53. Zari #2
“We still have crofters. Those who live out further on this isle, and fish or farm, then come back to the castle to shelter during the winter. A few live here year round, and tend to the kitchens or the garden. Though,” she said with a sad smile, “nowadays, everyone helps with the autumn apple harvest. We need all the help we can get.”
“Your isle is big enough to have farms?”
She nodded. “Fowl and larger game, too. All four of the Cardinal Isles are. The South Star once was home to nearly a thousand fae. Now, I believe we number fewer than ninety. I’ll take you on a tour of the lands further afield than here tomorrow.
Do not go exploring by yourself, for the land past the orchard is still home to beasts of prey like Iolar hawks and a few of the silver-wolves. ”
Neither sounded like an animal she wished to meet. “Is there anything on these isles that won’t kill me?”
“Me, of course,” Hazelle grinned.
Her joking answer held an uncomfortable truth. “A short list, indeed, for even Tivre is left off it.”
Hazelle tilted her head, studying Zari. “How do you feel about Tivre?”
“Currently, I am torn between being fond of him and wanting to push him into the sea,” Zari tried to joke, but Hazelle’s smile wavered. She’d said the wrong thing.
At the top of a long spiral staircase, they reached a hall lit with beautiful, swirling paintings of flowers. “Here’s my room, and Dae’s, and this…” Hazelle opened a door, “is your room!”
Zari peered in. A low bed with fluffy pillows and three blankets, a chest, and a wash basin with a mirror sat around the perimeter.
Another shimmering tapestry fluttered through depictions of various birds.
By the wash basin was a wooden chair, and a row of dresses hung on a high rack behind it.
All of the furniture was ornately carved, with not a single inch left unadorned.
Unfamiliar flowers in a crystal vase filled the room with their scent.
“Do you like it?” Hazelle nervously fidgeted with the vase. “I put a few of my shortest gowns there for you. We’ll have you fitted for your own clothes soon.”
“I… I don’t have any money,” she said. Hazelle blinked at her as if she’d said she couldn’t fly. Had Tivre’s translation spell stopped working? “I cannot buy anything.”
“You are a member of my family. Anything you require comes from me,” Hazelle smiled, sitting down in the chair.
After making sure the door was shut, Zari shook her head. “That’s too generous, Hazelle. You know that I am no real Oathborn, or even a fae at all.”
Hazelle shrugged. “It matters not to me.”
Or to me, the phantom voice added.
Unconsciously, Zari’s hand found the hilt of the sword, her fingers wrapping around it. Was it truly following the conversation? Had those stories of its sentience been true? Shivering, she pried her fingers away from the cold metal.
“This deception puts you, and Daeden in danger. I’m not who any of you think I am.”
Pursing her lips, as if Zari was a stubborn child she was arguing with, Hazelle said, “When I was a child, I used to pretend to be an Oathborn.”
“Why?”
“To belong.” The simple words took Zari by surprise. “Mother was busy with Stellaris duties. My aunt, Liyale, and Daeden, too, were all Oathborn. ”
“What about Celene?” Zari was sure that Javen’s wife had not been Oathborn.
“She was already deep in her mage’s studies. My childhood was lonely, though in comparison to now, it seems like paradise.” Hazelle toyed with her empty sleeve, a nervous habit.
Zari said, “I feel the war robbed us both of so much.” Their families. Their futures. All the things they’d once dreamed of.
“I’m so weary of war, of loss, of death.
If I was Queen, I would do anything to ensure peace forever.
” How much better the world would be if golden-hearted Hazelle ruled the fae instead.
“Before the war… I wish you could have seen these halls, so full of light and laughter; Liyale, Javenthal, and Ishni causing trouble; Mama scolding them and Auntie Maqui encouraging them.”
Zari couldn’t picture Javen as a child, let alone one who’d caused mischief. The other names all washed over her. Maqui must have been Daeden’s mother, and the other name sounded familiar. “Ishni?”
“Liyale’s best friend. Taught me some Rhydonian. That, and Celene spent much of her youth traveling through the mortal lands, back before Rhydonia was called such.”
The comment about Celene’s age made Zari’s jaw drop. Rhydonian unification happened over six hundred years ago. “How old was Celene?”
“Much older than me. We shared only a mother.” Hazelle’s bittersweet smile reappeared. “She was always so graceful. I admired her so very much.”
“I wonder what she saw in Javen…”
“He was different then. Gallant. Kind. Skilled in magic and song. The most desired fae by all, indeed.”
None of those words described the man now. “He chose Celene?”
“According to her letters, I think she did the choosing.” Hazelle laughed in a way Zari knew well, a ripple of joy in the tidepool of grief.
Even after a loved one was gone, the little jokes remained.
“The two were not fond of each other at first. I barely knew of their courtship, nor did we know when she was with child. ”
“Javen still misses her.” Zari decided to trust Hazelle with the truth of the quest for the sword. She began, and Hazelle listened intently. When she mentioned Javen’s bloody neck, Hazelle interrupted her.
“It’s the line of Artem’s mark. It is usually only given to the Queen’s heir. For her to emblazon it upon your skin.” Hazelle shook her head. “I do not like that, not one bit.”
After telling the rest of the story, Zari found herself yawning. Hazelle tsked at her, as if she was a child in need of a bedtime reminder. “Rest, Zari. You are home. You are safe.”
The words settled over Zari like the silken coverlet Hazelle had tucked around her.
Home. The very sound of it was a lullaby.
Safe. As she sank into the softness of the feather-stuffed mattress, the scent of lavender and old wood enveloping her, Zari desperately wanted to believe them.
She let her eyes drift closed, the tension slowly unwinding from her knotted muscles.