18. Zari
Chapter eighteen
Zari
T he small house Javen had led Zari to served as Wesburg’s military headquarters. They passed a few soldiers on their way down the hall. Each one saluted Javen and ignored Zari entirely. It was a far cry from how she’d once been treated when she would visit military bases with her father.
Javen stopped at the second door and opened it, motioning for her to enter in a mockery of polite manners.
Inside, a massive wooden desk took up most of the room.
Hardwood bookshelves flanked it, and two gas lamps on pedestals provided light.
A telephone, one of the gleaming black new models, sat on the desk near a stack of papers.
It was an office Zari’s father would have appreciated, though lacking in any of the homey touches he always added.
He’d decorated with little crafts she’d made him, embroidered pillows, a quilt handed down through the family, and a painting of their family.
Her father had loved those details, always smiling when she brought a new creation to adorn his desk.
Zari didn’t think Javen would ever enjoy anything described as homey.
Javen set his gloves down, making sure they lay flat. One of the two ivory-colored gloves was stained with blood. Just what had he been doing before finding her and Tobias?
“Zari Ankmetta…” he mused, as he lifted a sheet of paper, scanning it with lazy disdain. “No relation to the general, I presume?” Condescension crept in to his voice, as if he doubted the high-ranking officer could ever be related to her.
“He was my father.” She had no wish to hear Javen mock her papa, so she added, “and a good man.”
“On that point, we agree.” Javen replied. “I assume you miss him?”
Every day. Every hour. “I do.” Why else would she be so desperate as to believe Tivre and risk her life on this chance he still lived?
Even now, part of her thought of following through on Hazelle’s suggestion and making her way, somehow, to Lochna.
If she reunited with the fae, would she truly see her father again?
“So why have you betrayed what he fought and died for?”
“Betrayed? I did no such thing!”
“Yet you left the city, giving no excuse, nor reason as to why. None of your fellow nurses recalled you providing a reason for this trip. So tell me, why is it you are headed north?”
“I… I’m visiting a friend. In Kirkton.” That was the final destination of the train she’d been aboard, the northern-most town in all of Rhydonia, which sat only a mile or so from the fae cliffs.
“Who is this friend?”
“Why do you need to know?” Zari countered.
“The military here would be glad to allow a general’s daughter to send a message to her friend, informing them of her tardy arrival.
” In the silence, Javen drummed his long fingers on the desk, the silver wedding band gleaming in the light.
Whoever chose to marry such a cold-hearted man, Zari pitied.
Javen cleared his throat. “I do not like being made to wait, Miss Ankmetta. Tell me the name of your friend.”
Her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth, a cottony taste making words impossible.
“Or does your friend reside further north?” Javen leaned forward, his piercing blue eyes locking with hers. “Perhaps… on the isles themselves?”
Zari glared at him but did not answer. No words would save her, not now .
“As you have decided not to speak, I shall do so for you,” Javen replied. His lofty tone made it sound as if she was a foolish child in need of reprimanding. “I have reason to believe you travel with a fae, Tivre, who is none other than the Queen’s most trusted advisor.”
Zari’s eyebrows furrowed. Tivre was mesmerized by folding beds and light switches. He was petty, vain, and more than a little obnoxious. Nothing about him suggested he held a lofty position with fae royalty. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“I did not take you for a liar.” Javen folded his arms. “Nor a fool, yet you seem to be both, for you’re wearing a glamour that carries the tell-tale marks of his magic.”
Javen could see magic? Zari found herself studying the officer, wondering just what he was hiding.
After all, he’d known about silverbane too.
He was tall, with a muscular build that the tightly-tailored uniform did nothing to hide, and perhaps would be considered handsome, if not for his disdainful scowl.
Zari dared to counter his words. “Maybe I should be asking you how you are acquainted with this Tivre you speak of? What does a Rhydonian officer know of the fae?”
Javen snorted in disdain. “You are not the one in power right now. I suggest you cooperate and provide the answers I need. Tell me, where is Tivre headed?”
She fought back the immense urge to knock over a pile of Javen’s perfectly organized papers. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll arrest you, I suppose.” Javen lit a cigarette and leaned back in the chair. “The jail here is empty, it could use an occupant.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Zari’s heart rattled against her ribs. Javen never once raised his voice nor brandished any weapon, yet, his detached tone and imposing frame provided their own threats. “Nor has Tivre! I know the Accords. He hasn’t—”
“The Accords?” Javen scoffed. “I know them far better than you, girl.”
Her face flamed. He couldn’t be more than a handful of years older than her, and yet, he acted as if she was a child, as if she knew nothing.
A sudden thought chilled her. Tivre looked no older than her, and his glamour, when it had dyed his white hair brown, had looked just as human as her.
Yansin, who needed no glamour to look human, was still half fae.
Captain Javen could have fae blood as well. But then… Why did he seem to hate them as much as he did?
The telephone on the desk rang, a sudden, jarring blare. Cigarette still firmly held between his lips, Javen answered the call. He held the receiver to one ear. “What is it?”
