Page 2 of Oathborn
No time to burn the body, no time for any grief. She grabbed Tivre’s arm. “We must leave. You are not safe.”
“And I’m the only one who matters, right?” Tivre drawled. “Let everyone else die.”
No,she wanted to say. Every life mattered.
Except she couldn’t. The Oath’s magic bound her lips. To the Queen, Tivre mattered far more than almost anyone else still living.
Before she could respond with some half-truth the Oath would permit, a sudden, clarion bell rang. The ringing progressed to the opening chords of an ethereal song, echoing across the battlefield. The soaring tune lifted her spirits and soothed her aching head. Magic. This music was magic.
“The Accords,” Tivre whispered. “They’ve been signed.”
“By… by us?” She’d thought the rumors of the Peace Accords were nothing but an impossible hope.
A strange smile appeared on Tivre’s face, as if he knew something she didn’t. “We already signed them a year ago. We’ve been waiting for the humans to do the same.”
But then…“Peace.” Maqui breathed. “We are at peace.”
As the countless Oaths, given over a century of combat stilled within her, her mind calmed. Though the magic still pulsed within her, though she would still serve the Queen until her dying breath, the war was over. Her son would be safe. Finally, she could return home to the isles.
A single glance across the battlefield reminded her how much was lost. Moans of the nearly dead echoed. Bodies floated face down in craters left by mortars. Wreckage of destroyed trees, fences, and fortifications littered the ground ahead of the barbed wire defenses of the Rhydonian trenches.
War could begin in a heartbeat, but peace took far longer to blossom.
Someday, someone would tear down the barbed wire, remove the magical barriers, and bury the bodies. The desolate landscape might bloom once more, and families would picnic alongside the river’s shore.
It would be a beautiful world when it finally came to be.
As they walked, her sharp eyes picked out the detail of one chest still rising with shallow breath. A human soldier lived.
And she, for the first time in a hundred years, had no magical compulsion to kill him.
Maqui sprinted ahead, leaping over the barbed wire. Louder, slower footsteps followed, a sign of Tivre chasing after her. Let him. He was safe now.
So was she.
So was everyone, now that the world was at peace.
Reaching the fallen soldier, Maqui dropped to her knees. Where she’d had to be cold, distant, unyielding to the death of her companion, here, she could be kind. This was the beauty of peace. She could hold the hand of someone she would have killed.
The soldier turned his head, eyes widening at her appearance. Her fangs, her strange features, her pointed ears, the dread Oathborn mark on her wrist.
His lips struggled to form words. “Please. Don’t kill me.”
“I won’t!” She squeezed his hand harder as her eyes roved over his body, searching for the wound. She saw it, a red, angry gash down one shoulder. A fae blade’s lingering mark.
“I have a son. I have to get back to him and my wife.” The soldier fumbled for something around his neck. A small set of metal tags, embossed with words in the mortal language. “I’m Private Bridger. If you can get these back to anyone. Let them know, so my family doesn’t—”
So his family would have closure, certainty of his death, if they could not promise his return.
“I understand.” A flash of her own son’s face rose in her mind. “For our children’s sake. Tivre!” she yelled to the mage, who was nearing her now. “He needs healing!”
She stood, scanning the muddy ground for silverbane, the small, leafy herb that alone could save a human from a fae’s blade.
Bang!
Gunfire reverberated through the air. A human sniper, ignorant of the new peace. She felt nothing at first. Nothing, and then warmth, a steady drip of blood. The pain blossomed next, igniting an agony she’d never known before. Her hand went to her stomach, where the bullet had pierced her armor.
Her legs crumpled. As she fell, the metal tags of the soldier slid from her fingers.
