22. Zari
Chapter twenty-two
Zari
Z ari stayed motionless in the dark pantry closet, her back pressed against shelves stacked with jars and burlap sacks.
The dusty air was thick with the mingled scents of flour, dried herbs, and metal from the pans hanging nearby.
If she moved even an inch, she’d risk bumping into hanging cast iron skillets.
The row of cooking instruments felt like a death trap.
If one clattered against another… she’d be caught instantly.
Every muscle in her body ached from holding still, but she didn’t dare shift.
Then came the footfalls, heavy, deliberate, far louder than Yansin’s own.
She froze, breath trapped in her chest, pulse thundering in her ears.
The steps halted just beyond the wooden door.
For a heartbeat, she was certain the latch would turn.
As the minutes ticked by, her thoughts churned. What if Yansin got himself captured, or worse, killed? What if she was found? They wouldn’t be even half as lenient with her a second time.
The footsteps began again, but grew fainter. Whoever it was had decided to walk away. Zari bit back her sigh of relief just as a sneeze began to burn her nose.
She clenched her fists, fighting the urge.
The closet door finally swung open .
As soon as her eyes landed on Yansin’s own, relief swept through her body. He’d tucked her sword through his belt, but it seemed out of place on him, too dangerous a weapon for too gentle a man.
“We’re safe,” Yansin said. “For now.”
“They’re gone?”
He nodded. “They won’t be back. Turns out even Crimsons are scared of ghosts.”
Despite her fears, a smile tugged its way onto her lips as she imagined Yansin sneaking around, causing the soldiers to think the lodge was haunted. “Thank you.”
He rocked on his heels, looking restless, as if they’d already stayed too long in the manor. “Now what?”
“I’m not sure. I thought of returning to the capital but perhaps I’d be better off meeting up with the ones I traveled with.”
“You mean the one who gave you that Oathborn mark?” Yansin’s gaze landed on her wrist. “Be careful, Zari. The fae are too fond of all the possibilities of magic. They forget the burden of its gifts. My mother… She was so enchanted by all the wonders, she never learned to be cautious. Never thought that to love someone made of magic and starlight would cause her own heartbreak.”
Only now did she truly consider what it meant to be half fae, how his mother would have aged, and his father would not. Her heart ached for him. “I’m sorry.”
Yansin’s expression stayed grim. “My father, in his grief, forgot to warn his only child of magic’s cost. Do not be like me. Do not trust those who offer you impossible things.”
Impossible things like seeing her father again? Could it be that Tivre lied?
Yansin dug in his bag once more, until he retrieved a small tin, then occupied himself with a task concerning the little tin and a scrap of paper. Soon, he’d rolled himself a cigarette.
“You smoke?” She couldn’t help but sound a bit disappointed .
“Forgive me. I picked it up at the end of the war and have never been able to master the cravings.” He tucked it away in a pocket.
As far as reasons went, at least that one was understandable. “We were taught to tell patients to replace the action with something else enjoyable.”
With his free hand, he lifted hers to his lips. A bolt of delight hit Zari, as he kissed her fingertips. The press of his lips to the sensitive skin of her fingertips was indescribably sensual, as if it promised so much more. Her face heated at the thought.
The sparkle still in his eyes, Yansin asked, “like that?”
His gaze lingered and she ducked her head, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She wasn’t used to that sort of male attention. Indeed, she wasn’t used to any attention at all.
“If you can put up with my bad habits,” Yansin said, “would you like my company at least until we reach the Gloaming?” That stretch of land near Lake Lochna was long-disputed territory between the fae and humans.
There, strange things were said to happen, as the seasons turned unpredictable and technology turned unreliable.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re headed north or why you were hiding from the soldiers.”
That same shadow crossed over his face. “My circumstances have changed since we first met. I learned that a friend of mine survived the war, and I’m looking for him.
As for the military…” He shrugged. “I considered buying a train ticket, but given financial circumstances… spontaneity seemed like the better investment.”
In other words, he’d been a stowaway. All the same, the idea of traveling with Yansin made the road ahead feel far less impossible. “Thank you. We should probably search the house for supplies before we leave.”
