45. Zari
Chapter forty-five
Zari
W ith a racing heart, Zari walked forward deeper and deeper into the dungeon.
Water dripped somewhere. The tunnel stretched out far ahead, hinting at more cells, but she heard no voices, no signs of life.
As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she noticed the narrow window of the first door was illuminated from the inside.
A green glow flickered and danced. Tivre’s magic, she was sure of it.
Her breath caught. This was it, what she’d journeyed all this way for. She raced ahead, desperate now that the distance was so short. Her father. Alive. Imprisoned, but alive.
The door swung open with only a faint groan when she pulled at it. Inside was a cell, small, plain, lit by a few sigils on the wall, and a bed where a man lay, asleep.
Not just any man. Her father.
Far older and far more frail than she’d seen him last. He wore a fae-style blue tunic and loose trousers, but she’d know him anywhere with his strong, hawk-like nose and thick beard. Even if now, that same beard was streaked through with gray and his dark hair was nearly white.
“Papa,” she whispered, dropping to her knees. “It’s me. It’s Zari.”
He didn’t move.
“Papa?” she asked again, but he simply slumbered on. Her hands shook as she reached out, taking his pulse at the wrist, bending to listen to his breathing. His vitals were steady. Still, he didn’t wake. Comatose, perhaps, but not from any medical cause.
No. Of course not. They were on the isles, and this must have been a magical curse.
Would silverbane break the enchantment? She had a little left, pocketed that night near Lochna. Should she slip some under his tongue? What if he choked on it?
“Oh, Papa,” she whispered again, bowing her head to his chest. His heart thudded, slow, so slow, too slow to seem real. Tivre’s own heart had that same lazy pace. A fae’s heartbeat, he said, beat slowly. So was this fae magic. Keeping him alive? Or… keeping him asleep?
“I’m here,” she said. “I found you.”
Childhood memories flashed in her mind. Games of hide-and-seek in the gardens, bedtime stories and pancake breakfasts.
He’d always been there for her. Even when he was far away, deployed or conducting business in the Capital, he’d written, left little riddles and notes behind for her, wrapped books up for her to read and discuss with him once he returned.
And he always came back.
Until that terrible day he didn’t.
The news came first. The coffin followed.
The grief, though, lingered, never ceasing, never healing.
Now, it swelled once more within her, melting into something more bittersweet than ever before. He was alive, and yet, he couldn’t speak to her, couldn’t laugh, couldn’t even look her way. But he was alive, which was more than she’d ever dreamed of.
“I have had the strangest journey to find you, Papa.” Just as she used to tell her tales to his statue, she spoke to his sleeping body.
Of the deal she made with Tivre, of the train, and the subsequent travels after.
Of little Ashali and the terrifying plane ride down to the beach.
She told him all the wonders of the magic she’d seen, and the terrors as well.
Blushing, she even told him a bit about Yansin, about his kindness and the comfort she’d felt around him, despite his theft of the sword .
Her words soon gave out. No amount of talking would cover the decade she’d spent without him. Her throat burned with sobs she held back, for some small, irrational part of her hoped he would wake as she’d talked. He slumbered on, unaware she was here, unaware of all she’d been through to reach him.
“I came to bring you back,” she told him, fingers running over his clenched fist, willing it to open, desperate for any small hint he heard her, even lost in dreams. “I came to rescue you.”
She’d failed. Yansin’s warning echoed in her mind. He’d been right. Fae magic always broke a human’s heart, in the end.
On trembling legs, she forced herself to stand.
“My Zarilee.” A voice, so faint and trembling she barely heard it, came from behind her. She spun, returning to her father’s side.
His eyes were still closed, but his hand, which she’d held so tightly, reached out the slightest bit. Weathered, scarred fingers shook and trembled. “My sweet girl,” he whispered. “I… love…”
“I love you, Papa.” Her words came out as a sob as she fell down, clutching that hand, feeling him tighten his hold on hers. It lasted for the briefest moment, the smallest, most wonderful second, where she knew he was aware of her, that he’d heard her, and that he was alive.
A small exhale of breath came from his lips. No further words. His hand went slack once more. The magical sleep pulled him back into its depths, away from her. But he was alive.
Her journey had not been in vain.
Her father, her rock, her only family, was still alive.
Zari kissed the back of his hand, her eyes burning. “I love you. I’m going to find a way to wake you. I promise.”
For now, she had to leave. Tivre told her it was dangerous to linger, and surely, she’d spent too much time already.
She bent to kiss her father’s brow, then turned and pushed the door open. Only after it swung back into the hall did she realize how easily Tivre could have locked her inside. Only after that thought occurred did she realize how little she trusted him.
The damned fae was standing there, arms folded, watching her. How much had Tivre heard? How little had he cared? Tears still caught in her eyes, Zari lifted her chin to glare at him. “You liar. You never told me—”
“To be a liar,” Tivre responded, “would it not have required me to tell the aforementioned lie?”
“How long has he been asleep?”
Tivre lifted one shoulder in an easy shrug. “Seven? Eight years? Maybe more.”
“Was he ever awake?”
“Presumably, yes, as he fathered you and did all sorts of—”
“Once he was brought to the isles, Tivre. When was the last time he was awake?”
