3. Zari #2
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the angry redness around the wound began to fade.
A thin scab formed, closing over torn skin far faster than it should have been able to.
Tobias sagged back against the bed, his breathing evening out.
Bit by bit, color crept back into his cheeks, and the glassy look in his eyes faded.
Zari stared in wonder. The silverbane had worked.
“Droughts,” the nearest nurse muttered, the mild curse slipping from her lips. “That’s not…” She trailed off and made the same warding gesture Zari had hours earlier.
Only this time, Zari was thankful for magic, for there could be no other explanation. The tiny leaves had done what no human hands could imagine.
The other nurse shuddered. She whispered an old poem while Zari moved to the next cot, silverbane in hand.
Trust not the fae, nor what they weave,
Their honeyed words are made to deceive.
What’s wrought by magic, bright and fine,
May turn to bitter ash when it is thine.
Hours later, Zari stood in a small bathroom in the back of an empty set of rooms. She’d walked to the end of the hall of the wing where the soldiers were recovering, needing a bit of time to clear her head.
Leaning against the cool ceramic of the sink, she took a few uneven breaths.
There was a small shower to the left of the sink, and she considered washing up, but the thought of pulling on her dirty clothes again made her shudder.
Better to wait until she’d returned to Annette’s house for the evening.
It was only a short walk and two trolley rides there.
If she left soon, she’d be home before dawn.
Home, perhaps, wasn’t the right word for her bedroom in her friend’s house.
She had wanted to move out sooner, but with the looming tuition bill for her medical degree…
every bit of change mattered. It was rather unfair that they were expected to be both the historic first-ever class of female doctors and to pay the same rate as men, who had access to far more lucrative careers.
How was any nurse or teacher supposed to have enough for all the years required?
As she turned on the sink to wash her face, a crisp, polished voice spoke from the other side of the door.
“Officially, Javen, we will record this as nothing more than a civilian terrorist attack.”
Zari froze. She knew that voice well. Lord Commander Samuel Lockwood. Her father and Lockwood had been old friends, and co-commanders of the military during the war. They’d grown up together, with neighboring family estates.
Lockwood was now the Minister of Defense, so what was he doing in her run-down hospital?
“Understood,” Captain Javen replied. “And yes, we lost a total of eleven soldiers. Be thankful it wasn’t more. They didn’t even know to use silverbane on the wounds.”
“The doctor?” Lockwood asked.
“The nurses. One argued with me when I told her to harvest the plant.”
“Ah.” Lockwood exhaled, long and slow, the sound as smug as the rest of his words. “Nurses are such flighty little things. Like all women, they can only be trusted with small matters and bits of the truth. Any more would send their pretty heads spinning.”
Anger burned Zari’s face. That arrogant, arrogant man. How dare he? She didn’t risk exiting the washroom. Not until he left. She’d not seen Lockwood since the funeral of his son, Garrick, years ago. Would he recognize her now? If so, no doubt he’d mock just how low she’d fallen.
“What else?” Lockwood asked Javen. “Why were you not at the ceremony?”
“I got there as soon as I could. There are other… complications I am trying to hunt down.” Javen spoke to Lockwood not as a captain to a commander, but as a peer. “There’s an Oathborn somewhere in this city.”
Zari’s mouth went dry. Oathborn were the fae Queen’s shock troops, faster than wildfire and full of bloodthirst. Stories said they wore all black, had fangs and strange glowing marks carved onto their cheeks, though no Oathborn had ever been captured alive.
There weren’t even photographs of them. The bodies, she’d been told, dissolved into ash upon their death.
She’d seen artists’ renderings, though, of looming figures, almost eight feet tall with claw-like nails and viper’s fangs. If one was in the city, how long would it be before more humans died?
“Perhaps it was a diversion.” Lockwood’s voice turned pensive. “Have the Accords broken at last?”
“I would know if they had. That attack was not by an Oathborn.”
How would one man know if the Accords had broken, when they were a written peace treaty? Strange. Zari found herself chewing on her bottom lip, confused and intrigued by the discussion.
“All the same, Javen, I am disappointed that you didn’t arrive sooner.”
“Do not think I am your trained hound.” Javen snapped.
“Ah… but aren’t you?” Lockwood paused. The smell of cigar smoke filtered into the washroom.
“Don’t you know the old story about the first dogs?
Once upon a time, a wolf gave birth to a litter, and the last pup was the first to rebel against his kind.
He grew up as a sheepdog, intent on protecting what his bloodline was raised to hunt. ”
Captain Javen snorted, clearly unamused.
Zari, though, felt unnerved and worried about how she’d leave the washroom without running afoul of the men.
Though her first instinct was to square her shoulders and march outside, doing so would only catch Lockwood’s attention.
So, eyes downcast, she slipped outside the little alcove, leaving the door open behind her.
“I was unaware we had company,” Lockwood said.
Zari’s pulse raced, but she continued looking down at the old wooden floor. “My apologies, sir, I was washing up and—”
“And you didn’t think to announce your presence?” That was Captain Javen’s voice. “How much did you hear, girl?”
“Leave her be,” Lockwood barely glanced her way. “What would you do, arrest her for washing her hands?”
Despite her best attempts at staying silent, something like a gasp escaped her lips. He wouldn’t… would he?
