53. Zari
Chapter fifty-three
Zari
W hen Daeden approached, Zari turned with a start, finding herself so relieved to see him. For all that he was an Oathborn, he was a friend, and unlike many others she’d had dealings with, he’d never lied to her.
“Zari! I saw the phoenix! I didn’t know you knew to cast that sigil.”
The glowing bird Yansin had made… a phoenix. That was what it had been. Should she tell Daeden that she’d been helped? No, not without knowing what other oaths he might have vowed. “Hazelle taught me,” she whispered, lying on behalf of Yansin. “But I can’t… I can’t stand. My ribs…”
“What happened?” Daeden asked.
“A… bear attack,” she managed. If she told Daeden it had been Javen who attacked, her ruse as an Oathborn would be over. Tivre had made that clear.
“You have claimed the Crescent Blade. Well done, Zari.” Daeden smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “I felt the moment you succeeded, for I was then allowed to follow you.”
A sob caught in her throat. Because he didn’t ask about the bear, which anyone surely would have done, given how little sense the excuse made. It was as if he knew she’d lied and knew that to ask for the truth would endanger them both.
“Now, it is time for us to return.” Daeden scooped her into his arms. His chest was warm, his slow heartbeat a soothing drumlike lullaby. She wanted to protest that she didn’t need to be carried, but she was so weary and he offered much-needed safety.
The irony made Zari smile bitterly. To think she was safer with a fae Oathborn warrior than a Rhydonian military officer. “Return?” she asked. “To the Queen?”
He shook his head. “To your new home on the South Star Isle. You are Oathborn, Zari, and belong with us.”
The little boat scraped against stone, jostling Zari out of her daze. As Daeden had rowed, she’d stared at the dark shapes of the isles in the distance. The setting sun sent streaks of gold and bronze across the water, as if it had alchemized into molten metal.
Now, they drew near a beach, but not the same one they’d left from.
Ahead, she could only make out the faint shape of larger rocks and a few scrubby bushes, not the grand staircase they’d used to reach the royal isle.
The darkness around them hid any other details and she stumbled as she exited the boat.
Daeden hooked his fingers in the shape she understood as a way to summon magic. Concentration knit his brow and after a few hand waves, glowing light finally hovered in front of him. “Sorry,” he said, sheepishly, “never been much good with magic.”
“I didn’t know that magic doesn’t come easy to every fae.” Indeed, she’d rather thought it was like the stories, and on the isles any fae could summon whatever they wished with a snap of their fingers. Perhaps she should know by now that life rarely turned out the way the stories predicted.
After all, in the stories she knew, the fae were the enemy, the Rhydonian soldiers were the heroes, and no proper young woman ever wielded a talking sword in combat.
In your stories, perhaps, that ghostly voice whispered to her. The ones I know are far, far more exciting.
As that strange voice whispered, Daeden had continued to talk. Zari blinked, struggling to hear what he was saying. “Magic requires study, and some aptitude, which you must have, since the Crescent Blade came to you. Don’t worry. I’m sure Tivre will get someone to give you lessons.”
Zari was quite sure he wouldn’t.
From the shore they’d landed upon, Daeden led her up a sloping rocky path.
His long-legged gait proved nearly impossible for Zari to keep up with.
Her injuries ached worse with every step.
The sword clattered against her hip, a heavy, uncomfortable weight.
She’d been tired before, but the weariness which had settled into her bones was deeper than any she’d ever felt.
A dirt path led them through an apple orchard, past trees full of birds singing unfamiliar songs.
She thought again of Yansin’s lesson on birds.
Clinging to his promise filled her with the smallest scrap of hope.
He’d told her he would find her, promised her, a far different goodbye than the one he’d offered in the capital.
Now, her travels north were over, though her quest to rescue her father had scarcely started. Even if Yansin found her, could he help free him? What hope would he, or anyone, have against the Queen and her Oathborn?
She lifted her eyes from the path to glance at Daeden, who was every inch a perfect warrior. The sword at his hip was a deadly extension of his body; she’d seen that firsthand. How could anyone best him in battle?
Swiftly, a beautiful castle came into view.
The Queen’s palace was a dark, confining structure.
Hazelle’s castle was the opposite. Carved from white stone, the building’s delicate spires reached toward the sky above.
Each tower was adorned with silvered ivy that cascaded down, and the windows glowed with purple-pink light from within.
