Page 94 of Oathborn
Zari shook her head. “How can you wield such impossible power as to heal wounds, and yet…”
“Not care at all about it?” he finished her thought for her, or at least, what he assumed her thought would be. “Simple. Because I can heal little wounds like your cut, or perhaps restart a heart now and then, but I cannot save every life I wish to.”
No, instead he’d had to watch so many die, powerless to save them. Unless he stopped the brewing war, he knew his fate would be to witness more die pointless deaths.
Those thoughts kept him occupied and silent for most of their walk. When they made camp, they did so with little more than a logistical conversation around who would take first watch. Tivre offered and Zari did not protest. He assembled her tent for her, since she lacked the necessary magic to do so, then, once she climbed in, he remained outside by the small fire.
Her mood seemed different. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Something Tivre greatly disliked about others; They never said what they were feeling. If they would just provide him a written list of their feelings on any given matter, it would certainly make his life easier. Maybe her shoes were too tight, or maybe she hadn’t liked the bread and cheese he’d offered for dinner. She certainly hadn’t eaten much. Perhaps he should—
The sound of a woman sobbing cut through his thoughts.
Tivre pushed himself to his feet and half-lunged, half-crawled into her tent. There, Zari sat cross-legged, head in her hands. Instinctively, he reached for her, though he knew he was rubbish at offering comfort in moments such asthis. He patted her shoulder, his hands feeling clumsy and useless. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t sleep. I can’t even… When I close my eyes, I just see the bodies of the soldiers.”
“The soldiers?”
“In the fort. Blood Ember… it…” Her words came out as short gasps. “The newspaper photos. The stories… Blood Ember is real, and it’s out there. What if…”
It only occurred to Tivre now that he hadn’t seen the bodies. If Hazelle had identified the corpses as killed by Blood Ember, then it was indeed true. The monster survived. Tivre closed his eyes, thinking back to Javen’s desperation in the woods. Perhaps the two would meet and kill each other, and at least Tivre’s life would become a great deal simpler.
“You are far too calm,” Zari said. “If Blood Ember is out there, how long do we have? It killed Garrick, and everyone at Lochna.”
“Except your father. Surely that offers some hope to you.”
“How can you be so certain he lives?” she asked, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes.
“Who do you think saved him?” Tivre fought the urge to brush away her tears.
Her eyes widened. Oh. So she’d never put two and two together. Wonderful. This was bound to be a delightful conversation.
“You!” she shouted. “You dragged him to your isles, instead of—”
He pulled away from her, frustrated by how little she understood. “Zari, I am made of the very magic of the isles. I can go no farther south than the capital, and even that drains me. How was I supposed to carry an injured man all the—”
“Injured? Why did he survive the attack when no one else did?”
“No survivors, and yet common knowledge of such a thing. How odd.” Tivre shook his head. “There are few who have lived after Blood Ember’s attack, that is true, for the beast was created to be a weapon to equal anything you Rhydonians would ever invent.”
It was all his fault. Tivre had been the one to see visions of bombers decades before they were invented. He’d described them to the Queen, sketched pictures of their wings and deadly cargo. In return, she’d plotted and crafted the worst thing magic had ever wrought: a monster entirely dedicated to killing those who opposed her.
“But my father lives?”
“He does,” Tivre assured her. “We still have over a day’s journey left to Kirkton. You should rest.” Summoning magic, Tivre wove through a spell for protection, then flung it at the tent. Sigils stretched out over the fabric, racing along the woven lines like molten metal. “No one will harm you. Not here. Not tonight.”
Her lips trembled. “I can’t… Not now”
Tivre looked levelly at her. “No one has ever broken through one of my warding sigil chains. If I say you will be safe, believe me.”
“Why should I?”
Dropping his gaze, Tivre studied his hands. The still-applied glamour made them look as mortal as hers. “There has not been a fae as powerful as me for thousands of years. Even now, our fire and this tent are fully cloaked. We are invisible to them, unperceivable even to other fae.”
“Then why did Javen—”
“Javen isn’t tracking us. He’s looking for Blood Ember.”
Zari shuddered. “So it’s close? And I’m just supposed to sleep, knowing that?”