“Any luck in the hunt?” a static-filled voice replied. Zari’s eyes widened as she recognized the voice. The speaker was none other than Commander Lockwood. “What did the witness have to say?”
“The witness is now another dead end.” A mirthless chuckle escaped Javen. “In more ways than one.”
“Ah, Javen, Javen,” Lockwood scolded. “Letting your temper get the best of you?”
“If someone is fool enough to kill another man and blame it on Blood Ember, they do not deserve a trial. Death is its own just reward.”
Zari’s stomach roiled. Javen had killed a man, and admitted it to a superior officer without any concern of court-martial.
Lockwood’s laugh crackled over the line. “You never change, do you?”
“Not where that monster is concerned.” This time, Javen’s icy blue eyes met Zari’s. He knew she could overhear the conversation, she realized. “I will speak to you later. I have a matter to settle here first.”
“Oh?” Lockwood asked. The way that single word was said brought back dozens of memories of Zari’s father and Lockwood conversing. Did any of that warmth toward her father remain? What if she shouted loud enough for him to hear? “What sort of matter?”
Zari wet her lips, weighing her odds of calling for help. She had no idea how far away Lockwood was, or if he’d even care about her. Garrick had died years ago, rendering any connection she had with the Lockwood family null and void.
Although, with the image of Garrick now fresh in her mind, Zari realized why Wesburg sounded familiar. Her heart twinged at the memory, just as Javen spoke again.
“A matter of a mouse caught in a trap. I’ll call again when I’m done.
” He hung the receiver back on the telephone hook, and finished his cigarette.
“Now, Miss Ankmetta, I am offering you a chance to exercise your free will, as well as your brain. Tell me where Tivre is headed, or accept your new home in a jail cell.”
It was a trap, just as he’d said. If she admitted anything about Tivre, he could use that as evidence she conspired with the fae. “That’s no choice at all!” Zari leapt to her feet.
Javen rose, slowly, and peered down at her, his gaze as unfeeling and cold as ever. “Should you not see it as such, that is your failing, not mine. Although, a word of warning; you speak the fae language so fluently, Miss Ankmetta, do try to return to Rhydonian before speaking to anyone else.”
The words sent a chill down her spine. She replayed the whole conversation, hating that she had no indication, no knowledge, of when she’d switched from one language to the other. No wonder he’d been suspicious of her.
“Captain!” The door slammed open, and a Crimson soldier charged into the room. The man hastily saluted, his rifle still in one hand, as he said, “We have a sighting of Blood Ember.”
“It was already proven false, Corporal.”
“No, sir. A new one. Close by. Matched the description exactly.”
Javen pushed past Zari. “I’ll handle it from here.” As he spoke, he pulled on his gloves, and Zari stared. There, on his wrist, was a mark that matched Zari’s own. A crescent surrounding a droplet. Oathborn. Was he like Annette, then? Born with the mark but unaware of his heritage?
Or was something more complex at play? Because he did know more about the fae than any other human she’d met .
The Crimson soldier replied, “Our orders were to accompany you. Lockwood said—”
“You would become a casualty.” Javen unsheathed his blade and checked it over. The weapon wasn’t an officer’s saber. No, this blade, with its delicate handle and deadly gleam, could only be that of a fae.
His gaze flicked in the direction of Zari, sending a silent challenge. Daring her to say something, to accuse him or ask further questions.
She gritted her teeth and glared at him. “My father despised men like you.” If he’d held the general in high regard, like he’d said, she would let that be its own insult.
Javen just smirked at her as he reached for another cigarette.
The Crimson closed a large, sweaty hand over her wrist.
“Take her to a holding cell,” Javen said. “One without windows.”
“There’s a grain cellar nearby.”
“Good. Guard the door once she’s inside.”
Zari bit back the insults she wanted to fire at Javen and, instead, let herself be tugged along through the building. No windows. So he must know that magic could dissolve glass.
The town was still quiet, and dark. The soldier pulled her along, wordlessly. Ahead, she spied the stone tower that once held grain, that would become her prison.
Would Tivre come looking for her? Would he even be able to find her? Captain Javen had made it clear the prison was to have no windows, as if he’d known how Hazelle and Daeden had melted the glass of the one on the train.
Which meant her best plan was to escape. Escape, and then find a way to get to Lochna, like she’d promised Hazelle.
Checking over a shoulder to make sure they were alone, she slipped her wrist free, and spun to face the Crimson. Her knee lifted, slamming into his groin, and he doubled over. Zari drew the sword from her back, wrapping her fingers tighter around the hilt. “Let me go,” she told the Crimson. “ Or—”
Or what? Was she truly prepared to kill a soldier, another Rhydonian, for the sake of the fae? She was still a Rhydonian citizen. Her loyalties should lie with her country. Shouldn’t they?
A shadow dropped from a building and hit the ground, knocking the pistol from the soldier’s hand. Their elbow swung up, smacking his head. The soldier crumpled, motionless except for faint breathing.
The man lifted his head. “I thought I recognized my coat.”