Page 78 of Oathborn
Daeden had already gone ahead, scouting out the empty valley. Empty except for ghosts.
Zari sighed. “I wish we could forget as easily.”
Tivre, who had been walking slowly behind them, reached the vantage point. He froze, looking out at the sights beyond. His face had gone pale, made all the starker by his white hair. “No, we must never forget this.”
One of her father’s letters echoed in her head.Lochna is the most beautiful place I’ve seen in this long, long campaign. Perhaps someday, when this cruel war is over, we may summer here as a family. The lake is cool and crystal blue, crashing against the rocks of the fort like a soothing heartbeat. Surely, there is no better place to negotiate these peace accords.
They followed the brook’s path down the hillside. On both sides of it, white willow saplings grew in orderly rows. “Oh, my,” Hazelle said. “How beautiful.”
As Zari was about to agree, Tivre commented, “There is one sapling for each life lost.”
The beauty turned starkly terrifying as Zari stared out at the endless rows. “How do you know?” She rested her palm against the thin trunk of one tree. Its branches hung down, leaves rustling faintly in the cool breeze. Willows always filled her with a bit of melancholy, with the way they bent, as if their own grief had bowed them down.
“I planted each myself in the years since the battle.”
Hazelle studied the nearest tree. “But of those dead, which were fae, and which were Rhydonians?”
“Does it matter?” Tivre asked. “They were all just bodies in the end.”
The lines of trees stretched on, a reminder of how many had died.Dear one, her father’s letter had said,you asked why the war began. In telling you this, perhaps I ask too much of your young heart. I will write the answer, at least as I believe it to be true. This war, like so many before, began with fear, which so quickly turned to hatred. Fear begins with a small spark, and then, if the tinder of one’s heart is dry, the fire spreads, turning to anger that consumes one entirely. Do not let your heart be tinder for hate. Find the goodness in each person, my child, and make this world I’ll leave you a better one.
Those words led her to her work as a nurse, to the long hours dedicated to healing and helping. Would he be proud of her when they met again?
Lake Lochna shimmered with red-gold hues reflected from the setting sun. Despite its beauty, all Zari could think of were the newspaper reports that described how the lake shone crimson after the massacre. How many skeletons of brave soldiers lay at the bottom of the lake?
“We’ll make camp here,” Tivre said.
Daeden’s gaze narrowed as he pointed ahead to where the destroyed fort loomed. “Not among those ruins?”
“No,” Tivre said. “Here’s good enough. Go fetch us a deer or a fish or something.”
Daeden rolled his eyes, but bent to brush a kiss on Tivre’s cheek on his way past. The two shared a casual intimacy that Zari was not used to seeing. It sent a strange pang of longing through her, another memory of Yansin returning unbidden to her mind.
As Tivre unpacked in his usual muttering-to-himself, chaotic, magically-aided way, Zari asked Hazelle, “On the isles, do people kiss each other in public?”
“Oh yes, and in private too. Why do you ask?”
“No reason, I just…” She wanted to know a little more about the strange land she headed toward. Yansin had told her that the morals of the isles were different. She wondered what it would be like to live so freely, so comfortably, with affection and intimacy. Wondered, and then chided herself for wondering.
“We’ll find you lots of lovers when we get to the isles!” Hazelle declared. “As many as you’d like!”
Blushing, Zari was glad for the distraction of the tents, and crawled into one to help Hazelle spread the blankets. By the time they were done, Hazelle’s long blonde hair had escaped the loose knot that had held it in place. She tried, with a puff of breath, to send the offending strands back, but the gesture did little.
“Sit here,” Zari said, patting the space beside her. “Let me braid your hair.”
Hazelle’s eyes lit up before she hesitated in a rare moment of bashfulness. “I cannot return the favor.”
No, she could not, for Zari was sure no braid could easily be done one-handed, so she reassured her with a smile. “My hair is far too short to braid. Now, sit.”
“My sisters used to braid my hair,” Hazelle said as Zari started on the tangles. “Celene was much better at it than Liyale. She was always getting distracted. Mother used to say that Liyale couldn’t slow down any more than a waterfall could stop its cascade.”
A simple metaphor that painted a vivid image. “What about Celene? What was she like?”
“A calm lake,” Hazelle said, her voice hazy with the memories. “Frozen over in midwinter.”
“Was she a warrior?” Zari asked.
“No, a mage. One who wanted peace, and was killed on the Queen’s orders for wanting such a thing. She spent so much time here in Rhydonia, trying to learn about mortals, and it was all for nothing in the end.”
