9. Zari
Chapter nine
Zari
T he text of the note echoed over and over in Zari’s head.
Tell no one.
The note had appeared in her pocket, as if by magic.
Still, she hadn’t trusted its order, had gone first to the precinct, only to run into Captain Javen again.
She stood in front of the cathedral’s massive wooden doors, sweat trickling down her spine.
If Javen had already arrived, he must have hidden his motorbike, for there was no sign of it.
Zari pushed open the door. Inside, the vast space was silent. “Hello?” she called.
It had taken her longer than she’d wanted to reach the cathedral, as she’d nearly crashed the bike multiple times.
Every delay made her fear grow, her heart lodge firmer in her chest. Had this been the wrong course of action?
She’d considered going across the city, back to Annette’s home, but Pietr might not even be there.
Then she would have wasted precious time.
She’d made the best plan she could. Now she was here, and though she was afraid, she walked deeper into the shadows. A scrap of moonlight danced over the floor, illuminating a corpse cut in half. Zari bit back a gag at the sight.
Ahead lay a bright splash of color, yellow silk pooling around another prone body.
Annette!
No, no, no. Zari should have been faster, should have never …
Dropping to her knees, Zari examined her. Annette’s chest rose and fell, proof she still breathed. There were no wounds, no marks of a struggle. “Thank all the stars,” Zari whispered. Her eyes raked over the rotting pews, searching for any other signs of life. A third figure lay against a pillar.
Zari’s skin prickled when she recognized him as the strange man from the park. He wore the same clothes, though now, his hair was pure white and streaked with blood, and his ears were pointed, their tips showing through his shaggy hair.
He truly was a fae.
Zari surveyed the situation. One dead, one unconscious, and one unconfirmed.
She’d have to assess his damage next. Carefully, she reached out, meaning to check his pulse, only for his hand to catch hers.
“Hello again, Zari Ankmetta.” His strangely bright green eyes met her own.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like your father?”
“My… father?”
“He and I are good friends. Back on the isles.”
Present tense. Are.
Everything stilled, as if time itself had stopped. Her father, alive? Flashes of memory, of a telegram, a funeral procession, slammed into her. “No. No, Blood Ember killed him. I saw the body!”
“Are you so sure?” Those strange green eyes, with their pupils so like a cat’s, watched her closely.
“They wouldn’t have lied to me.” Even as Zari protested, she remembered the body, the space covered by a cloth above the neck, for they’d said his head was never located. A hallmark of Blood Ember’s.
“Because people in power never alter the truth for their own gain.”
Zari’s face flushed. “What attacked you? What happened to Annette? Who are you?”
“Someone. Sleeping. Tivre,” he ticked the answers off on his fingers, quite flippantly for his injured state. “And if you’d followed my note’s advice, your dear friend would have avoided being unconscious in the first place.”
“So you were the one who left that note! ”
“I sent a note because I value your father’s work. The Accords are rather nifty documents, keeping both our people safe and all.”
“Or they had kept.” Zari muttered, staring at the dead body. If the strange smoke-based attack did not begin the war, surely the death of a fae in the capital would.
“They are not broken. The one who killed my companion is not bound by those documents.” Tivre sighed.
He did not look the way she’d imagined a fae might, nor did he look human, either.
His youthful face had a certain angularity to it, and a faint glow pulsed beneath his skin.
His attractiveness, however, was diminished by his smugness.
“As for why I am here, I am following my Queen’s orders to bring an Oathborn to the isles where she belongs. ”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not even a fae.”
“Ah, but her great-great-grandmother was one.” He sat up and smoothed his hands over his vest. The fae in tales wore strange robes and black armor. They did not wear fashionable, double-breasted jackets with green linen vests. “And the proof of her Oathborn status lies on her wrist.”
“It never did before.” Surely, Zari would have seen it.
“It had been hidden. A relative, perhaps, upon her birth, made sure to do so. My song removed the glamour, revealing her truth.”
“That sounds impossible.”
He dug in his vest for a battered gold pocket watch. “How many seconds are in a minute?”
Confused by the non-sequitur of a response, Zari answered slowly. “Sixty.”
“In mortal lands, yes. On the isles, where fae magic reigns… it can be far longer. That is the power of magic. And this watch, too, shows the power of something else.” He clicked it closed, allowing her to see the front of the watch. “Hope.”
Zari’s jaw dropped. Carved inside was her father’s name.
This was the same watch she’d learned to tell time on, the watch she hadn’t been able to find on the body she’d believed was her papa’s.
For Tivre to have this… Zari shook her head.
It was a trick, a conjuring. “You can’t use this to distract me from Annette’s safety. ”
“I could summon an entire constellation of stars to distract you. I don’t need such trifles as the truth to do so.”
“What is the point of telling me this, of insisting my father is alive?” Zari balled her fists. “If he is, why has he not come home?”
“It is a long journey,” Tivre replied, offhand. “As your friend will no doubt discover.”
