Page 82 of Oathborn
He hoped to goad her into revealing exactly what gave her permission or the audacity to leave the Queen’s side. Given his and Syonia’s rocky relationship, simply asking would reveal nothing. Despite their shared status as Godspeakers, they had little in common. Syonia was younger and, unlike Tivre, had been raised in the mages tower, at least, as long as the mages had lived.
Then Syonia came to the palace, barging her way into the only home he’d ever known. Their one-sided rivalry had started then and slowly progressed from childish antics to real dangers; falsified betrayals and accusations of crimes he’d never committed. Syonia longed to be the Queen’s only Godspeaker, and Tivre stood in the way of that goal.
If there had been a way for him to surrender his title without forfeiting his life, Tivre would not have minded at all. However, he was slightly fond of being alive, which made Syonia’s machinations more thanslightlytroubling.
Syonia rolled her eyes. “Perhaps you ought to act with more care, given how sensitive a mission you were sent on.” She gestured with one hand to the empty space around them. “Instead of chasing ghosts, should you not be guarding the Oathborn girl you were sent to find?”
“She is quite safe.”
“Is she?” Syonia studied her fingernails dispassionately. “I thought otherwise, given that the Traitor draws near the ruins even as we speak.”
His throat went dry. What visions had Syonia been granted?
“If she is in danger, why not go to her aid?” he asked. Already, he’d started to summon magic, still debating if his spell should be offensive or defensive. “She is, after all, what the Queen desires.”
“Mm, I disagree. The Queen desires someone who will fulfill the prophecy. If your little human-raised Oathborn fails to survive the journey, well…” Syonia grinned. “The Queen will have to look elsewhere for her chosen one.”
Syonia had gone mad with power, or the longing for power. To defy the Queen’s wishes like this…he had to stop her.
Offensive magic, he decided. A greater drain on his already depleted resources, but necessary to stop her. Surely he’d be able to summon a bit more. After all, he always had before; always risked his life, always dared the divine to call his bluff. He lived long after he deserved to and would continue to bet against those odds until he no longer could.
“You think the next chosen one will be you, don’t you, Syonia?” He stepped forward. “You have always longed for more than you were given.”
She wanted a family. Something no Godspeaker would ever be allowed to have. Tivre had mourned the same. He’d found his alternative comforts in one-night stands and ill-fated trysts. Clearly, Syonia had set her sights elsewhere, seeking power if she could not have love.
Tivre didn’t finish his sentence. He surged forward, green light dancing on his fingertips. The spell hit and tore at the fabric over her shoulder, but with one arm she blocked the rest.
Her free hand went to the dagger strapped to her upper arm. “The Queen only needs one Godspeaker.”
“How long will you last?” Tivre asked. “When the shield falls and the isles are left to the mercy of Rhydonia’s bombs?” He alone kept the shield standing these days, now that both Javenthal and Celene were gone.
“That implies Rhydonia remains.”
Tivre didn’t take the bait of a further argument. While they’d talked, he’d been casting one-handed spells with his right hand, leaving his left in his pocket. Syonia had no way of seeing the second set of sigils, hidden by the pocket. Nor would she expect someone to be able to keep track of two separate weavings of magic, created at the same time.
Everyone always underestimated Tivre’s control of magic. Many never lived to do so a second time.
Like a whip, Tivre’s magic snapped forward. Sigils blazed to life in midair, forming a chain of brilliant green light that coiled around her ankles. With a vicious tug, it yanked her off balance. Syonia hit the ground hard, a cry ripping from her throat as her knees slammed into the cold, unforgiving earth. Leaves scattered around her as she struggled against the spell, but the magic only tightened in response.
Tivre drew a second set of sigils, each one burning brighter than the one before. Fury made his summoning more direct, more powerful. Her meddling could have caused Daeden’s death. How dare she—
How dare you!A voice called from inside his head, the rumbling thunder of a goddess’s demand. It shook his skull, his ribs, every bone of his body.She is chosen, as are you.
The sigils he’d cast faded, their deadly power evaporating. The goddesses denied him use of that magic. Tivre snarled. Chosen? No, more like damned. If they would not allow him to kill her, then…
Another flick of his wrist and unconsciousness claimed her. Easy. An easy temporary fix for far too complex a situation.
Knowing Syonia, she would nurse her wounded pride before heading back to the isles. Once he returned as well, Tivre would find a more permanent solution to deal with her. He wouldn’t report her actions to the Queen, for fear of arousing suspicion about his own actions. Nor could he ask Hazelle for help when she was already too entangled in her own plots.
He’d only set foot on the path when the first shots of gunfire echoed across the lake.
Chapter thirty-two
Zari
In the brief time Zari had known Hazelle, she’d gotten used to the young fae’s bubbly personality. Hazelle often seemed like pure sunlight, all delight and joy, even over the smallest things. Which meant that the solemn expression Hazelle wore now was all the more startling.
“What is it?” Zari asked.
