Page 6 of Oathborn
No. Not now.
Tivre squeezed his eyes closed, as if that would stop the inevitable.
It didn’t.
The sea roared in his ears, and his heart seemed to stop, as a voice that was not his own spoke. The cadence of the words, the rhythm of the poetry the divine used, echoed in his mind while snatches of the vision appeared. The Rhydonian capital loomed, a massive city full of smokestacks and buildings. Tivre saw a young woman with an Oathborn mark on her wrist, sawhimselfbring her back to the isles… and all the destruction that came alongside her.
“No,” Tivre whispered, not sure if he spoke aloud. Like wresting control of a ship in a tempest, he fought back against the vision, pleading to be shown alternate futures, better ones, more peaceful ones.
For once, the goddesses yielded. Fog covered his view, and when it cleared, another human woman stood before him, in another vision.
This woman, he recognized, with her stubborn tilt of her chin and her brown eyes bright with conviction. He’d seen her in countless other possible realities, other visions and dreams. Only now did he understand why. The peace between fae and human rested on the shoulders of one mortal woman, who had no magic, no wealth, no powers.
She was ordinary, and that would be her salvation.
Just as swiftly as the vision began, it receded, pulling away from him in a rush that left him gasping for air.
Reality returned to him. He was on the floor, as he so often was at the end of his visions, curled up, muscles tight, arms locked around his head as if protecting himself from blows. Every part of him ached as he pushed himself to sit up. Tears, hot, obnoxious, stupid tears, burned in the corners of his eyes as he realized everyone assembled had seen him fall to the will of the goddesses, would have seen him convulse and mutter whatever words the divine wished of him.
“Tivre!” the Queen snapped. “What did you see?”
He froze. “Hmm?” he asked, stalling for time. Just how much had she heard?
“Your vision. You spoke of an Oathborn that you would bring here from the Rhydonian capital city. You said she would bring about all that I have dreamed of.”
“I did?” Tivre cleared his throat and tried to sound more sure of himself. “I did.” While the goddesses allowed him to see the future, they didn’t provide additional details. A fact he’d tried multiple times to explain, though no one ever listened.
The Queen nodded. “You will bring her directly to me. She will be useful.”
To the Queen, all Oathborn were tools, serving her will. Not living, breathing beings. Though less than a quarter of all fae were born with the mark signifying their blood carried the Oathborn magic, she still treated them as expendable. She’d even tried to recreate the magic on other fae, and thankfully failed. One was either Oathborn, or not. Much like one either had green eyes, or one did not.
It was just that having green eyes didn’t usually ruin one’s life to the degree that being Oathborn did.
“As… as you wish,” Tivre murmured, grasping at the fragments of his vision, desperate not to lose them.
Around him, the Stellaris all whispered theories of what he might have seen. Some muttered about a lost Oathborn, others about a chosen one. Still others cursed Rhydonia, and all the humans who dwelt there.
Good. He’d succeeded, and held the details inside, refusing to allow the goddesses to speak through him. Tivre knew that the quest would result in his death if he dared to return without someone. As to the identity of that person, there, he had two choices.
One would be the Oathborn the Queen wished for, and the other… someone unexpected. Someone not Oathborn, not fae, not part of any grand destiny at all.
The Queen smiled. “I tire of this peace. The Oathborn girl is critical to my desire to end it.”
Tivre bowed, as he was supposed to, and held his breath, which he probably wasn’t, until the conversation in the throne room returned to other matters.
After, Tivre was halfway to the royal gardens, intent on hunting down some strawberries, when Hazelle grabbed him by the arm. “You’re really going to bring an Oathborn back from Rhydonia?” she asked, her eyes wide. Though she’d recently reached the age of maturity for a fae, she still looked too young to carry the weight of ruling an entire Isle. “Can I come?”
Tivre burst into laughter. “You, journey south to Rhydonia’s capital city? You’ve never even left the isles.”
He glanced back at the throne room, at the spotless floor, already cleansed of the mortal’s blood, and the Queen, still upon her throne, deep in thought. She, too, had not left the isles in a long time, which was a blessing. If theQueen had been the type to take up the Crescent Blade, as her mother had… the blood shed by mortals would have filled every river of Rhydonia.
Hazelle tugged on his sleeve with her hand. “But I know the mortals’ language! And I have the clothes my sisters used to wear when they snuck—”
“Those clothes are now almost a hundred years out of style.” Tivre gestured at Hazelle’s outfit, the embroidered gown with bell-like sleeves, the thick fabric belt with her isle’s pin and her set of swords tucked through it, and the pleated underskirt. A stunning ensemble, but one which would have looked equally fashionable a thousand years prior. “Nothing here changes,” Tivre said. “Our days pass like minutes, our months like hours. For mortals, time consumes them, and all they make, and all they do.”
“So they stop liking their clothes after a certain amount of time passes?” Hazelle grinned, her eyes alight with curiosity. “See! I must journey with you. They’re so fascinating, and so strange, and so—”
“Deadly, Zelle,” Tivre used the nickname he’d called her when she was still young enough to throw apples at his head. “Rhydonians have little love for fae. You would slow me down and endanger yourself.”
