Page 38 of Oathborn
“Fresh?” he echoed. Despite his muscular build and commanding presence, Daeden’s confused expression reminded Zari of a golden-hued puppy.
“She means you insulted her, Dae,” drawled Tivre. “That’s what happens when fools travel south. They make a mess of customs. If the wrong person opened this cabin, we’d have a new war by sundown.”
Zari shook her head. “The Accords are not so fragile. My father would have never—”
“Would have never believed you were part fae,” Tivre cut her off, clearly reminding her not to share too much about her own family.
“Forgive me,” she said, and since Hazelle had the title of Lady, Zari curtseyed. It seemed the right thing to do, and manners, she hoped, might keep her in the fae’s good graces. Zari had no wish to see how terrifying one of the immortal beings might be, if insulted.
“What is this gesture?” Hazelle attempted to mimic the curtsy, then elbowed Daeden, motioning for him to try.
“It’s a curtsy,” Zari explained. “It’s a sign of respect.” Zari paused. The words felt funny, almost as if her mouth moved to make the shape wrong. “My voice… It sounds strange.”
“Ah, that.” Tivre waved a hand. “You speak our language now. You were rather broken, as far as communication and—”
“Tivre!” Hazelle glared. “People are not broken, and it is not magic’s job to alter them.”
Zari’s thoughts matched those exactly, even as her mind tried to catch up to the implications of what Tivre had said. He’d changed her. Used magic to alter something foundational about her, something far deeper than his application of the Oathborn mark upon her wrist.
Tivre just rolled his eyes. “She knew a useless language, Old Rhydoni. I replaced it with ours, which is a vast improvement.”
“You did not have my permission!” Zari snapped. The antiquated tongue was only used for formal events, but she had no desire to lose it. Not when she’d spent years learning the language, all for him to take it away. What if she needed it in her medical studies?
“What next?” Hazelle asked. “Will you magic me a new forearm and hand, Tivre? To replace the one I was not born with?” With defiance burning in her eyes, she rolled her sleeve to show the limb, which ended at her elbow. “Are people not good enough as they are born? Do you think yourself so muchbetter than us, so much more wise, that you feel you can change others at your whim?”
Hazelle had previously seemed so joyful, so sweet, but in her words now, there was an intensity to match any thunderstorm. The way she tugged her sleeve back down, hiding the limb, was as curt as a slamming door.
Tivre did not answer Hazelle, nor even look at her. He plunged his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumping. The words made their impact as remorse flickered on his expression, though she doubted he’d be humble enough to apologize.
Zari cleared her throat. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee.” Some fresh air would do her well.
“Let me come with you.” Hazelle smiled. “I am so curious about this train!”
Staring at her, Zari began to form a protest. Hazelle was clearly a fae, from her pointed ears to her glowing eyes. Anyone who saw her would know, and with her combination of height and beauty, she was sure to attract attention.
“Before you go.” Tivre drew a handful of glittering shapes into the air. They fluttered down like rose petals, but now, knowing what magic could do, Zari flinched. Tivre rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. It was merely a glamour, so to others, Hazelle will look far more like a human, something sheshouldhave taken care of before leaving the isles.”
* * *
In the hall outside their cabin, Hazelle again offered Zari the sword. Her arm outstretched, the gleaming blade remained between them, like a demarcating line. Even sheathed as it was, the deadly grace of it made Zari pale. Its dramatic swept hilt and gemstone pommel were unlike any Rhydonian sword she’d ever seen. The slender, elegant weapon seemed to shine with its own light, a faint, spring-green glow to match the jewel, which Zari was rather sure was a real emerald.
A single cut from it, she knew, could kill a man. Only now did she regret not gathering more silverbane before leaving on this errand. She’d have to keepher eyes out, if there was time after disembarking the train, before whatever the next part of the journey would be, to search for the plant.
“I don’t need a sword,” Zari said. “Not yet.”
“Every Oathborn needs a sword. You are no exception, regardless of how you were raised.” Sincerity shone in Hazelle’s words. “It is glamoured, to hide from prying eyes. You can carry it on your back and no one will know.”
Protesting further might undo her disguise. The weapon seemed to be a pivotal part of the Oathborn identity, and so Zari relented. She shrugged out of Yansin’s borrowed overcoat and slipped on the sword, letting it fall between her shoulder blades. If this was what she needed to complete the ruse of being an Oathborn, then she would shoulder the burden, quite literally.
“Thank you. You are very kind.”
“My mama used to tell me to spend more time being clever and less being kind, but I’m afraid I never quite figured out how.” Hazelle laughed, tucking her arm through Zari’s. Her warmth eased some tension within Zari. Yes, she was a fae, but her warmth reminded Zari so much of Annette’s own personality that it was hard to feel anything but affection for the blonde.
“I think I prefer kindness over cleverness, almost always,” Zari replied, thinking of Tivre’s actions as well.
“Really?” Hazelle beamed at her. “Then I am so glad to have met you, and for you to be found at long last. Did you know you were part fae? Daeden told me you probably didn’t, but might feel the call of the Oath. He also told me you probably don’t have much magic, but we won’t be able to tell that until we’re in the Gloaming, and oh, enough with these questions, tell me about Rhydonia! I’m so curious.”
“So, you don’t hate us? Them?” Zari tried out both words. Neither one felt right. Still, she would rather discuss her homeland than answer any questions about magic or Oaths, since those would have to be lies. It did make her wonder, though, if Annette’s own magic ever bothered her, if she did feel the pull of the Oath, whatever that might be.