It was so close, and yet, with the agony of her wounds, each step seemed too much to bear. Daeden glanced down at her, noticing her faltering, and said, “A little further now, and Hazelle will have enough magic to heal you. ”
Healing magic. She’d not even considered such a thing, but of course, they were on the isles now. Hazelle had told her that her magic would grow stronger.
And you too, little one, shall grow in strength.
Zari blinked, searching for the voice whispering to her. “Daeden, did you hear that?” As Zari spoke, faint laughter echoed and her skin prickled with goosebumps. The same voice she’d heard in the grotto, the one she’d pledged herself to during that terrible moment of desperation.
“I heard nothing.” He frowned. “But look, Zelle’s spotted us.”
In a flurry of pink gown and golden hair, the fae rushed over, closing the distance between them.
Her hug was closer to a tackle. Zari stumbled backward, wincing.
Hazelle furrowed her brows and snapped her fingers.
Rose-colored sparks came to life at her fingertips.
Hazelle shaped the magic into a series of twisting symbols before waving them toward her.
As they landed on her, soft feather-like whispers brushed over her skin.
The floral scent enveloped her, and the pain faded away.
A sigh slipped from Zari’s lips that was so decadent, she blushed. Of all the uses of magic, this was by far the best.
“Better?” Hazelle asked, and, giving her no time to answer, continued, “You! Carrying the Crescent Blade! A marvel!” Hazelle declared, taking Zari by the hand. She grinned at her, that wonderful enthusiasm bubbling up within her. “Dae! I’m giving Zari a tour!”
The tall fae’s eyes glimmered as if he were fighting a bout of laughter. “I’ll see to the meal.” Daeden jammed his hands in his tunic pockets.
“And hot cocoa!” Hazelle yelled back. “In our best mugs.”
“Cocoa?”
“It’s delicious. Comes from a plant grown in a magical greenhouse on the North Star, I’ll have to take you there too, although not any time soon, because they will be far too nosy, and oh! I’m just so excited you’re here.”
As Zari entered the grand castle, hand in hand with Hazelle, she was struck with some understanding of why.
A massive tapestry hung over the great foyer.
Its strange watercolor-like style shimmered and glittered, making the painting more a capture of emotion, rather than likenesses.
Still, within its threaded depiction, Zari could make out sets of figures.
All of them tall, all but one golden-haired.
A fae with arms around two slightly shorter ones, both in long gowns, and a child standing in front.
A second set of three fae stood slightly apart, the dark-haired one the most in the shadows, the child there taller, with a toy sword in his hands.
“My mother and sisters,” Hazelle said softly, her enthusiasm wavering. “And San Maqui, her husband, and Daeden, there, on the left. Celene wove it while she was in mage’s studies, as a gift. Throughout the day, the images change.”
“How wonderful,” Zari whispered, not voicing her other thoughts, about how much the tapestry must serve as a perpetual reminder of all the family they had both lost, all the loneliness they now lived with.
It didn’t take much thinking to realize how much of Hazelle’s excitement came from finally having someone to show around the castle. “What else is on my tour?”
“I’m so glad you asked! Let’s head to the dining hall next, or the berry garden, or, oh! Perhaps the library!”
Hazelle kept her moving at a very undignified sprint, details whirling past like the colors on a pinwheel.
Exhaustion still pulled at Zari, and her feet felt like lead as they walked over thick carpets and down long halls.
Unlike the Queen’s palace, bright paintings hung on most walls, and sunlight filtered in through narrow glass windows.
Color and light abounded everywhere she looked, yet, a chill remained.
Every room they passed was empty, skeletal furniture gathering dust.
“Where is everyone?” Zari asked, craning her neck to peer down another empty hall.
“They’re gone,” Hazelle replied. “Returned to ash and sea.”
Thousands of Rhydonian men had died in the war, leaving towns and cities empty, too, but not like this. A lump in her throat, Zari forced herself to ask, “Did they fall in combat? ”
Hazelle nodded. “Our numbers were never great, not like mortals. We could not rebuild as fast as it appears Rhydonia did, for the cities I saw were so vast, so full of life.”
The only two places Hazelle had seen on this journey were Kirkton and Wesburg, both small towns by any reckoning in Rhydonia. What would she think if she’d come to the capital, with its population in the millions?
“So there’s no one left here?” Zari asked.