“Ah, but won’t the illustrious owner be looking for his tins of olives and rather hideous blankets, if they go missing?”
“Lockwood won’t come back here.” Zari looked around, imagining the grief that must be within these walls. “His son, Garrick, loved this manor, but Garrick was killed by Blood Ember. I’ve no doubt Lockwood never wishes to see this place again.”
“Were you close to the Lockwoods?” Caution colored his voice, which made sense. She’d just revealed personal information about a very powerful politician.
“I…” She blinked twice. Hated saying it, hated remembering those days when her life had such a different path. “Yes. I grew up with his son.”
Yansin’s expression softened. She held up a hand, stopping his words. “It was a long time ago, and I’ve done my share of grieving.” For her father, for Garrick, and for the life she’d thought she’d live.
Yansin embraced her, pulling her in close to him, letting her head rest against his heart.
Zari took one long breath and let it out in a shuddering exhale.
Then, another, this one, a little less ragged.
With each one, Yansin rubbed her back gently.
“I know the ache of grief never leaves. It just fades, like an old scar.”
Face pressed against his chest, Zari nodded.
She had grieved Garrick and the hope he’d rescue her from the relations that descended like vultures on her father’s fortune, but Blood Ember had destroyed that last dream of hers, too.
Blood Ember, Blood Ember, burns bright and bloody.
The childhood song echoed, reminding her of what Javen had said.
Her fingers tightened, clenching Yansin’s shirt. “I’ve heard rumors that… that the monster has returned. That Blood Ember is once more killing humans.”
The kitchen had no windows, for which she was rather glad.
It was too easy to imagine the monster breaking through a window and hunting them down.
Superstitions echoed in her mind. Don’t stay in the woods overnight, or Blood Ember will come.
Keep a fire burning, or Blood Ember will slit your throat.
Put salt around your tent, or Blood Ember’s claws will tear you to shreds.
“Surely nothing more than a rumor.” Yansin’s arms tightened around her, as if to protect her from the mere mention of the beast. “Blood Ember took the ones I loved from me, as well. ”
“I am sorry for your loss,” she whispered. “That monster… I hope it died the most painful death possible for all the grief it has caused.”
Yansin brushed a kiss over the top of her head in a gesture she wasn’t sure held romance or simple tenderness. It made her heart skip, regardless. “Find a room to rest in. I’ll keep watch down here and find you if there’s trouble.”
Carrying a candle for light, Zari walked carefully to the second floor. She passed by room after room, each one empty with beds still made and fireplaces still stocked with lumber.
When she opened one door, she found a large room, full of fine oak furniture.
A quilt lay over the bed, one she’d given Garrick.
The clothes still hanging on brass hooks were familiar too.
He’d always dressed in shades of forest green and dark brown and hated wearing any shoes more formal than his riding boots.
A writing desk sat close to the open door, a messy set of papers still strewn over it.
With a trembling hand, Zari rifled through them, finding names she knew well on each envelope.
Annette, Garrick’s cousins, his father… and lastly, her own name.
Did she dare? What message would the dead have for her?
Zari, it began. If you receive this letter, it is because I have not come home. My mission north has failed. Do not grieve me.
She set the letter down. So few words, and none that offered any comfort.
Sleep would not come to her, not here. Still, she walked further into the room, and took the clothes from the hook, two heavy sweaters, a set of trousers, and an overcoat.
Garrick had been tall, hadn’t he? She found herself unable to remember.
The sweater and trousers would still fit her, if she cuffed the sleeves and rolled the legs.
As for the overcoat, she owed one to Yansin, given how rough she’d been on his borrowed jacket.
From another room, she took a woolen blanket off the bed and draped it over her shoulders like a cloak. The spare set of clothes she tucked into a pillowcase, along with some basic supplies from a washroom; soap, a comb, a towel.
Returning downstairs, she found Yansin sitting on the floor in the parlor, his back to the billiards table.
A few candles flickered on the floor, illuminating the otherwise dark room.
Heavy drapes covered all the windows, making it impossible to see any of the titles of the books on the far shelves.
Had Garrick ever read a book? She’d often recommended titles to him.
He’d laughed and called them silly trifles for lesser minds than his.