Page 67 of Oathborn
It would help keep the peace, but for how long? The Accords could still break. Any Oathborn with strong enough conviction or hatred, could push through that moment’s hesitation. The magic slowed their actions, but did not entirely stop them. No doubt Quila, had she lived, would have found a way to eventually kill a human for doing something as odious as breathing. Likewise, a human, spying a fae out for a walk, could shoot them, and the war would begin once more.
The Queen longed to find a way to enjoy the protection of the Accords while still wreaking havoc on the humans. She wanted the mortals eradicated, for every human now living to pay the price of revenge she’d held in her heart for almost a thousand years. As if their deaths could bring back the family she’d lost, the life she’d wanted, the land she’d called home.
As if anyone’s deaths could bring happiness to someone else.
Tivre had long ago decided there were many things better not to share with other people. His favorite snacks, his bed—for longer than a few hours—books that he wanted returned, secrets, and most recently, the fact that they were being followed.
Daeden’s senses were focused on the route ahead, catching up with Zari, and breaking through into the Gloaming, where their magic would be stronger. Which was good, because Tivre’s own senses, aided by his magic, trailed behind, like the train of an elegant gown, fanning outward, feeling for any signs of life.
The humans following them were not Javen’s men, nor were they soldiers. If he had to guess, they were friends of that cadevesh-addicted man from Wesburg. Tivre’s magic had returned whispers of their conversation, mutters of how, if they could kill a fae, they’d be rich men.
Rich? Doubtful. Doomed? Absolutely.
Not that they would provide any danger, not when Tivre had his magic, and Daeden had his Oathborn skills. No, if the men attacked, they would die swiftly.
The problem was that if Daeden killed them, the Accords would end. Tivre had no doubt Daeden would push past the momentary hesitation Quila had felt from the Accords’ magic, if it meant protecting Hazelle. Or even protecting Tivre himself.
Which meant Tivre would have to be the one to kill the men, which would be dreadfully obnoxious, as by the sounds of it, most of them seemed to have family or friends back home who would miss them.
Even if they didn’t, they were still living, breathing beings. They did not deserve death. No one did.
“Tivre?” Daeden called, turning to search for him. His worry sounded genuine, not manufactured by any Oath, and Tivre wanted to believe it. The Queen’s orders, including ones kept secret from Tivre, muddled everything.
Still, Maqui, Daeden’s own mother, had once guarded Tivre, during the war. She’d been given an Oath, forced to protect him above anyone else, even though it meant sacrificing other Oathborn to do so. Those warriors had trained together for centuries, were united by bonds stronger than friendship or even kinship. The Oath made her abandon them. How much she must have hated him, the prideful young Godspeaker, barely older than her son, and yet confident enough in his magic that he was sure he could find a way to stop bombs from falling.
Maqui had never let any of her frustrations show… not until those last terrible moments of her life, when she’d finally broken the Oath. If she’d lived, that breaking would have cursed her forever. She would have never been able to see her son again, never return to the isles at all.
Tivre had researched Oathbreaking for years, chasing any shred of hope that there might be loopholes in its terrible magic. He found none. Instead, he’d only grown more disgusted with the magic of the Oath in the first place. Breaking an Oath triggered four curses, one for each goddess. The first was the Matron’s wrath, which came on as sudden, agonizing pain. The second, theMother’s agony, brought forth more ceaseless suffering. If the combination of those two did not stop the Oathbreaker’s heart, they would find no rest from the Child’s taunts, whispering their worst fears to them.
It was the last, the Maiden’s loneliness, which Tivre found the most cruel. Once an Oath was shattered, the broken one could never make eye contact with another Oathborn. To do so would trigger a deep and unyielding blood-rage within the Oathborn, who would fight against the broken one until one of the two were dead.
The curses, together, destroyed any semblance of joy an Oathbroken fae might find in their hard-won freedom.
“Tivre,” Daeden said again, his voice louder. It took Tivre a moment to realize that Daeden now stood directly in front of him. One sword-calloused hand reached to brush a white lock out of Tivre’s eyes. “You have leaves in your hair,” he said.
“Decoration.” Tivre replied. “As well as camouflage. Multi-purpose fashion. Can even serve as a snack, if need be.”
The smile that crossed Daeden’s face suggested that he found Tivre himself a bit delicious, leaf-adorned hair and all. “You are so clever with your words.”
“And my tongue.” Tivre winked.
A handsome blush spread over Daeden’s cheeks. “Indeed. But do try to keep pace? I cannot lose you.”
“No, that would make the Queen rather cross, I assume.”
“That wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie,” Tivre cut him off. “It would besmirch your reputation as the most perfect Oathborn in centuries.” As well as one of the oldest that lived. The war had decimated the Oathborn. Daeden should have gone to the front lines in the last days—he had been old enough. He was close in age to Tivre, but Javenthal had conspired to keep Daeden safe. Ironic, that now he was the greatest threat to Daeden’s life.
Daeden rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t stand when they say that about me.”
“It’s true. You’ve only lost to Sen Olan in duels this year, or have I been misinformed?” Given Tivre had watched all the duels from a window of the palace, he knew he was right.
“I didn’t know you cared about such things.”
“I don’t,” Tivre said, holding back from adding,but I care about you.
“Winning a few duels only means I have kept up on my practice, as my mother would have said. I’m certainly not one who is worthy to try for the Crescent Blade.”
