Page 23 of Oathborn
“Alas, the moon rises, as it always does.” He smiled at her, his hand outstretched to help her up.
The ride home was a comfortable silence, punctuated by the rhythmic clatter of the trolley wheels on the tracks and the soft hum of the city. As the trolley pulled to a stop near Annette’s house, he escorted her to the entrance,his hand lightly resting on her elbow. The old stone steps leading up to the door seemed to stretch on forever in the dim light, but Zari didn’t mind the climb. She felt a lightness in her step that she couldn’t remember feeling before.
At the top of the stairs, she turned to face him, the faint glow of the street lamp illuminating his gentle smile. “Thank you. Tonight was wonderful.”
He dipped his head, his eyes holding hers. They were warm, like caramel drizzled over ice cream. “The pleasure was all mine, Zari. If you’d like, perhaps I might call on you again?”
She’d like that. She’d like that so much more than she knew she should, because she had laundry to do, and hospital double shifts to take and countless other responsibilities.
Zari was tired, so tired, of being responsible. “How about tomorrow?” she blurted out. “I won’t have another day off for two weeks.” Or more, if she picked up an extra set of days again.
“Tomorrow morning sounds lovely.” His eyes twinkled, as if amused, rather than annoyed, by her enthusiasm. Yansin was not like many other men Zari had met, who expected women to be coy and bashful, never direct or honest. “How about a walk in the park?”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
With a final, lingering glance, he turned and descended the stairs, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet night. Zari watched him go, a small smile playing on her lips, before finally turning and stepping into the house. She set her coat on the hook by the door, then hung up her small purse. As she smoothed her hand over her dress, she remembered the note she’d found earlier.
Zari’s breath caught. With a shaking hand, she unfolded the paper.
If you wish to save your friend Annette, come to the ruined cathedral tonight, before midnight. Come alone. Tell no one. This is a matter of utmost importance; the Accords may be at stake.
Chapter seven
Tobias
Tobias shivered. For a Thursday evening in mid-April, the temperature still hovered far too close to freezing for his tastes. Readjusting his feet on the table, he pulled his coat a little tighter. If it wasn’t for Captain Javen on the other side of the room, he’d have dug a blanket out of the precinct’s storage. If he saw Tobias bundled up, he’d no doubt grumble about his lack of professionalism.
Javen remained engrossed in reading a report, one of his ever-present cigarettes half forgotten in hand.
Would Javen notice? Knowing him, probably. So, Tobias would just have to freeze, unless something happened that would merit both of them leaving the station.
Other soldiers always teased Tobias, saying that being from the Karsic province in the far south made his blood too watery for the weather here. One had told Tobias he was lucky to have been too young to be in the war. “You’d have done the isle-dweller’s work for them,” he’d commented. “Froze yourself right to death on your first night patrol.”
Tobias was sure that if he had served in the war, he’d have fought through the cold to protect the border villages, just like his father had. Maybe once whatever mission Javen had planned was underway, the other soldiers would finally realize he was serious. They saw him as a jokester, a flirt, but he didn’tsee why a man couldn’t play a few tricks, court a few girls, and still defend the nation he loved.
Granted, tonight, he was mainly concerned with filling his rumbling stomach. “I’m making cheese toast!” he announced. The potbelly stove in the corner served as an excellent toaster. No answer. Not like he expected one. “Want me to make you one, Captain?”
“I’ll pass.”
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I see your powers of perception were not impacted by your injury.”
When Javen fired off a comment like that to others, they’d do one of two things. Either they’d cower, stammering out an apology, or worse, they’d bluster, challenging Captain Javen in the boxing ring or shooting range, where they’d always lose.
Tobias, though, let the comment roll off, like water off a duck. “Nope. Hearty and healthy, that’s what I am.”
No answer. Tobias shrugged. He’d talk to the walls, if he had to.
“Snacks make life better.” Tobias got to work making the toast, whistling. “Night shift is long, you know?”
Granted, any time spent with Captain Javen felt longer than it should. With other officers, they’d pass the time with cards or some lively gossip. Not him. Most nights, Captain Javen read and chain-smoked cigarettes, glaring at the city skyline like he could personally fight every skyscraper.
Just as Tobias set the bread on top of the stove, Javen slammed the leather-bound notebook down. Startled, Tobias smacked his hand against the stove. He cursed, loudly, shaking his red-marked hand. “Hey! Give a guy a scare, doin’ that.”
Javen stood, raking his hands through his usually perfect hair. Dark strands tumbled loose, falling over his ears. “Do you hear anything, Lieutenant?”
“Like what?” Tobias asked, even as he strained his ears. The crackle of the fire, the dim hum of traffic outside… Nothing sounded worthy of note.