Tivre’s bright green eyes slid away from hers, looking instead at the wall behind her.
Zari gritted her teeth. “Fine. Help me carry him.”
“Where?” he asked.
“Out of here. Onto that boat. Back to…” To the shore, with its impossible cliffs that she wouldn’t be able to climb even without the burden of her father’s body. She blinked, hard and fast, fighting the urge to give in to panic. “How am I supposed to get him back to Rhydonia?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that.” Tivre leaned past her. He waved his hand over the handle of the door and a lock clicked tightly into place.
Something heavy and horrible curled tight around Zari’s heart, squeezing so hard she thought it might burst. Tivre knew how to lock her father’s jail cell.
The fae she’d trusted to bring her to the isles was her father’s prison guard.
“You never were going to let me bring him home, were you?” She didn’t wait for Tivre to answer, as her own thoughts caught up, every little inconsistency stringing together like beads on a necklace.
The way he’d met her at her father’s memorial.
The note he’d passed her, ensuring she would find Annette.
The deal he’d struck. “It was never about rescuing my papa. This was all because you wanted me here on the isles. To use me as leverage? Am I to move into the jail cell next to his?”
“Not leverage,” he replied, his voice low, less playful than she’d ever heard it. “Insurance.”
“What do you…”
He grabbed her arm, turning it to show the false Oathborn mark.
“This means nothing,” he told her. “It does nothing, has no power. You retain your free will. Your friend would not have been so lucky. You are here as insurance against the Queen’s desires, a simple pawn in a game played long before you were born. ”
How stupid was she? How many times had she been warned? By Yansin, even by Captain Javen. “So what is to be done with me?”
“You will be given your first mission soon enough. An assassination, most likely. Some lesser political figure to test your deadly skills. And—”
“Are you out of your mind?”
He shrugged again. “Occasionally. Depends on the day.”
“You expect me to kill a politician?”
“No!” He cut her off, and then dropped his voice.
“I expect you to disappear once you are given the so-called Oath to go to Rhydonia. You will head as far south as you can. Anything south of the capital, and no Oathborn will be able to survive long enough to track you. Karsic would be ideal, if you can manage that.”
He was still holding her wrist and when he stepped forward, toward the door out of the prison, he gave her arm a tug.
“Granted,” he added, “this plan was much simpler before the Queen decided to give you that lovely little artwork on your neck. She’s connected to you now.
To your very heartbeat. So she’ll know you’re alive. ”
“Which means she knows that you’re a liar.” Zari wrested her arm back. Though Tivre’s fingers hadn’t held tight enough to bruise, she still rubbed the spot where he touched her, wishing she could simply rub the horrid Oathborn mark off entirely.
“Not yet.” He opened the door. “After you, my lady.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“And don’t scorn me.” He caught up to her, bent to whisper in her ear. “I am the only one who has enough magic to get you safely off the isles, Zari. You need me.”
“No.” She strode forward, heading toward the stairs. “I don’t. I don’t need people in my life that I cannot trust. I’ll find my own way home, and I’ll find a way to free my father.”
“Zari!” Tivre yelled.
She didn’t turn around.
Not until he caught up with her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her, hard, on the lips. Just as she was about to push him away, she heard echoing, oily laughter.
“Tivre?” a voice called. “This is a new low for you, truly.”
Tivre’s hand went to the back of Zari’s head, guiding her to bury her face against his neck.
The scent of him—a rich, spicy cologne and the salt of the sea—filled her senses.
The trembling of his hands, though, revealed a fear that didn’t match his flippant tone.
“We are low in elevation, yes, Syonia, how observant you are.”
From where she was pressed against Tivre, Zari barely made out the figure of the speaker. She looked young, perhaps eighteen, with a button nose and dimpled cheeks. Yet, the glow of magic around her warned Zari not to underestimate her.
Syonia let out an annoyed huff. “Bringing someone to the dungeons for a late-night tryst? Not just anyone, but the Queen’s newest Oathborn? You disgust me.”
“I am rather fond of her,” Tivre retorted. “So, please, do give us some space unless you’re volunteering to join in on the fun.”
Zari stiffened at the insinuation. There seemed to be no end to the things he’d jest about, even in the most dangerous of circumstances .
Syonia rolled her eyes. “The Queen should not trust you with her precious new soldier. This Oathborn girl needs to prepare for her duties, which is a task I am far more suited for.”
Nothing about that sounded good. Zari’s heart raced, faster than it had even when she’d been kissing Tivre. She fought to regain any shred of calmness, but it felt impossible. The stone walls seemed to press closer, the dampness and the smell of the sea nearly suffocating her.
Syonia whistled. The shrill noise cut through the silence.
Two figures emerged from the shadows at the top of the stairs.
Both of them were dressed in black, with swords strapped to their hips and their long hair pulled back in simple braids.
The taller of the two looked familiar. Zari couldn’t quite place why.
Once Tivre sucked in a sharp breath, she did. “Daeden?” she asked, both relieved he’d managed to make it back to the isles and confused by his silence. He hadn’t acknowledged either of them.
Hadn’t even spoken, in fact. Nor did his face give away any expression.
Syonia cleared her throat. “The Queen has commanded Daeden to follow my orders today. I find it much easier to think when Oathborn aren’t allowed to be so chatty.”