Page 7 of Oathborn
“What if Daeden came with me?”
Tivre flinched. “Leave your cousin out of this. The Queen will assign Quila as my escort.” And her assurance that Tivre would return.
The Queen plotted to restart the war, to return the isles to the glory now gone. A part-human Oathborn would not be bound by the Accords. If the Queen had her under her command, she could instigate a full-blown war within weeks.
And then, Tivre’s promise to Maqui would mean nothing at all.
From his visions, Tivre knew the chain of deadly events that would begin the day the part-human Oathborn arrived on the isles. There was another way, a loophole, that could prevent all those lost lives.
He just needed to bring someone else to the isles. Someone entirely mortal. A normal human, without the compulsion of the Oath, would be able to evade the Queen’s demands.
The only tricky part would be locating a human who would be willing to travel with him, to risk her life and the Accords.
That was where the rest of his vision kicked in. He needed to find her, the other woman he’d seen. She was brave. Intelligent. Caring. Working with her, provided he could keep her alive, would fulfill an old promise he’d made.
It shouldn’t be too hard, Tivre decided. After all, she was someone with nothing to lose, and everything to gain from the con.
Chapter two
Zari
Zari Ankmetta hated folding laundry. No matter how many tricks she’d tried to ensure smooth corners and neat lines, her finished work always looked like the fabric version of mashed potatoes. Glancing down at the latest victim of her efforts, she sighed and shoved it into the basket atop the others.
Ten years ago, when she’d chosen nursing over taking a post as a lady’s maid, she had accepted her days would be long, her heart often heavy, and her hands occasionally stained with blood. She’d been willing to face all of those challenges, if it meant she could play a part in healing those Rhydonians still hurting from the war. What she hadn’t expected was endless laundry and lye soap scum under her fingernails.
Another gust of spring wind billowed through the courtyard, tugging at her dark curls and pushing the last sheet on the line away to reveal the skyline beyond. Cranes and smokestacks littered the view, alongside dozens of skyscrapers already built. These days construction crews worked double shifts, and many laborers ended up in the hospital. A result of greedy foreman cutting corners and ignoring safety recommendations.
In the ten years since the Accords ended the war, Rhydonia couldn’t build fast enough. Zari told herself that it was a sign of positive progress, that with the war over, Rhydonia could rebuild at last. For others, perhaps. No construction crew could reassemble what Zari had lost in the war. Her father, her home, her future.
When it was time to clock out, Zari headed inside and blinked at the sight of her best friend standing in the lobby.
“Annette!” Zari called. The other nurses were also staring at her friend, who admittedly cut quite the conspicuous figure.
Unlike the faded decor of the lobby, everything about Annette dripped with the subtle shine of wealth. She wore a well-fitted dress of blue silk, the bodice structured to accentuate her slim waist. With her hat perched at a jaunty angle atop her blonde hair, Annette looked as if she’d walked out of the pages of a high-fashion magazine.
Zari, meanwhile, felt like yesterday’s newspaper. She had no makeup on her freckled face, not even a hint of rouge for her cheeks. Her hand brushed over the rumpled collar of her gray uniform, painfully aware of how faded it was. Even her wool coat, which she’d been delighted to find in a second-hand shop, had a patch on the sleeve. In fact, the only new thing Zari wore was a pale blue scarf, which was a birthday gift from Annette. The tiny flowers scattered over the fabric reminded Zari of the forget-me-nots which bloomed so abundantly in her childhood home’s gardens.
Annette said, “Come with me to the awards ceremony. They’re giving pins to the newest commissioned officers. Pietr’s working late, and I won’t have a plus-one unless you humor me.”
Something told Zari it had less to do with Annette’s desire to sit through a stuffy ceremony, and more to do with her favorite quest. “You’re trying to play matchmaker, aren’t you?”
Annette laughed. “Maybe. Get changed, and here,” she passed Zari her purse. “I packed some make-up and earrings for you.”
With a slight wince, Zari replied, “I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“Oh. No worries. You look adorable in what you’re wearing.”
No, she didn’t, but the lie was better than pity, or worse, an offer of hand-me-downs. Before Zari had lost everything, she and Annette traded clothes often, but then, Zari could return the favor. Now, she lived at the mercy of her friend’s charity, knowing she could never pay Annette back.
It was a burden their friendship was never meant to bear.
But it was a burden still worth shouldering, for there was still so much joy in their lives. Zari adored Annette’s twin sons, who called her auntie. She cherished the late nights she and Annette would spend talking about fond memories of those the war took from them. Annette had lost her brothers, Zari had lost her father, and both of them had lost Garrick.
Annette shooed her out the door. “The earlier we get there, the better odds we have of seating you by a handsome officer!”
The automobile parked outside the hospital was brand new, one of those models that could reach a jaw-dropping forty miles an hour. Even parked, it radiated wealth, its sweeping fenders and shimmering silver grille gleaming like polished armor.
There was no driver in sight.
