Page 20 of Oathborn
Before the end of the war, Rhydonia had extended the draft to boys as young as fifteen. Yansin must have been one of those unlucky ones, for he looked no older than thirty.
Zari asked, “Are you here on business?”
“You mean for the paper?” He shook his head. “No, don’t worry. I’m not a reporter, and even if I was, there wouldn’t be an article on the attack. We were issued a strict order from the Deputy Prime Minister not to report on it. Told us it was just some disgruntled veteran with a stolen fae sword and a bunch of explosives.”
Zari didn’t think any could have made such strange purple smoke. “I see.”
He tipped his head, watching her. One corner of his mouth twitched upward, as if he couldn’t go too long without smiling. “Speaking of the paper, I’m actually off tonight. Any chance you’d fancy a trip to the new ice cream parlor nearby?”
“Oh! I wasn’t expecting that.” Was that really why he’d come to see her?
“Forgive me, then. Is there a more proper way for a gentleman to ask to spend time with a charming young lady?”
Zari dropped her gaze to the ground, heat creeping up her neck. She was suddenly conscious of the wrinkles in her faded uniform and the unruly curls brushing her cheeks.
The wind picked up around them, rustling the leaves and further ruining her hair. “I think I was too forward,” he murmured. “I should have simply come here each day and left you little trinkets, like a crow trying to impress you.”
“I assure you, I have no need of trinkets.” Zari laughed. The answer came easily, before the implication of Yansin’s words caught up to her mind.
She found herself studying him again, his lean, graceful build, the elegance of his expressive hands. Yansinwashandsome, no one would argue against such a thing, but looks alone weren’t enough for Zari. She’d heard too many nurses crying over hearts broken by dashing men.
What did she know of Yansin’s character? That he was kind, yes. Considerate. Perhaps a slight bit guarded, though that could be explained by all he’d lived through. “Ice cream sounds wonderful.”
“So you will forgive my clumsy attempt at courtship? I’m rather rusty at the concept.” Before she could jump to any conclusion, he added, “Yours was the first kind face I have seen in a long time.”
“Surely you must have friends at the newspaper?”
Yansin shook his head. “Part-fae, remember? Tends to eventually come up in conversation.”
She stepped forward. Though she was not tall, Yansin was nearly her height. “I’m off at seven tonight, if you’d like to meet back here.” Zari found herself glad Annette had lectured her enough about not having a spare outfit that a clean, nice dress was already waiting in her locker. If she finished her rounds early, she might even be able to put on a bit of makeup and style her curls.
“I’ll look forward to it.” He tipped an imaginary hat at her, before turning on his heel.
“Wait!” Best to choose a location further from those who might gossip. “Could we meet at Memorial Park instead? It’s close by. There’s a statue, with two benches and—” And she held back from telling him just who the statue depicted, though that made her feel guilty when he’d been so honest with her about his own heritage.
She’d tell him tonight.
Zari sat in the park, beneath the bronze statue of her father. It portrayed him in a field uniform, a fitting choice considering how much he despisedformalities. His bristling mustache and tight-curled hair looked exactly as it had that last day she’d seen him, but his eyes, cast out of the same bronze as the rest of him, held none of the love she so deeply missed.
Under the moonlight, the memorial garden was quiet. The base of his statue held names of all those others who died that terrible day at Fort Lochna, ten years ago. Candles, left in memory of those fallen, still burned. Fewer now than years ago, as the pressing demands of reality took over. Grief never faded, but the world continued turning.
Heal the wounds left from the war,had been her father’s last words to her. Those instructions were why she’d become a nurse, why she hoped to become a doctor. Granted, she had no way of paying the tuition for medical school, but still, she wasn’t about to give up on that dream.
Among the leaves skittering around the base of the statue, Zari spotted a single piece of paper, folded like a small diamond. When she picked it up, her fingers brushed over the thick material. Curious, she unfolded the top to reveal black ink in unusual twisting shapes. The script was not Rhydonian, nor was it written in Old Rhydoni, the language used by humans hundreds of years ago. Instead, the strangely beautiful shapes twisted and whirled on the page, almost as if they were dancing.
She lifted it closer, studying it.
“The paper is a way to honor those who have died.”
Zari spun. Behind her, near the bushes, stood a young man. His brown hair, tamped down by a battered cap, shaded green eyes, which matched his cable-knit sweater. A violin case was slung over one shoulder. “One writes a poem in honor of the deceased,” the stranger nodded at the note. “Then it is left out, for the rain to dissolve, and the words to be given to the one who is gone.”
“Who are you?” Zari asked, cautiously. She’d never heard of such a tradition. Keeping her tone polite, a faint note of stress cut through her words. Something about this stranger made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. “Is there something you want?”
“Oh, many things. A night at the opera, a few pounds of peppermint candy, and a new sweater. Barring those things, I’d settle for a long nap.” The man smiled at her, and Zari’s heart stuttered, as she saw a hint of fangs.
Was he… no. Surely not. No fae would be so… cavalier? Sarcastic? Zari couldn’t quite find the words to even think, let alone speak. Perhaps she’d guessed wrong and he was just some prankster out for an evening walk.
“And you, Miss Ankmetta? What do you want?” Those green eyes watched her with such intensity that they glowed.
