6. Zari
Chapter six
Zari
S ince the day she’d treated the soldiers with silverbane, Zari’s sleep had been plagued with nightmares of glowing eyes, deadly smoke, and flashing claws.
No distractions could shake the bone-deep fear which had settled in her heart.
Despite how much the military and the politicians tried to cover it up, on Lockwood’s orders, no doubt, she was sure of it, something terrible had happened.
What if Captain Javen was wrong? Could the attacker have been Blood Ember?
If the monster was back, how soon would more death follow?
A week later, Zari took her lunch outside to the courtyard and perched on the low garden wall.
Eating in the cafeteria only reminded her that the other nurses never invited her to sit with them.
As she passed, she overheard their whispered gossip about a recently dismissed nurse.
Rumors had circulated that the nurse had entertained a man overnight in her boarding house room, which was enough to get her fired.
Halfway through her lunch, a quiet cough caught her attention. The wounded reporter, looking much better than he had that night, dressed in trousers and a faded blue shirt, with a pair of brown suspenders that matched his boots.
“Yansin?” she asked, surprised, and yet, delighted to see him again .
Brushing an escaped strand of auburn hair away from his face, he grinned. “Last I checked, yes, that’s my name.” With the effortless grace of a dancer, he hopped over the fence separating the garden from the sidewalk.
Zari stood to face him. “How have you been? I was worried. When we found out the others needed a plant to heal and—”
“Silverbane, right?” he asked, and at her nod, a shadow passed over his face. “I heard stories about it growing up.” He hesitated, watching her closely, as if gauging her reaction. “But the plant isn’t needed for one who isn’t entirely human.”
Zari’s eyes widened. “Then you’re—”
“Part-fae, yes. The name didn’t give it away?”
She stopped before blurting out something foolish, like a disbelief that part-fae even existed.
Once, when Zari was a child, an old woman with bright purple eyes had come begging, claiming to be a part-fae in need of help.
Her governess had sent the woman away with a basket of food, though she’d made sure to pour a line of salt over the threshold afterward.
Those violet eyes had haunted Zari for years.
But Yansin looked entirely human. If he was telling the truth, his fae ancestry must be quite distant. He plunged his hands in his pockets. “Figured I might as well get that out of the way. So you can make of me what you will.”
How many times had someone learned of his heritage and changed their opinion of him? As if he’d had any control over his blood. “I like your name,” she admitted. “It suits you.”
“I’ve always thought so. Suppose that’s the reason I refused to change it.”
“Your last name… you’re from Karsic, right?” She’d picked up on his distinct, melodic Karsici drawl as he’d talked, and his surname wasn’t that unusual. Certainly nothing like his first name.
“Indeed, born with sand in my shoes.” He quoted the common saying about Karsic, the warmest, and poorest, province of Rhydonia. “Anything else you want to know? I have to confess, I’m not the best at recalling things, and ever since I took up night shift at the paper, it’s gotten worse. ”
Zari thought of those veterans in the memory ward wing of the hospital, haunted by all they’d experienced. When he’d been hurt, Yansin had called out in agony, as if reliving something terrible. There might be more to his memory issues than just working late nights. “Did you serve in the war?”
“I did. I can’t… I can’t think too much of it without the nightmares returning. It was the last days, when the fighting was the most desperate.”
Before the end of the war, Rhydonia had extended the draft to boys as young as fifteen. Yansin must have been one of those unlucky ones, for he looked no older than thirty.
Zari asked, “Are you here on business?”
“You mean for the paper?” He shook his head.
“No, don’t worry. I’m not a reporter, and even if I was, there wouldn’t be an article on the attack.
We were issued a strict order from the Deputy Prime Minister not to report on it.
Told us it was just some disgruntled veteran with a stolen fae sword and a bunch of explosives. ”
Zari didn’t think any could have made such strange purple smoke. “I see.”
He tipped his head, watching her. One corner of his mouth twitched upward, as if he couldn’t go too long without smiling. “Speaking of the paper, I’m actually off tonight. Any chance you’d fancy a trip to the new ice cream parlor nearby?”
“Oh! I wasn’t expecting that.” Was that really why he’d come to see her?
“Forgive me, then. Is there a more proper way for a gentleman to ask to spend time with a charming young lady?”
