Page 125 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Pain ripped through the meat of Faren’s thigh. He dropped to one knee with a grunt, head swimming with the agony of torn flesh. Mariana wheeled toward him, but she did not cry out. Jaw set with barely contained composure, her dark eyes searched the place where the bolt protruded from his leg, a storm of fear and fury flashing across her features like lightning.

Faren’s vision blurred, and he scrambled for his magic to dull the sensation before it dizzied him further. Gradually, the brightness of the pain faded into a throbbing ache, and he hissed through his teeth as the worst of it eased.

Laughter filled the air, a tauntingha, ha, hafrom Heris. “Let’s go,” he called, turning his back to Faren without further ceremony.

Brom and Castor shoved Bard onto the grass, snickering as they left his limp body behind. The Valiant Knights began clearing out, following their leader west.

But Mariana lingered in front of Faren, her breastplate shifting up and down with her rapid breaths. She looked like she was on the verge of a violent riot, or tears—maybe both.

But she couldn’t break character now.

“Go,” Faren forced out.

She took a step closer, lips parting.

“Fuck you,” Faren said, trying to snap her out of her fear, to keep up her act—theiract—and show her that he’d be fine. The sooner she left, the sooner Faren could staunch the bleeding and check on her brother.

“Poor sap, indeed,” one of the knights said to Mariana as he passed.

As if remembering herself, Mariana’s face morphed into a smirk, but it didn’t reach her eyes. In her eyes, Faren saw the unspoken regret.

He clung to that small truth as she turned away, leaving him and Bard bleeding in the grass.

44

Oaths Intact

Mariana

Our separation was for the best.

That’s what I kept telling myself as the miles between Faren and I grew. As I traveled west with Heris and the others, days passing one by one. In the barren foothills of the Bone Mountains, wind and rain pummeled us, with intermittent bouts of hail that pelted my cheeks, pinged off my armor, soaked my clothes. Yet I barely noticed any of it with the heartache radiating through my chest, an emotion so sharp it stung.

It’s for the best.

I kept my stony exterior in place, snarling at anyone who swung their attention in my direction. The knights of the Valiant were accustomed to my taciturn nature, and it was more genuine now than ever—no longer just a defense, but a furious resentment that burned hot in my belly.

My only respite from the anger was the sorrow that swept in after dark. Curled up in my bedroll—the scent of Faren’s skin still lingering in its fibers—all I could see behind my closed eyelids was the blood blooming an ominous crimson onto histrousers. At such close range, the bolt had sunk deep; I had felt the injury as if it were my own, a brutal ripping sensation through my magic.

My heart had hammered with the refrain:My fault. My fault. My fault.

That had been the only thing keeping me from running my sword through every villain in that clearing. Playing my role as a loyal member of the rebellion had been the only way to ensure Faren and Bard’s freedom. I’d hated every moment of it, every vile lie that’d left my mouth. I’d hated seeing my brother delirious with pain. Hated the tremor in Faren’s voice as he bid me to leave.Fuck you.

I’d never known torment like the kind I’d felt as I’d walked away.

Had I been stronger, had I not let Farenin, Heris would’ve never questioned my motives, and Faren and Bard would’ve never been harmed.

Heris had learned the location of my family home early in my sentence, and I had never doubted his willingness to use that knowledge to his advantage; the constant threat had kept me compliant for twenty-four years. It would keep me compliant now, too. I would not allow Faren or my family to get caught in Heris’s crosshairs. Because if there was one thing I valued over my freedom, it was the safety of those I cared about.

It’s for the best.

We arrived at the ruins of Kelebraim-on-Gray after nightfall. Due to its proximity to the geothermal pools, the temperature was warmer in the abandoned-city-turned-Valiant-hideout, with steam slithering through the streets. Little lanterns and cook fires created orange pockets in the gloom. Hushed voices noted Heris’s return, and unseen in the surrounding wood, knights shouted, and monsters snarled.

Without a word to my companions, I took Simon to the reconstructed stables in the center of town. I didn’t like bringing him into monster territory but leaving him with my parents—as I usually did before venturing into the Western Wood—hadn’t been an option. For tonight, I was glad for my horse’s companionship.

Once I’d removed his tack and set him up with a sack of grain, I sank to the moldy straw floor inside his stall. Alone at last, with my back to the wall, I cradled my head in my hands. A soft cry escaped me, and I bit down on my fist, stifling the sound. Tears tracked down my face, hot against my cool skin. My muscles ached from tension, and my magic—sticky as sap—clung to the discomfort, making it worse. The ground was hard, the hay poky through my trousers. I palpated the crusty wound on my forehead, wincing when I disturbed the dried blood; the gash was a gift from Heris, a backhand strike meant to remind me of who was in command.

Faren’s gentle hands felt like a faraway memory, a half-forgotten dream.