her sudden foolishness. “I thought you were…”
“And you thought correctly,” Yansin’s voice was soft, but firm. “At least, once upon a time.”
Her eyes widened. No. Surely not. He was Yansin, a half-human newspaper worker, not an Oathborn warrior. Except… except he was so capable, so skilled at survival, at tracking. Though, he’d saidonce upon a time.
“Your wrist. It’s unmarked.” Free of the same symbol that Zari’s own held. It was her last desperate hope that what he implied wasn’t true.
His thumb brushed over the skin. “I tried to burn it off when I was a boy, but it turns out the magic is more than skin deep.”
“You’re Oathborn,” she whispered, the title like an accusation.
