13. Zari #2
Hazelle had previously seemed so joyful, so sweet, but in her words now, there was an intensity to match any thunderstorm. The way she tugged her sleeve back down, hiding the limb, was as curt as a slamming door.
Tivre did not answer Hazelle, nor even look at her. He plunged his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumping. The words made their impact as remorse flickered on his expression, though she doubted he’d be humble enough to apologize.
Zari cleared her throat. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee.” Some fresh air would do her well.
“Let me come with you.” Hazelle smiled. “I am so curious about this train!”
Staring at her, Zari began to form a protest. Hazelle was clearly a fae, from her pointed ears to her glowing eyes. Anyone who saw her would know, and with her combination of height and beauty, she was sure to attract attention.
“Before you go.” Tivre drew a handful of glittering shapes into the air.
They fluttered down like rose petals, but now, knowing what magic could do, Zari flinched.
Tivre rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.
It was merely a glamour, so to others, Hazelle will look far more like a human, something she should have taken care of before leaving the isles. ”
* * *
In the hall outside their cabin, Hazelle again offered Zari the sword.
Her arm outstretched, the gleaming blade remained between them, like a demarcating line.
Even sheathed as it was, the deadly grace of it made Zari pale.
Its dramatic swept hilt and gemstone pommel were unlike any Rhydonian sword she’d ever seen.
The slender, elegant weapon seemed to shine with its own light, a faint, spring-green glow to match the jewel, which Zari was rather sure was a real emerald.
A single cut from it, she knew, could kill a man. Only now did she regret not gathering more silverbane before leaving on this errand. She’d have to keep her eyes out, if there was time after disembarking the train, before whatever the next part of the journey would be, to search for the plant.
“I don’t need a sword,” Zari said. “Not yet.”
“Every Oathborn needs a sword. You are no exception, regardless of how you were raised.” Sincerity shone in Hazelle’s words. “It is glamoured, to hide from prying eyes. You can carry it on your back and no one will know.”
Protesting further might undo her disguise.
The weapon seemed to be a pivotal part of the Oathborn identity, and so Zari relented.
She shrugged out of Yansin’s borrowed overcoat and slipped on the sword, letting it fall between her shoulder blades.
If this was what she needed to complete the ruse of being an Oathborn, then she would shoulder the burden, quite literally.
“Thank you. You are very kind.”
“My mama used to tell me to spend more time being clever and less being kind, but I’m afraid I never quite figured out how.
” Hazelle laughed, tucking her arm through Zari’s.
Her warmth eased some tension within Zari.
Yes, she was a fae, but her warmth reminded Zari so much of Annette’s own personality that it was hard to feel anything but affection for the blonde.
“I think I prefer kindness over cleverness, almost always,” Zari replied, thinking of Tivre’s actions as well.
“Really?” Hazelle beamed at her. “Then I am so glad to have met you, and for you to be found at long last. Did you know you were part fae? Daeden told me you probably didn’t, but might feel the call of the Oath.
He also told me you probably don’t have much magic, but we won’t be able to tell that until we’re in the Gloaming, and oh, enough with these questions, tell me about Rhydonia! I’m so curious.”
“So, you don’t hate us? Them?” Zari tried out both words.
Neither one felt right. Still, she would rather discuss her homeland than answer any questions about magic or Oaths, since those would have to be lies.
It did make her wonder, though, if Annette’s own magic ever bothered her, if she did feel the pull of the Oath, whatever that might be.
Opening the door to the next car, Zari asked, “What is it about Rhydonia that fascinates you? ”
“Oh everything! Everyone I know has traveled here at least once. Even Daeden, and he’s iyladesi like me.”
Tivre’s spell hadn’t translated that word. Strange. Zari didn’t understand much of how magic worked, but she was certain the rest of the sentence had been perfectly turned into something that sounded like Rhydonian, except for that one word. “What’s that? Does it have to do with being Oathborn?”
“No. I’m not Oathborn. Only those born with the mark have the magic and the destiny of being Oathborn.
As for iyladesi , perhaps you might say it is someone who did not fight in the war.
” Hazelle’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps there is no equivalent word? But yes, he and I are among those who never saw combat. I was too young, and Daeden had not finished training.”
In Rhydonia, the word veteran included all those who fought. Zari was struck with a sobering realization such a thing might be the opposite on the isles. “The war has certainly left its long shadows.”
“Yes. Daeden is my only surviving relative. The war took my mother, and my two sisters.”
Female fae must have fought in the war. Zari had only heard rumors before.
Then again, it made sense that Rhydonia political leaders didn’t want to admit their adversaries included women.
If that had been public knowledge, how many women would have used it as further proof to demand women’s suffrage?
She could easily picture the signs one might carry, mocking Rhydonian men for dying to the swords of female warriors, all while refusing to let women at home vote.
“I’m sorry,” she said, thinking of her own grief, imagining it magnified to include the loss of siblings as well. “I lost many I loved in the war as well. A dear friend and my father both fell to Blood Ember.”
Hazelle’s lip curled into a snarl. Though the glamour hid her fangs, it didn’t disguise her fury. Zari’s heart hammered. Stupid, stupid, she should have remembered that Blood Ember was the Queen’s pet.
The train rattled on, the walls faintly shaking with its speed.
Hazelle stepped forward to look out the small window closest to them.
Her gaze seemed distant, as if imagining a far-off time or place.
“I, too, have reason to hate Blood Ember. We are not all the same on the isles; some are loyal to the Queen, some are forced to be so, and some,” she smiled, those small fangs flashing, “believe she is the greatest threat to peace.”
“But she signed the Accords.” Surely, that was the only reason the document was ratified.
From her father’s letters, Zari knew the fae were the first to suggest the concept of a peace treaty with him.
He’d wanted peace for a long time, but struggled to convince the other leaders, including Lockwood, to agree to the terms. It was only after General Ankmetta’s death that the Rhydonian government had voted to agree to the Accords.
A bitter irony, that her father hadn’t lived to see his greatest achievement.
“The Accords were signed,” Hazelle corrected, “in a way that forced the Queen’s hand. She plots her revenge, of that I am certain.”
“And Tivre?” Zari asked, amazed at Hazelle’s candor. To think a fae would be so openly dismissive of her ruler. “Is he loyal to the Queen?”
Hazelle rested her hand atop Zari’s. “He makes his own choices, but for whose gain, that I am never sure.”
A rather sobering assessment of the fae who had dragged her into this mess.