“See?” Lockwood said. “Poor thing sounds like a mouse. What harm can a mere girl do?”
“In my experience,” Captain Javen said, inclining his head to look directly at her. His cold blue eyes seemed to ignite with a bit of curiosity, or perhaps amusement, at her expense. “A woman is never more dangerous than when she is underestimated.”
Clumsily, Zari curtsied and spun toward the door. She closed it hard behind her, her heart pounding at the strange encounter.
Zari’s head swam as she made her final rounds of the night.
She passed the memory unit, where veterans, still haunted by battles, called out in agony.
Next was the set of rooms they’d used for amputations and prosthetics, where doctors replaced limbs severed by fae blades.
Only now did she wonder if the ointment they had used, which was kept in a locked case, contained silverbane.
Walking past the recuperation wing, Zari noticed someone had left a light on.
Tobias lay prone on his cot, and Captain Javen sat in the chair next to him.
His navy coat was draped over his shoulders, and his crisp white shirt strained against lean muscles as he lit a cigarette.
The spark reflected against the gold of his wedding band.
Zari wondered idly why he wasn’t home with his family.
She also wondered how he’d stayed long past visiting hours.
Having no desire to have yet another argument, she remained silent.
Tobias stirred. “You came back for me.”
“I did no such thing.” Captain Javen folded one leg over the other. “And I’m only here to avoid the paperwork at headquarters.”
“You love paperwork,” Tobias replied. “It’s your second favorite thing, right after target practice. Maybe third, because you also enjoy filing papers a bunch and—”
As she walked away, Zari smiled. The taciturn captain seemed to have the chattiest lieutenant as a direct report.
Not only that, but he was quite a different man speaking to Tobias.
Javen seemed softer, less stern, then he’d been addressing her, and far less cold than he’d been in dealing with Lockwood.
Javen didn’t look much older than her, but perhaps he’d been through some horrible battles in the war, and the specter of the past returning brought back too many painful memories for him.
And as obnoxious as he’d been to deal with, it was his recommendation of silverbane which had saved all of the lives tonight.
That good humor faded as she pushed open the staff exit door. Her foot brushed over another line of salt. Outside, the fog had crept in, mixing with the smoggy smoke that lingered in the capital. Zari clung to the railing of the stairs, fearing she’d miss a step in her exhaustion.
She hadn’t used silverbane on Yansin. What would happen to him? To his wounds? She sucked in a breath, fighting her worries. There was nothing she could do, no easy way to find him.
She’d just have to hope he was alright, and that promise he’d made her wouldn’t become a lie.
Though the capital was far from the sea, the faintest hint of seawater’s tang brushed against her lips.
Nights like this belonged to the fae, as the saying went.
The type of weather that would have brought with it the dangers of Oathborn warriors, mysterious fae mages, and worst of all, the monster Blood Ember .
Surely, those were stories of the past.
Weren’t they?
Zari couldn’t quite shake the sense someone watched her. When she lifted her head to the rooftops beyond, she could have sworn she saw a white-haired figure melting away, into the shadows. Someone in a cloak, someone whose purple eyes seemed to gleam like starlight.
Should she flee back into the hospital? Run to Captain Javen for advice?
No. She rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted.
Surely, she’d been imagining whatever she’d seen.
Dealing with the captain again would only subject her to more of his taunts.
She pulled her thin coat tighter. It was only a few blocks until the trolley stop.
Telling herself she’d be home soon, she forced herself to keep walking, only to jump back in alarm when a familiar automobile bumped the curb in front of her.
“Zari!” Annette shouted from the passenger side’s open window.
“Oh, thank goodness! Come on, squeeze in here.” She opened the door and patted the leather seat next to her, while shifting closer to her husband, Pietr.
He still wore his uniform, which was more rumpled than usual, and worry lines creased the dark skin of his forehead.
“How did you know I was leaving?”
“A lucky guess.” She smiled. “You know I get those feelings sometimes.” It was true Annette had the oddest ability to win almost any game of chance, and a habit of predicting things right before they occurred. Zari’s father used to tell her that Annette had the devil’s own luck.
Given how differently her life turned out from Annette’s, Zari found herself thinking there was nothing devilish about anything in Annette’s world.
A handsome husband, which had been a love match, not arranged, two wonderful children, and a beautiful home in the most desirable neighborhood of the capital.
Yes, Annette was lucky in a dozen ways Zari was not.
Though, Zari thought, as she shut the car door behind her, thinking back to her last ride in an automobile hours before. Some luck has found me. She’d been able to help save the lives of many, had surely proven herself as worthy of attending medical school in her actions, and even had met Yansin .
“She wouldn’t let me rest until I agreed,” Pietr said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Seeing as I can’t really have her careening off on a joy ride twice in a night…” His dark mustache twitched.
“How are the soldiers?” Annette asked. “There were… some survived, right?”
“Yes, and they’re healing, thanks to the advice from a captain, who—”
“Ooh, a captain?” Annette’s eyes lit up. “A handsome, single captain?”
“A miserable, married captain,” Zari laughed. “Captain Javen.”
“Name rings a bell. Solemn fellow. Transferred here from a unit in the north, after the last of the outposts closed up.” Pietr kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Officially, we will not speak of tonight again. Commander Lockwood’s orders. Got the telegram before we left.”
In other words, a cover-up.