Zari dropped her gaze to the ground, heat creeping up her neck. She was suddenly conscious of the wrinkles in her faded uniform and the unruly curls brushing her cheeks.
The wind picked up around them, rustling the leaves and further ruining her hair. “I think I was too forward,” he murmured. “I should have simply come here each day and left you little trinkets, like a crow trying to impress you.”
“I assure you, I have no need of trinkets.” Zari laughed. The answer came easily, before the implication of Yansin’s words caught up to her mind .
She found herself studying him again, his lean, graceful build, the elegance of his expressive hands. Yansin was handsome, no one would argue against such a thing, but looks alone weren’t enough for Zari. She’d heard too many nurses crying over hearts broken by dashing men.
What did she know of Yansin’s character? That he was kind, yes. Considerate. Perhaps a slight bit guarded, though that could be explained by all he’d lived through. “Ice cream sounds wonderful.”
“So you will forgive my clumsy attempt at courtship? I’m rather rusty at the concept.” Before she could jump to any conclusion, he added, “Yours was the first kind face I have seen in a long time.”
“Surely you must have friends at the newspaper?”
Yansin shook his head. “Part-fae, remember? Tends to eventually come up in conversation.”
She stepped forward. Though she was not tall, Yansin was nearly her height.
“I’m off at seven tonight, if you’d like to meet back here.
” Zari found herself glad Annette had lectured her enough about not having a spare outfit that a clean, nice dress was already waiting in her locker.
If she finished her rounds early, she might even be able to put on a bit of makeup and style her curls.
“I’ll look forward to it.” He tipped an imaginary hat at her, before turning on his heel.
“Wait!” Best to choose a location further from those who might gossip.
“Could we meet at Memorial Park instead? It’s close by.
There’s a statue, with two benches and—” And she held back from telling him just who the statue depicted, though that made her feel guilty when he’d been so honest with her about his own heritage.
She’d tell him tonight.
Zari sat in the park, beneath the bronze statue of her father.
It portrayed him in a field uniform, a fitting choice considering how much he despised formalities.
His bristling mustache and tight-curled hair looked exactly as it had that last day she’d seen him, but his eyes, cast out of the same bronze as the rest of him, held none of the love she so deeply missed.
Under the moonlight, the memorial garden was quiet.
The base of his statue held names of all those others who died that terrible day at Fort Lochna, ten years ago.
Candles, left in memory of those fallen, still burned.
Fewer now than years ago, as the pressing demands of reality took over.
Grief never faded, but the world continued turning.
Heal the wounds left from the war, had been her father’s last words to her. Those instructions were why she’d become a nurse, why she hoped to become a doctor. Granted, she had no way of paying the tuition for medical school, but still, she wasn’t about to give up on that dream.
Among the leaves skittering around the base of the statue, Zari spotted a single piece of paper, folded like a small diamond.
When she picked it up, her fingers brushed over the thick material.
Curious, she unfolded the top to reveal black ink in unusual twisting shapes.
The script was not Rhydonian, nor was it written in Old Rhydoni, the language used by humans hundreds of years ago.
Instead, the strangely beautiful shapes twisted and whirled on the page, almost as if they were dancing.
She lifted it closer, studying it.
“The paper is a way to honor those who have died.”
Zari spun. Behind her, near the bushes, stood a young man.
His brown hair, tamped down by a battered cap, shaded green eyes, which matched his cable-knit sweater.
A violin case was slung over one shoulder.
“One writes a poem in honor of the deceased,” the stranger nodded at the note.
“Then it is left out, for the rain to dissolve, and the words to be given to the one who is gone.”
“Who are you?” Zari asked, cautiously. She’d never heard of such a tradition. Keeping her tone polite, a faint note of stress cut through her words. Something about this stranger made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. “Is there something you want? ”
“Oh, many things. A night at the opera, a few pounds of peppermint candy, and a new sweater. Barring those things, I’d settle for a long nap.” The man smiled at her, and Zari’s heart stuttered, as she saw a hint of fangs.
Was he… no. Surely not. No fae would be so… cavalier? Sarcastic? Zari couldn’t quite find the words to even think, let alone speak. Perhaps she’d guessed wrong and he was just some prankster out for an evening walk.