17. Tivre
Chapter seventeen
Tivre
T ivre was halfway through making sure Daeden knew just how much he appreciated him when Hazelle burst in, and all manner of chaos began. Hasty explanations were given, first about clothing—or lack thereof—then Hazelle informed them about the soldiers.
Hurriedly, Hazelle tried to convey whatever had happened, but her Rhydonian was far worse than either of her sisters’, and she’d missed many of the details. It didn’t matter. She’d said enough, soldiers searching for someone, on this train, could only mean Javen was behind them.
Not just any soldiers, either. When she’d mentioned the second soldier, the one who Zari hadn’t left with, had red bands around the cuffs of his uniform coat, Tivre’s blood chilled.
Not the ordinary Cobalt soldiers that Javen had aligned himself with in the capital.
No, that red cuff could only mean he’d called for reinforcements from the Crimsons, the only human soldiers capable of taking down Oathborn warriors.
They’d been deadly enough in the last years of the war.
If Javen was aiding them, providing additional information and training, no doubt they’d be twice as brutally efficient by now.
Because if anyone knew how to kill an Oathborn, it would be Javen.
While Hazelle rambled on about how handsome the one human soldier was, Tivre reached for his magic, calling the north to him, the cold wind and unknowable ocean, the brilliant stars and fickle moon.
Green light mixed with silver as he worked a cloaking spell.
With a flick of his wrist, he wrapped the magic around them all.
“There,” he said, only a little out of breath from the pull on his magic. “Better than a glamour, for now.”
“What about Zari?” Hazelle said. “She was so stubborn, insisting she should stay behind.”
And smart , Tivre thought. Unlike them, Zari was neither a fae nor truly Oathborn. He was sure she could talk her way out of any dire consequences. “We’ll find her. For now, we go.”
If Tivre had been alone, if the plan had gone the way he’d meticulously plotted, they’d be safe.
He could have kept Zari out of danger, away from Javen and the military but now there was Daeden and Hazelle to consider.
However powerful they were, he couldn’t guarantee their safety.
Hazelle had magic, and Daeden might be one of the strongest Oathborn left on the isles, but even his strength would be no match for Javen.
Quila had been doomed the minute she’d locked eyes with the Traitor. Daeden, too, would be. If his path crossed with Javen, that damned Oathborn magic would activate. None with the magic still in their veins would ever be allowed to let an Oathbroken out of their sight.
Hazelle’s jaw set stubbornly. “We shouldn’t leave her in danger.”
Tivre ignored her. After all, his visions had assured him Zari would reach the isles. She alone was safe.
Instead, he focused on adding more protection to his cloaking spell.
Because what his visions hadn’t shown was Daeden back safe and sound on the isles.
With one hand, Tivre sketched out the last sigil, Vesh.
A shape made of a swooping curve, which added the concept of speed into any woven magic.
Tivre needed its speed, for they had so little time left.
This spell would be his best attempt at protecting the stubborn Oathborn now glaring at him.
Daeden said, “I do not like fleeing.” His jaw clenched, and tension rippled through every muscle, as though bracing for a fight.
He was a warrior, by blood and by training, even if it was his gentle heart that Tivre was so fond of.
“Why can’t we just seize this train instead? ”
“We are not at war.”
Flashes of prior battlefields ran through his mind, each one a horrible memory he’d tried so hard to forget.
Maqui, cutting through countless Rhydonians.
Ishni, with a bloody blade, surrounded by corpses.
Dozens of other Oathborn, killing because they could no sooner stop an Oath than stop the tide.
They were at peace. He’d never seen Daeden with blood on his sword. Tivre hoped he never would.
“We can wait,” Hazelle said.
“Not if Tivre insists on leaving.” Daeden checked his weapons, the Oathborn equivalent of biting one’s fingernails. First the knives under his sleeves, then the blades in his belt, and even the one masquerading as a pin holding his blond hair. “We should follow him.”
The way he’d said it—cold, factual, calm—made Tivre’s stomach churn. “Dae,” he whispered. “Are you… what Oath did she give you, before you left?”
“None,” Daeden said, but his eyes flashed like sparks, proving the words were a lie. If nothing else, he had been compelled not to reveal the Oaths he had taken. Fae’s eyes glowed when magic flowed through them.
To keep Daeden safe, Tivre would need to parse out exactly what rules bound him, and be sure to do nothing to challenge them. “Let’s go,” Tivre said. “I’ve enough magic to cushion our fall if we jump from the window.”
Thankfully, the two fae knew to trust Tivre on that, if nothing else. No fae still living would ever question Tivre’s magic, not when his shielding kept the isles safe.
Daeden pulled up the window and jerked his head, motioning for Tivre to go first. “You are the most valuable of us all,” Daeden said.
Tivre knew now it wasn’t out of fondness, but because his Oath offered no other path. Obey, and remain the Queen’s loyal soldier, or rebel and endure unspeakable agony.
For Daeden’s sake, Tivre jumped.