Page 44 of Oathborn
Did Tivre trust himself? That question haunted him even as Daeden pulled him close, returning to the pleasures they’d sought so recklessly minutes before. Joy was a fleeting thing, but Tivre was determined to seize all that he could, before the chance left his life entirely.
Chapter sixteen
Zari
After walking through other train cars, Zari and Hazelle entered the simply decorated second-class dining car. She’d chosen against bringing Hazelle to the same first-class car she and Tivre had eaten in yesterday, though now she regretted that choice. Surely a fae was expecting something finer than what this car had to offer.
Battered tables held chipped mugs, and the corner bar offered pre-packaged sandwiches for people to purchase. Thankfully, the car was empty, perhaps as they were now in that strange time after lunch and before supper. Other passengers were probably in the sightseeing cabin, staring at the mountain chain which sped by. The trans-Rhydonian rail network was enough of a recent marvel that some booked tickets simply to travel across a continent that once took months to cross.
“I hope your cousin doesn’t mind being left with Tivre,” Zari said.
Hazelle giggled, a delightful, absolutely ordinary noise that bounced off the wall. “I think they’ll be fine.” Her wide-eyed gaze landed on the menu posted by the bar. “Rhydonian food!” Hazelle exclaimed. “Oh, could we try some?”
“I’m not sure you’d want day-old egg salad.” Zari said, familiar with the caliber of the food offered in places like this. “How about just coffee?”
A sign on the counter instructed anyone wishing to purchase food to leave money in the locked coin box next to it. Simple enough, though not exactly an endorsement of the food’s culinary merit.
“Yes! I can pay!” Hazelle opened an antique handbag to reveal crumpled bills and shining coins jostling among seashells and gemstones.
Zari took on the task of pouring coffee and passed one mug to Hazelle. The fae shifted her bag to her other shoulder, before taking the mug with her one hand. Zari had no curiosity, nor reason, to ask anything else about her limb difference.
The two sat in one of the private booths along the far wall. Zari sipped the beverage, finding it about the same quality as the hospital’s.
After her first sip, Hazelle declared, “This is wonderful! My first Rhydonian beverage. How exciting!”
Zari grinned. Hazelle had such an easy, bright manner, it was impossible not to feel lighter. Easy to forget, too, that she was a fae, and perhaps even a danger to Zari herself. “There is better coffee elsewhere.”
“I shall look forward to trying it.” Hazelle set the cup down. “And in return, I shall make you hot chocolate, as soon as we’re on the isles.”
What would life be like on the isles? Not that she’d be there very long. She’d find her father and the two would leave, just as Tivre had promised. “Are Oathborn allowed to have such things?”
“Oh, of course! You shall have anything you wish. Gowns, knives, and gems for your ears and—” Hazelle rambled on, describing a life that was as full of military practice as it was dances and entertainment. Even inside the world of the fae, it seemed that the Oathborn had their own unique subculture, with rituals, routines, and expectations. All of which Zari would have to learn quickly, if she wanted to pass as one for long enough to reach her father.
At least she’d have a great resource in Hazelle, who shared so much so easily. Zari said, “You know a great deal about Oathborn.”
She nodded. “There were lots in my family, and Daeden and I grew up together.” Her cheerful expression faded. “By the end of the war, we were all each other had.”
“I’m sorry for your losses,” Zari said. The war left too many grieving, on both sides.
“No matter how much time passes, I still miss them. It does not matter if it is my mother, who fell at the battle of Haveridge, or my aunt, who died on the last day of the war.”
Zari gripped her mug tighter. The battle of Haveridge occurredeightyyears ago. These fae, who she’d considered peers, would have not only lived through the most recent war, but the one which her grandfather had fought in.
“Are there any humans on the isles?” Zari asked.
“No.” Hazelle shook her head. “None at all.”
It only now dawned on Zari that Tivre hadn’t told her that General Ankmetta was safe… or even free. She’d leapt at the mere mention that he lived, that she could save Annette and see her father again. There was so much she’d not thought to ask.
The thought made Zari more solemn, even as Hazelle kept talking, telling her more about the bright summers on the isles, and the cold winters when the sun almost never rose at all.
Mid-sentence, the train’s wheels groaned, the clattering against the rails now jagged and uneven. The train, once humming steadily along the tracks, shuddered. Zari braced herself against the table, and Hazelle threw her arm against the wall for support. The hiss of steam grew fainter; a quiet, almost apologetic sound, as though the engine itself was unsure of what was happening. A jarring squeal pierced the air as the brakes clamped down, metal grinding against metal in a fierce, sudden protest.
Hazelle’s eyes widened. All traces of that fearsome fae had vanished, leaving just a girl, terrified and unsure. Zari had seen the same panic in nurses the first time they’d helped in an emergency surgery. Softly, she reassured her. “The train is just stopping. It’s going to be alright.”
The train’s brakes gave one piercing shriek as the locomotive came to a complete stop.
“We’ll be fine.” Zari said, which was mostly true. As long as the reason they’d been stopped didn’t involve asking passengers for tickets, for she was sure Hazelle wouldn’t have one. “Do you know any Rhydonian?” Zari asked her.
