30. Zari
Chapter thirty
Zari
O ver the days they traveled, the scenery changed, the mix of trees slowly shifting into only evergreens: both tall, pointed, blue-tinted pines, and unfamiliar ones with low, drooping branches.
The birdsong grew more musical, more enchanting, and more unfamiliar.
Zari found herself wishing Yansin were here to teach her about these birds too. Or at least, to explain himself.
A smaller, more traitorous part of her thought of Yansin’s touch, his breath against her skin, his fingers tightening to pull her closer. The memory of his kisses, even now, made her skin prickle.
“Are you alright?” Hazelle asked.
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” Zari smiled at the tall fae, glad of Hazelle’s conversation and even the way she matched her gait to Zari’s shorter one.
Aside from Annette, Zari had no friends, so she filled her spare time with more work and daydreams of when she’d become a doctor.
Perhaps then, she’d be courted. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps . A constant refrain.
For three days they walked, making camp at night.
Each night she slept in a glittering tent spun from magic.
Tivre seemed able to conjure up anything they needed with a wave of his hand, summoning those shimmering shapes called sigils.
Hazelle, too, often called magic, though her sigils were pink, and less vivid than Tivre’s.
They ate what Daeden hunted or foraged, which was far more than she’d expected the woods to provide.
It reminded her of Garrick’s stories of his hunting trips.
What would Garrick have thought of her traveling with fae?
Why had she never dreamed of his embrace or even a kiss from him?
Did you love him? Yansin had asked. She had her answer, at least for how she felt about Garrick.
The tenderness Yansin had shown, the warm feeling that spread through her when he smiled, the time they’d spent together…
that all added up to make answering the same question about Yansin much more difficult.
Not love, no, not when she barely knew him. Still, something pulled at her heart, a small, aching yearning for one more conversation, one more kiss, from the auburn-haired man.
Again, Zari shivered. The temperature had gotten steadily colder, and recently, the landscape ahead had changed quite dramatically. Flecks of snow glistened on tree branches, and the underbrush was mostly dead, with the faintest hints of green buds.
Zari stared, horror and awe growing in mixed measure.
“We’ve passed into the Gloaming,” Hazelle explained. “Time moves slower here.”
The Gloaming marked the start of the disputed land between the fae and the humans, and was the whole reason for the start of the war, decades ago.
Her father’s letters had described how in that region, the seasons didn’t behave like they should.
Winter lasted far too long, only to be followed by a six-month spring and one bright, brilliant month of summer.
“How far to Lochna?” Zari asked, a bleak curiosity settling in the pit of her stomach.
“Not too far now.”
Breaking through the tree line, Zari spied a grass valley dotted with purple heather and yellow gorse.
Further off, green vines claimed the crumbled stones of all that remained of Fort Lochna, hiding the unmarked graves of thousands.
When did battlefields stop being rubble and start being ruins?
It seemed strange that there was no plaque, no mention of the lives lost here.
If anything, it looked more like a lovely place to picnic than the site of a terrible massacre.
Zari swallowed thickly. “I wasn’t expecting it to look like this.”
“Nature has a way of forgetting the battles,” Hazelle said, kneeling to smell a freshly bloomed tulip.
Other flowers bloomed nearby. Pale yellow gorse, white daisies, and, in shady spots, the closed buds of the poisonous cadevesh plant awaited nightfall to bloom.
The hospital had seen its fair share of soldiers addicted to the hallucinogenic nature of cadevesh, and Zari shuddered at how common it seemed to be now that they were in the Gloaming.
It was said to be impossible to grow south of here, a small mercy given how toxic it was.
Daeden had already gone ahead, scouting out the empty valley. Empty except for ghosts.
Zari sighed. “I wish we could forget as easily.”
Tivre, who had been walking slowly behind them, reached the vantage point. He froze, looking out at the sights beyond. His face had gone pale, made all the starker by his white hair. “No, we must never forget this.”
One of her father’s letters echoed in her head.
Lochna is the most beautiful place I’ve seen in this long, long campaign.
Perhaps someday, when this cruel war is over, we may summer here as a family.
The lake is cool and crystal blue, crashing against the rocks of the fort like a soothing heartbeat.
Surely, there is no better place to negotiate these peace accords.
