54. Zari #2
He paused, his lips close enough the heat of his breath brushed against her hips. The sensation fanned out across her skin, traveling lower, warming her to her very core. Yansin whispered, “I would have you, Zari, if you wish. However…”
“However…” she echoed his counter, glancing back at him, finding herself enjoying the view a great deal. She felt no more hesitation, no embarrassment, when his appreciation of her was so clear. Instead, she grinned at him, proud of herself for the desire she evoked in him.
She yearned to be like a flame, to wrap around him and ignite them both. If only they could give in to their desires tonight, no matter how impractical. Let the consequences come. They could face them together.
Yansin kissed her neck. “The magic Hazelle used will wear off. You will wake up terribly sore tomorrow and I don’t wish for anything to overtax you.”
“And you think it will?” A challenge curved Zari’s lips.
“Oh,” Yansin grinned at her. “It would be my greatest honor to give you every imaginable pleasure, until you are completely undone, exhausted and sated in equal measure.”
“I don’t suppose you’d settle for anything less.”
“Not at all.” He laughed softly, as his fingers brushed over her shoulder blades in slow loops. “Trust me. Please. Fae bodies heal far faster than humans. Their healing spells are not always a guarantee when applied to a mortal’s body.”
So there were limitations to Hazelle’s magic.
The clinical part of Zari’s mind, albeit dimmed by the pleasure he offered, registered that comment with interest. Part of her itched to study magic-based healing, not only out of curiosity, but to seek a cure for her father’s condition. “So what will happen to me tomorrow?”
“Hopefully, you take a nice long nap and laze about in this lovely bed.” He laughed, that delightful sound full of sunlight and joy. “Though it will have to be without my dashing company. For now, let me tend to you, rather than court you further.”
As he spoke, his fingers ran gently over her bare skin, like she was a map leading toward treasure. His fingertips applied gentle pressure, seeking the places she was the sorest. With long, sweeping strokes, he kneaded the tired muscles, unknitting all the knots she’d barely been aware of.
When he paused, a faint moan of protest escaped her lips.
Something herbal, a sharp, crisp note followed by the tang of mint fluttered through the air.
It was a pleasant, familiar scent. “This will help, as well,” he said, before he applied whatever lotion contained the scent to her skin.
Despite craning her neck, all she could see was Yansin, his brow furrowed in concentration, as he worked.
Delight slipped from her in a sigh. “I must learn whatever spell makes such a potion.”
“Spell?” He leaned over her shoulder to show her a small jar made of dark brown glass, with a bright green label on it.
She recognized it instantly as a popular muscle cream. The hospital supply room held rows of it, between cases of bandages and painkillers. “Why that’s—”
“Rhydonian?” This time, it was Yansin who kissed her cheek.
“Free of magic? A marvel of modern medicine?” His teasing tone made her wrinkle her nose in delight.
The jar of cream was all of those things indeed, and yet, magical on her skin.
Or perhaps it was his touch which amplified the cream’s soothing powers.
“Have you had that all this time?” she asked.
“No, I was in Wesburg when—” he stopped, freezing mid-word. Like a rabbit spotted by a fox, his whole body tensed, his eyes growing wide .
Then, he sprang into motion, bending his head to kiss her, and whispered, “I will find you tomorrow. I promise.” Rising from the bed, he took swift, silent steps to the window and slid out of it.
Only once he was gone did she hear what had worried him: the soft voices of Daeden and Hazelle drawing near her door.
A reminder of both how sharp Yansin’s now-revealed-to-be-Oathbroken senses were and the dangers he risked with his visit.
No more sleep came to her as she lay in bed that night, turning over and over all that she’d learned. Yansin, Oathbroken. Her father, alive. Her own life, now impossibly complicated. That strange, glowing sword, still sitting in the corner, almost seeming to mock her.
Still. She was alive. Her father was, as well. And she had Yansin’s affection and his promise to help her. Surely, she would find a way through this mess.
