50. Zari
Chapter fifty
Zari
I n the grotto, the water lapped at the stones around where she and Javen stood, their blades locked. Aside from her own labored breathing, Zari heard nothing else. Nothing except the siren whisper inside her mind.
Little mortal, how brave you are. I think you will serve my goals well indeed.
Yansin’s stories of the Crescent Blade’s speaking to its wielder had seemed so fanciful, but now she held the legendary blade and found she had little choice but to believe in those tales.
You should, the sword purred . The best stories are always true.
Zari gritted her teeth. She had no choice but to make another deal with another magical being, and this time, had to hope it would go more smoothly than the one she’d struck with Tivre.
Teach me , she thought. And I will believe in you.
Teach? No. I offer something far greater than knowledge. I offer power, limitless, wild, incredible power. Only offer me your life, and all shall be yours.
Sudden, sharp pain flared on her neck again.
Fighting back a whimper, she braced herself for Javen’s next attack.
Except he stood half-frozen, fury blossoming on his face.
He was bleeding. She’d not landed a single hit on him, but the crisp collar of his white shirt was stained red.
More blood welled up from marks like scratches on his neck.
The ghostly memory of the Queen’s nails carving into Zari’s skin made her shudder .
“Give up,” Javen said. “This began before you. It will end without you.”
With her back to the statue, there was nowhere further she could go to retreat.
When she blocked his next strike, he didn’t let up, forcing her sword lower.
Zari’s arm shook, pain radiating down from her wrist, until finally, her arm went limp.
Javen’s sword pushed her own blade against her shoulder.
The blunt impact of metal against muscle made her scream.
Still, the voice whispered.
Bind yourself to me.
Zari shook her head, not liking the sound of that at all.
I am Tide-puller, Blood-taker, Night-splitter. The blade of the goddess. Give me your life, and I will give you my power.
Desperate, Zari dug her nails into the wound on his neck.
Javen hissed in pain, startled enough that the blade stopped its downward cut.
Holding a hand to where she’d broken skin, he glared at her, his blue eyes burning like wildfire.
He shoved her hard with his free shoulder, and she collapsed against the base of the statue, smacking her head against the stone. Stars blossomed behind her eyes.
“Captain?” a voice asked, fuzzy and distant.
She whipped her head, turning to search for the speaker, only for the realization to hit her in a sickening blow.
It was Tobias’s voice, but on the radio.
The kind, helpful soldier was far from here.
Still. If she could get up, if she could pass a message to him, make him realize what a madman the captain was…
Pushing herself to her feet, she took a step forward. Javen’s free hand was on the radio call button. Now was her chance. “Help!” she screamed.
Fury burning in his eyes, Javen dropped the radio.
“Tobias, please!” she called, desperately hoping the radio call wasn’t disconnected.
Not him, me, the ethereal voice said. I will help you.
Javen reached for the radio on his belt. Zari tried to scream again, only for her hoarse voice to break into a muffled cry. The sword dropped from her weary fingers. None of her muscles obeyed her wishes. She knew what it meant from a purely clinical viewpoint. She was going to die.
Unless…
Fine, she thought, I accept the deal. Drums pounded in her ears, and salt water filled her mouth. Was that it? Surely, making some sort of agreement with a talking sword merited something dramatic. Even Tivre’s deal had filled the cathedral with dancing green lights.
Was the sword’s voice just an end-of-life delusion?
Javen kicked the Crescent Blade into his hand. He held it aloft as silver light streamed from it, wrapping down his arms, illuminating his eyes so they glowed like molten metal. He stepped forward, arm outstretched.
This was it. He would kill her now, she was sure of it.
With a scream, he dropped the blade.
Someone—or something —laughed.
A strange, terrifyingly supernatural noise, a cacophony of multiple feminine voices, all laughing in different tones, different pitches. The sound echoed off the walls of the cave and seemed to even make the water ripple in time with its rhythm.
Cursing, Javen flexed his blistering hand. Angry red welts crisscrossed his palm. The sword had burned him. The largest red line blistered, and he hissed in pain.
What had the sword done to him?
Zari gritted her teeth. No time to wonder. He was currently unarmed, and the blade was close, so close. Zari lunged forward to grab the sword.
Javen snarled at her. “What a fool you are, Miss Ankmetta.”
The title rankled her more than ever. He spoke so properly, as if they were not locked in combat. “Stop calling me that! You’re no gentleman.”
“And you are no fae.”
The radio crackled again, Tobias’s voice coming through clearly. Had he heard her? Would it do any good at all? “Lockwood says to return.”
Javen replied, his gaze still locked on Zari, with calm detachment. “Tell him to practice patience for once.” The idea of Javen commanding Lockwood would have been humorous, if the situation was different. Her head buzzed with a droning roar, and her muscles screamed in agony.
“Just… kill me,” she muttered, “and be done with it.” She wanted to curse at him with every foul-mouthed word she’d ever heard but all she managed was a moan.
“You’ve claimed the Blade, I cannot kill you myself.” Javen brushed off his shirt as if this were only a minor altercation, a bit of a tussle in a schoolyard. “At least it will do my work for me. With no magic or destiny to offer it, you’ll be dead by moonrise.”
Was the fight over as swiftly as it had begun? He stalked away, fury radiating behind him like a cloak. Where he headed, she had no idea.
Nor did it matter now.
The statues blurred above her as the lights of the cave dimmed. The mark on her neck throbbed in time with the ghostly music still rattling her skull. So much magic, so much unknown.
