Page 34 of Oathborn
In the cabin, the bed was bolted to the wall with hinges, and a wash basin was affixed below the only window. Tivre experimented with the folding bed, putting it up and back down. What would these mortals think of next?
“One bed?” Zari glared at him. “What exactly are you expecting?”
“Nothing more than polite behavior,” he scoffed. “If I wanted to seduce you, I’d be far more charming.” Indeed, she had no idea of what he was capable of. How charming, how wonderful he could be, if he so desired. “Shall we head to the dining car?”
Her eyes widened at the mention of a warm meal, but she gestured at her clothing. “In this?”
“I certainly wouldn’t recommend attending naked.”
While she blustered about his impropriety, Tivre set to work weaving magic. He’d have to fix her outfit, like he always ended up fixing things. Thegreen light danced on his fingertips, drawing the first of the sigils; the glowing shapes which made up spells.
Sigils represented words and concepts, each one designed to shape magic into one’s desires. An average fae could link three together without getting light-headed. Mages could weave together a few rows of sigils, each one modifying and further adjusting the requests the wielder made.
Tivre’s solo record was a spell involving four hundred and twelve sigils, though its only purpose was to perfectly toast and butter both sides of a bread slice. The shield protecting the isles involved a thousand sigils, but he’d not been alone in its creation.
“What are you doing?” Zari asked.
“Fae stuff.”
Already on his fifteenth sigil, Tivre pictured the traveling outfit he’d seen another woman wearing. A floral blouse, a pinstriped jacket, and a long skirt. As he did so, he resisted the pull of the sigils to break free. Sigils, once crafted, had wills of their own.
With a curl of his fingers, Tivre directed the spell at Zari. It exploded in a flurry of glitter and sparks. When the magic faded, she wore a far nicer outfit.
“I’ve hidden your dress,” he said. “You’re wearing something far more suitable.”
“What do you mean? It looks the same as before.”
He rolled his eyes. “To you, yes. To others, no.” Weaving a glamour that the wearer could see took far more magic than he could currently spend. “Now, I’d like a meal as it’s past noon.”
“Magic can do that? What else? You hide your hair and ears—can you see those changes?” She followed after him, pestering him as he walked down the hall. Her steps quickened as she matched his pace, dropping her voice to a whisper as she demanded answers about every fae superstition Tivre had ever heard, and then some.
“Do marigolds repel you? What about lines of salt? And if you can’t touch iron, how have you survived this long?”
Tivre bit back a groan at the damned iron superstition. It was far more complicated than she made it sound, but he didn’t feel like summarizing centuries of work by mage-scholars on human inventions breaking through fae enchantments.
Nor did he particularly trust Zari with said information, either. If she knew a bullet was as deadly to him as a fae blade was to her, then she was surely smart enough to use that as leverage.
“And holly berries? Can you cross doorways if there’s a bough of holly above it?”
Tivre ignored her after that, while her questions grew steadily more ridiculous, involving all numbers of falsities like communicating with unicorns, which were extinct, and using magic to fly, which was, regrettably, impossible.
There was still one train car to cross and she’d begun a set of interrogations around mushroom rings. They were alone, and he was very, very tired of questions. He spun, moving closer to her so she backed up, one step, another, until her back was to the wall. Very deliberately, he placed one hand against the same wall, leaning down so their eyes locked.
With a single breath, he let his glamour drop entirely, revealing all his fae features, the sharp teeth, the bright eyes, the sheer preternatural essence of his immortal being. “How many more questions will you ask me,human?”
He expected her to swoon. Or at least, maybe, give some sort of a breathy sigh and a flutter of her eyelashes.
He did not expect her to stomp on his foot.
Yelping, Tivre stumbled backward, cursing under his breath.
“You were quite too close,” Zari replied. “I am merely trying to get some answers to ensure my safety on this journey. I expected you to be more forthcoming.”
And he had expected her to be a bit more gullible. Sighing, Tivre snapped a finger, pulling his glamour back to himself. “No, salt does not repel us. Yes, you should avoid circles of mushrooms, mainly because mushrooms are usually poisonous and the grass is usually full of bugs. No, I cannot fly, norturn into a bat. Magic, can, however, do any number of useful things, none of which I’m going to explain further.”
Her other questions, especially about bargains made and the passage of time on the fae isles, he ignored. “Now, may we please go in and eat?”
“I don’t have any money.”