“Good morning, Zari!” Hazelle’s voice came from outside. “Are you alright? I can’t open the door.”
With a yawn, Zari padded across the room and unlocked the door. A reminder, none-too-welcome, of her conversation with Yansin last night. If he was Oathbroken, he’d risk his life any time he came to the castle, for there was no way he’d ever win against Daeden.
Should she leave with him? Would her father understand?
Unaware of her thoughts, Hazelle grinned at her, a small basket of pastries in her hand. “Breakfast?” she asked.
Zari’s stomach rumbled in response. Just as Hazelle was opening the basket, something sounded like it shattered, far from the room.
A voice, sharp and ringing with authority, shattered the fragile peace. “Stellaris Hazelle! The Queen demands you listen!”
Hazelle’s hand, which had been resting lightly on Zari’s arm, tightened with a sudden, almost painful grip. “That’s Olan,” she breathed, her eyes wide and dark, fixed on the closed door. “The Queen’s most loyal Oathborn. He should not be here.”
The name landed in Zari’s chest like a stone. If all Oathborn had to be loyal, how devoted would this one be? Fear, cold and sharp, clawed its way up Zari’s throat, choking off the last vestiges of sleep.
A heavy thud echoed from the lower level, followed by the unmistakable sound of splintering wood. Panic flared in Hazelle’s eyes, mirroring the terror that gripped Zari.
Daeden. He must have tried to stop, or slow Olan down. To do so risked his own Oath.
Another shout, closer this time, reverberated through the hall. “Where is that girl? She must face consequences for the sin she has committed.”
Daeden’s voice, laced with a desperate plea, rose in weak protest. “No! You don’t understand.”
He was trying to protect her. Despite his Oath, despite his training, Daeden was standing in defiance to the Queen’s will. As much as he’d tried to sidestep the risks before, with his stories, now, it sounded as if he was willing to shatter the Oath entirely.
“No!” Hazelle rose and raced toward the door.
As Hazelle tugged it open, that deep, dangerous voice called out, booming down the hallway. “The wildling has stolen the Crescent Blade.”
Zari’s blood ran cold. Syonia told them it was the Queen’s will. There had been no indication she’d lied, but no reason for her to tell the truth either. It was Syonia who had plotted to break the Accords, who had tailed them this whole journey, and sent Zari on an impossible quest.
It had all been a setup, one that Tivre had allowed her to stumble right into. Even if her father was alive, which was more than she could have ever dreamed, she had no way to help him, no way to wake him.
“It’s not fair,” Zari whispered, though there was no one in the room to hear.
No one except me, little liar, a ghostly voice said.
Zari spun. Her eyes landed on the gleaming sword .
Keep me close by, and you may yet survive. Draw me and find yourself more powerful than you’d dream. Dampen my blade with blood and achieve the destiny long promised.
“No! I won’t—I’m not a killer.”
Are you so sure?
The voices from outside were louder, as if they grew closer. Still, Zari argued with the sword. “I believe in peace.”
Do you? How deep is your belief?
The door slammed open, cracking the pale blue plaster wall.
A massive Oathborn fae stood there, with a wickedly sharp sword drawn and the coldest expression on his face.
Behind him, Daeden held Hazelle back, one arm across her shoulder.
A bruise, clearly made by a hand, darkened her cheek.
Tears shone in her eyes as she whispered Zari’s name.
Her friends couldn’t help her.
Tivre was nowhere to be found, and Yansin? Even if he appeared, what chance would he stand against this terrifying Oathborn soldier?
She was on her own.
How much do you want peace? Are you willing to kill for it?
“You are to come with me,” the tall, terrifyingly stern Oathborn said. “You will stand trial for your crimes.”
Crimes? Her heart lodged in her chest. Did this go beyond the sword? Had they found Yansin? Did they know he was Oathbroken and planned to punish him? What would become of him? Of her? Of the Accords?
Once more, faint, unearthly laughter echoed.
Or will you die for peace instead?