“Annette’s not going with you! She has a family here.
She can’t go to the isles.” Nor did Zari think any human would be able to reach that mystical place.
No spy ever sent during the war returned.
The cliffs leading down to the sea around the fae isle had killed countless more intrepid soldiers.
As far as she knew, no Rhydonian had ever set foot on fae lands but she was to believe her father, somehow, had?
“It is not my choice,” Tivre said. “The Queen wants her Oathborn returned to her.”
Zari stood. “All of this—it’s all fake. I’m taking her home and you won’t stop me.”
“If you do, you will never see your father again.”
Mid-step, Zari froze. What if he was telling the truth? She thought again of her father’s bronze statue, the empty eyes, the tears she’d shed.
A wild hope arose within her, coursing through her veins like fire.
Could there be a way she might both see her father and save Annette?
“What if I take her place?” Zari asked. The stories said that fae delighted in making deals.
“Use your magic to make Annette forget tonight and ensure she is kept safe. I will go with you, and bring my father home.”
A small smile curved Tivre’s lips. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, as something about that expression, about those sharp teeth glinting in the half-light, set off a deep, primal fear within her. The stories also said that fae were the greatest danger humans had ever known.
“You are sure of this?” he asked.
Why didn’t he sound surprised? It sounded almost as if… as if he’d always expected her to offer. What other choice was there? She couldn’t sacrifice Annette, not when she had a family and Zari had no one .
No one, except perhaps her father? Mind made up, Zari nodded. “Yes. I am sure.”
“Very well. It shall be so. Your life in place of Annette’s.” He said it so simply. She’d gotten her wish and he’d accepted her deal, just like in the stories. With a snap of his fingers, green lights flickered to life above his hand.
Magic. Real, impossible, magic. Zari stared at the lights, which danced like captured fireflies, until Tivre took her hand.
The green lights buzzed against her skin, vibrating like a violin string.
She lifted her head to the broken stained glass above them.
Color still clung to the shattered fragments, beauty clinging amid destruction.
He muttered words, low and deep, in a language that sounded like thunder.
The ocean roared in Zari’s ears. She staggered, feeling as if the tide pulled her down.
Only the sensation of Tivre’s fingers tightening around hers brought her back, gasping.
The taste of saltwater lingered on her lips.
Somewhere, deep in the shadows of the ruins, laughter rumbled.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Frozen as the lights raced up her arms, winding around her like ribbons around a maypole. Frozen as her skin burned, then shimmered silver, before that same birthmark appeared on her skin.
“It is done.”
Cautiously, she brushed her other hand over the mark. It was as permanent as a freckle, and as impossible as holding starlight. “Is it… real?”
“It’s a real birthmark, yes, but don’t worry, you’re still as mortal as a mosquito.
Not even I can create a true Oathborn.” Tivre picked up the hat he’d worn earlier and tugged it on.
As he did, green magic shimmered around him, shifting his hair color to light brown.
His pointed ears disappeared, replaced by normal-looking human ones.
A disguise. Or as the stories had called it, a glamour.
“So I will come with you to the isles, pretending to be this… this Oathborn you went looking for. And there, you will bring me to my father? While Annette remains safe here?”
He nodded. “You have my word.”
“Your word as a fae?”
He laughed dryly. “No. My word as a man.”
“But you’re not human!” That term only belonged to mortals like her. Not the fae.
“What does that word even mean?” he retorted.
“You Rhydonians throw it around so easily. A wolf and a dog share the same shape, the same hungers. When does a tamed wolf earn the title of dog? When is a beast trusted enough to become a pet? Surely, the mere existence of your dear Annette should make you question any alleged inhumanity in the fae. If a Rhydonian can bed a fae and become with child, then…”
Zari’s cheeks flamed. She’d read plenty of biology textbooks, but it was a far different thing to have marital relations mentioned so directly. “Have some dignity, sir.”
He laughed, a warm, low noise, before perching on the top of a broken pew bench. “Ah, I do think you will prove entertaining on our long trip north.”
“Are we walking?”
“No, we’re—”
At his smug smirk, Zari cut him off. “Don’t give me one of those sarcastic answers.”
He dug in a pocket to retrieve first an acorn, then a bundle of papers, then a bit of rolled-up wire. Frowning, he rustled in it until, finally, he withdrew a first-class cabin train ticket. “Meet you there after sunrise.”
She tucked the ticket into her purse. Then, she knelt and clumsily lifted Annette. “Let’s get you home, my friend,” she whispered.
Tivre stood there, violin tucked under his chin, bow gliding across the strings.
The melody was soft and haunting, heavy with a sadness too deep for words.
No strange lights glowed, nor was there any trace of fae magic, as far as Zari could tell.
Instead the song was ordinary, and yet, heartbreaking, powerful enough to convey feelings no language could name.
Tivre called to her. “She will remember nothing, so best to tell her as little as you can.”
The mournful tune trailed her, long after it should, the notes lingering like a bruise.