Page 54 of Oathborn
“Lookee here,” a gravelly voice said. “I found a little fae all alone in the big woods.”
Tivre tried to keep his voice calm. “How do you know I’m fae?” His glamour should have mostly held, at least to hide his eyes and ears.
“Your hair’s white an’ you ain’t old.”
“Astute,” Tivre mumbled. Damn his hair’s inability to stay hidden. He could glamour everything else about himself, but those strands always gave him away eventually. He’d considered wearing the face of a much older human, in an attempt to make the white hair work with the rest of his disguise, but he’d found mortals never quite trusted their elders as much as they did a handsome young person.
The man smacked him with his free hand. “No speakin’ that fae language.”
“That was in your language, good sir.”
Another smack, this one hard enough that white stars lingered in the edges of Tivre’s vision, before the man demanded, “You got some leaf on you? Give it here, and I’ll let you live.”
Ah. The man was an addict. Cadevesh, a poisonous Fae-cultivated lily, bloomed at night and smelled as sweet as death. Some Rhydonian soldiers had gotten their hands on the white trumpet flowers and, with that self-destructive streak all mortals had, decided to consume them. Smoking the plant caused intense hallucinations, enough to drown out any other thought untilit eventually killed them. The Queen found it a fitting revenge. Tivre found it horrid.
“I don’t have any,” Tivre said.
“That’s a lie. I smelt it in town. Followed you here.”
Odd. Cadevesh was rare south of the Gloaming, and these days even a pinch of it could fetch a fortune on the black market. So who in a place like Wesburg had enough to smoke for pleasure? Tivre rocked on his heels, stalling for time. “I do have money, if that would be preferable?”
“I can get money from your dead body.”
“Well, yes, but considering you could have also looked for cadevesh on my corpse, I think you do not wish to kill.”
The man’s hand pulled away. “You… You’re readin’ my mind. Doin’ fae magic.”
“Yes, I can read minds. For I know you don’t want to kill.” Tivre kept his voice low, like speaking to a spooked horse. “And I know you hunger for more cadevesh to keep away the nightmares of the war.”
The man’s eyes grew wider. “You… You could tell that?”
Yes, but not from the man’s undoubtedly shattered mind. From the military insignia on the blade’s hand, the close-cropped hair, and because few Rhydonian men had escaped the draft.
“You’re creepin’ me out.”
“Then you should stay away—” Tivre wiggled his fingers, “—before I call deep and powerful magic to me.” Closing his eyes, he chanted ominous words in his native tongue, or at least, chanted his last three meals and assumed the intonation would do the work of improving the context.
As Tivre droned on, the man scrambled away. Once he was gone, Tivre stopped his muttering and slumped back against the log. Why was it always so muchmoreeffort to save someone’s life?
He reached down, only to find the spilled candy was now covered with ants. He sighed. So much for his snack. Time to head into town, find Zari, and get back to the journey. As he stood, a low, rolling thunder cracked in the distance. Tivre froze.
Not thunder, no.
Magic. Raw, wild, unconfined magic, emanating from someone both powerful and completely out of control. Traces of it skimmed over his skin like a layer of frost. Tivre shivered.
Hoofbeats sounded against the mossy dirt of the woods.
Once more, Javen had found him. Though Tivre ducked behind the fallen logs, he felt no hope at all that he’d escape detection. Javen had spared his life once. He would not do so again.
Only minutes later, the horse and rider thundered into view. “Show yourself!” Javen yelled, not in Rhydonian, but the fae tongue. Branches cracked as Javen dismounted, his sword jangling in its belt. “Are you a coward now?”
His heart still in his throat, Tivre blinked, considering the words. He’d never been one any fae would call particularly brave. Obnoxious, yes. Over-confident, perhaps. Brave, though? Doubtful.
Was it possible Javen wasn’t looking for him, after all?
Aside from the Queen, there was only one other who deserved Javen’s fury. One that Tivre had told himself was long dead. It had been so long now, so many years without a single confirmed sighting. Tivre’s heart thudded harder against his ribs, as he wondered if that newspaper article had told the truth.
Was Blood Ember still alive?
