Page 149 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Except it didn’t feel like a choice. He’d promised his life to his charge. To defend his duty with blade and body. He’d sworn an Oath to hold nothing in higher regard than the realm, and he was determined to see that through.

Mariana meant therealmto him.

Shewashis realm.

And therefore, his choice was simple. He could think of nothing more meaningful than saving the woman he loved.

Without second thought, Faren darted for Mariana—and was snared almost immediately by a searing pain around his throat. The Oath magic was formidable, a tangle of thorny vines rooted deep in his stomach, coiled around his lungs, wrapped around his neck. It strangled him with a choking force, trying to yank him back, bidding him to save the Ledger of the Sovereign instead. To choose duty over love.

But there was no contest.

Without remorse, without mercy, Faren wielded own magic against his Oath, dulling the pain of its thorns and threats. He couldn’t imagine this pain without his ability to smotherthe sensation—it was excruciating. He gasped. He gagged. He clenched his teeth and growled from the torment, straining until finally he felt asnap.

His Oath didn’t just break—it tore through him like the crack of a whip.

A wave of dizziness hit him, followed by a flood of nausea. Saliva filled his mouth and Faren stumbled—but he did not succumb. He dulled his senses with more power, numbing himself until he could barely feel the swords in his hands or his own staggering legs. He fought his way forward, determined to reach Mariana in time.

But he was too clumsy. Too numb.

The Morta was upon her, raising one sinewy arm. As it did, Mariana roused, reached back, and tossed a pillow into the air. Black claws slashed it open in a burst of white feathers.

The abomination flailed in surprise, slashing at Mariana’s face—but then Faren was there, shielding her from its violence. The Morta struck Faren’s crossed swords instead, knocking the unlit blades from his grasp, sending them skittering. With nothing left but his armor, Faren positioned himself between the monster and Mariana, protecting her with his body.

“You will not harm her,” Faren seethed.

The Morta cocked its head, then plucked Honor up from the floor. Faren recognized its line of thinking, the cruel twist of its corrupted mind. It was—through and through—a product of Lord Haron’s creation.

Taking in the creature’s too-long arms and pointed black teeth, Faren braced for what he knew would come next. Windthorn protruded from its side, the wound oozing rancid ichor. The Morta raised Faren’s own sword above his head, and Faren didn’t wait—he lunged, yanking Windthorn free. He managed to block the monster’s first strike with a sluggish parry, but that was all the speed he could muster. Dazed by hisbroken Oath and numbed by his own magic, his reactions were catastrophically delayed, and almost as soon as he’d evaded one blow, he found himself in perfect alignment with the next.

The moment came as he’d always seen it: the glide of steel under the bottom edge of his golden breastplate. The shower of red onto the marble floor.

What Faren wasn’t prepared for was the sudden chill in his abdomen, the agony of sliced muscle. His magic flared as if to smother the pain, but the pain was too much. Struck by its reality, Faren was reduced to it. The only thing that remained of him beyond the pain was the only thing that mattered. Not glory or legacy, but the love in his heart. He would not die before Mariana was safe.

So Faren straightened his spine. Lifted his sword. And hacked at the Morta with all his might. His clothes were sticky with too much blood, his body felt wobbly and cold, but he did as he must, expelling every ounce of his dulling magic until, at last, he thrust his sword deep into the monster’s chest and it fell, defeated.

Faren fell shortly thereafter—caught not by the marble tile, but strong arms and a soft lap.

Mariana’s face came into view, blood-streaked and stricken and terrified. “Faren.” Her voice was hoarse with terror. “Faren, stay with me.” She sounded far away, but she washere, and she was safe, and he was glad.

He’d saved his realm.

His duty was done.

54

Love and Fate

Mariana

This time, I did not run away.

I did not concern myself with Heris and his possible retribution, nor the alarmed voices of the ledgermasters, or the renewed clash of steel. I did not cower in the face of my oncoming grief, as I had with Grinnick.

This time, I held my lover close, barely able to breathe through my own sobs.

Faren’s new tunic was torn and soaked in blood, the wound a dark slash along the waistband of his trousers. I yanked on the straps of his breastplate, freeing him of the rigid armor with a clatter, and scrambled to put pressure on the gash—but there was no staunching a bleed like this. The wound was too deep, and I was no healer.

I was no weapon, either. I was simply Mariana. Always Fated—it seemed—to lose that which I held most dear. No matter how hard I tried, my Fate was to—