They followed the brook’s path down the hillside. On both sides of it, white willow saplings grew in orderly rows. “Oh, my,” Hazelle said. “How beautiful.”
As Zari was about to agree, Tivre commented, “There is one sapling for each life lost.”
The beauty turned starkly terrifying as Zari stared out at the endless rows.
“How do you know?” She rested her palm against the thin trunk of one tree.
Its branches hung down, leaves rustling faintly in the cool breeze.
Willows always filled her with a bit of melancholy, with the way they bent, as if their own grief had bowed them down .
“I planted each myself in the years since the battle.”
Hazelle studied the nearest tree. “But of those dead, which were fae, and which were Rhydonians?”
“Does it matter?” Tivre asked. “They were all just bodies in the end.”
The lines of trees stretched on, a reminder of how many had died.
Dear one , her father’s letter had said, you asked why the war began.
In telling you this, perhaps I ask too much of your young heart.
I will write the answer, at least as I believe it to be true.
This war, like so many before, began with fear, which so quickly turned to hatred.
Fear begins with a small spark, and then, if the tinder of one’s heart is dry, the fire spreads, turning to anger that consumes one entirely.
Do not let your heart be tinder for hate.
Find the goodness in each person, my child, and make this world I’ll leave you a better one.
Those words led her to her work as a nurse, to the long hours dedicated to healing and helping. Would he be proud of her when they met again?
Lake Lochna shimmered with red-gold hues reflected from the setting sun. Despite its beauty, all Zari could think of were the newspaper reports that described how the lake shone crimson after the massacre. How many skeletons of brave soldiers lay at the bottom of the lake?
“We’ll make camp here,” Tivre said.
Daeden’s gaze narrowed as he pointed ahead to where the destroyed fort loomed. “Not among those ruins?”
“No,” Tivre said. “Here’s good enough. Go fetch us a deer or a fish or something.”
Daeden rolled his eyes, but bent to brush a kiss on Tivre’s cheek on his way past. The two shared a casual intimacy that Zari was not used to seeing. It sent a strange pang of longing through her, another memory of Yansin returning unbidden to her mind.
As Tivre unpacked in his usual muttering-to-himself, chaotic, magically-aided way, Zari asked Hazelle, “On the isles, do people kiss each other in public?”
“Oh yes, and in private too. Why do you ask? ”
“No reason, I just…” She wanted to know a little more about the strange land she headed toward.
Yansin had told her that the morals of the isles were different.
She wondered what it would be like to live so freely, so comfortably, with affection and intimacy.
Wondered, and then chided herself for wondering.
“We’ll find you lots of lovers when we get to the isles!” Hazelle declared. “As many as you’d like!”
Blushing, Zari was glad for the distraction of the tents, and crawled into one to help Hazelle spread the blankets.
By the time they were done, Hazelle’s long blonde hair had escaped the loose knot that had held it in place.
She tried, with a puff of breath, to send the offending strands back, but the gesture did little.
“Sit here,” Zari said, patting the space beside her. “Let me braid your hair.”
Hazelle’s eyes lit up before she hesitated in a rare moment of bashfulness. “I cannot return the favor.”
No, she could not, for Zari was sure no braid could easily be done one-handed, so she reassured her with a smile. “My hair is far too short to braid. Now, sit.”
“My sisters used to braid my hair,” Hazelle said as Zari started on the tangles. “Celene was much better at it than Liyale. She was always getting distracted. Mother used to say that Liyale couldn’t slow down any more than a waterfall could stop its cascade.”
A simple metaphor that painted a vivid image. “What about Celene? What was she like?”
“A calm lake,” Hazelle said, her voice hazy with the memories. “Frozen over in midwinter.”
“Was she a warrior?” Zari asked.
“No, a mage. One who wanted peace, and was killed on the Queen’s orders for wanting such a thing. She spent so much time here in Rhydonia, trying to learn about mortals, and it was all for nothing in the end.”
“Don’t say that. Not when the Accords have saved so many! My own father, he—” she cut herself off. “He believed in the Accords.”
“As did my mother.” Hazelle turned to look at Zari. Her fae-bright eyes seemed strange, as if seeing something different on Zari’s face. “However, the Queen does not want peace. Does this not change how you feel?”
Zari shook her head. “I will always believe in peace, even if it is impossible.”