Still. She was a nurse, first and foremost. If nothing else, she would rely on her training. Triage first, as best as she could. Her right wrist was probably broken, as was a rib. A concussion seemed probable.
Unable to even flex a finger of her right hand, she used her left to fumble for the dried silverbane she’d pocketed. Humming an old lullaby, she tried to stay awake. “Silver flower, blue flower, crimson flower bloom. If you were my only flower then—
“I’d be true.” A familiar, gentle voice finished the song, summoning a strange, heady mix of hope and confusion.
“Yansin?”
“As sure as the sun rises.” Yansin said. He wore the same faded clothes, his auburn hair half-hidden under a cap, except for a cloak, draped over his shoulders. Her heart leapt at his familiar voice, his smile, everything about him. “But you’re looking a little worse than when the tide left you. ”
Despite herself, she couldn’t help smiling at the Karsic phrase.
Yansin shrugged out of his faded white shirt, leaving himself in just a tight-fitting undershirt. After he ripped the shirt into bandages, he doused one with water and dabbed at the crusting blood on her forehead.
Zari knew a wet rag did little for medical healing, but Yansin’s gentle touch made her sigh in relief. “How… how did you find me here?”
“I was close by,” he replied, turning his attention to bandaging her wounds. “Saw a huge flare of magic, and came to investigate.”
“How did you get here?”
He gave a small shrug. “I scaled down the cliffs. You’re close to Kirkton.”
Zari connected the dots. “I went to the place you told me to and—”
“I know,” he sighed. “I know no one was there.”
Zari shook her head. “The girl. Ashali.” With her injuries, every word took more effort to say than the one before.
She was aware of Yansin watching her, his eyes widening with clear hope.
Zari swallowed, trying her best to fight through the pain.
“She’s safe. Tivre… promised. I feel like there’s much you’re not telling me,” Zari said.
“It is true,” Yansin finally said, “that I perhaps have a penchant for being cryptic.”
“And a way with words,” Zari found herself smiling, despite the pain. He was comfortable to be around, like a cozy sweater a size too big.
The misty fog had lifted somewhat, revealing flecks of blue flowers amid the scrubby grass.
May a thousand flowers bloom where he had trod.
The words, a Rhydonian phrase used to comfort those who grieve, sprang to her mind.
It was the same so many had told her during her father’s funeral.
Annette had been there, by her side. Other than that, she couldn’t remember a single person, nor anything they said beyond those words.
It reminded her, too, of all the trees Tivre planted at Lochna, and all the bodies slaughtered by Blood Ember. Of Javen and the lilac tree, and his grieving of his wife .
“Why did you take the sword when you left?” The one Hazelle had given her was still in his belt.
“Foolishly, I thought that keeping it would protect you. Instead, it seems destiny found you another to wield.”
“Destiny had nothing to do with it!” No, instead, she’d made a choice. She’d chosen to protect Annette and to see her father again. “So, I suppose I’ll die here, and you can tell whoever paid you to follow me that—”
“No one is paying me,” he cut her off, a hint of intensity crackling beneath his words. “Rather, I’m fond of you, you baffling, stubborn girl.”
“Then, help me.”
“That I can do, though—”
“You cannot stay?”
A shadow crossed Yansin’s face. “I wish that were not the reputation I’ve earned.” His expression wavered as if he wanted to tell her more. “But I suppose it is the one I deserve.”
“Yansin,” she whispered. “I’m scared of so much, and things are changing so quickly, but… but you’re here, and I find myself a bit braver for that.”
Zari dared to run her hand through his auburn hair. Her thumb traced over the curve of his ear, finding it almost identical to hers, but with the smallest edge of a point. Not a fae’s, but not human, either.
He swallowed hard before whispering. “Am I acceptable to you? For I cannot change who my blood made me, so you see me as I am.”
Did that mean he couldn’t glamour himself, like the fae she’d met? “I feel like I cannot say the same about myself.” She was dressed as a fae, with a false Oathborn mark on her arm and a magical, cursed sword at her feet. What would become of her?
“Ah, but I can still see you. I see your gentleness, your kind heart. Both are in rare supply everywhere I’ve ever made my home.”
A kind heart wouldn’t save her father. Nor would it keep her safe from the Queen.
“Zari!” Daeden called from the distance. “Zari! ”
Her eyes widened. He’d come looking for her. Had he broken his Oath to do so? “Daeden!” she yelled. “Yansin, I need to find him. If he runs into Javen instead of finding me…”
Yansin’s lips pressed together into a thin line as he seemed to concentrate on something. He bent his fingers, weaving a twisting light into sigils. He caught them all in his hand and threw the magic into the air.
Zari gasped in wonder. Glittering shapes like fireworks rained down as lights formed the shape of a great bird. Flapping its wings, it soared up in a flurry of reddish-gold sparks, and disappeared.
“He’ll see that, I’m sure,” Yansin said.
Bending, Yansin kissed her forehead. Her hand reached out, grabbing his undershirt, trying to catch him and hold him close to her.
Instead, his free hand closed over hers, and gently pried her fingers away.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm.
“If you are so determined to go back to the isles, stay on the South Star. I will find you there.”
Her heart ached at his words. “Truly?”
“Yes.” His arms tightened around her, holding her once more. “Though it is foolish of me, I care for you, Zari, and I wish to see you safe.” Then he rose. Her last glimpse of him was his bright auburn hair fading into the fog.
Her hand clenched to her chest, Zari desperately hoped he would keep his word.