Page 158 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Free

Faren

Mariana’s sharp intake of breath was apparent in the magically silent space. Faren reached up, placing a hand over hers on his shoulder.

“Mariana, if you would step forward, first,” Oderin prompted.

Her fingers dug harder into Faren’s shoulder. “What is this?”

Oderin’s smile was warm. “Did Faren not inform you of our bargain? ‘When this is over,’” he recited, “‘Mariana goes free.’”

The taut line of her mouth twitched. She kept her attention forward, not looking at Faren, as if avoiding his face was the only thing keeping her from fracturing. He used to think her cold and unfeeling, but now he knew better: that stony expression was a dam holding a torrent of emotion at bay.

“Is this real?” she asked Oderin softly.

“It’s real,” he assured her.

Faren tapped the back of her hand twice, murmuring a soft, “Go on.”

A pause, then her fingers unclenched from his shoulder. Sliding her hand off him, she approached the cart with the Ledgers on stiff legs.

“Mariana Bellkeep,” Oderin announced. “Are you ready to receive your freedom?”

Now, shediddart a glance back at Faren, eyes shining. Her voice was very small when she answered, “I am.”

Without further ceremony, Oderin gestured for the ledgermasters to begin. They lifted their cowls, obscuring their heads with the shimmering bronze fabric of their robes. The Ledger of the Order of the Valiant creaked and shushed as they flipped through the pages.

“This may sting,” Sorrel warned.

Lottie started to chant in the language of the arcane, an unsettling collection of vowels and syllables that made Faren ill at ease. After a few verses—Faren assumed they were verses—Sorrel joined in, their voices twining eerily.

Almost immediately, the air in the little room began to fizz. It felt like cider on his tongue. The threat of lightning in the clouds. A prickle of sparks rising off a campfire. Faren had witnessed many honorable Mighty retirements, but those ceremonies had never carried such azingof magic. “What are they doing?” he asked. “This doesn’t feel like—”

Mariana pitched forward abruptly, gripping the edges of the cart as if she were in pain. Faren made to stand, thoroughly concerned now—but Sorrel held up an intricately tattooed hand, bidding he refrain from interfering.

The chanting grew louder, faster.

Arcane magic whipped through the room like sand in a windstorm. A soft sound slipped out of Mariana as the sensation worsened. Faren couldn’t see her face, only the flexing of her back muscles through the fabric of her shirt, and the paling of her knuckles as she clutched the cart harder. Faren gritted histeeth against the invisible assault. He was just a bystander; he couldn’t imagine the discomfort Mariana felt—especially with her hypersensitive magic.

Uselessly, Faren fisted his hands in the blanket draped over his lap. Oderin’s shoulders were hunched, his face pinched in a grimace. Archer stood rigidly still, stoic as always. The ledgermasters did not seem immune to the awfulness of the magic, but accustomed to it: Lottie’s forehead was creased, Sorrel was frowning, but neither seemed alarmed.

Their chanting continued, faster and faster, crackling over Faren’s skin. A faint light began to emanate from the open Ledger on the cart, and Faren sat taller, craning his neck. Letters on the page were aglow, glimmering like embers in a dying fire. He thought he could make out the mountainous swoop of a capitalMlit with magic.

Mariana Bellkeep.

Abruptly, Lottie broke off. Then Sorrel. The magic in the room continued to vibrate like an out-of-tune lute ringing a discordant tune. Remembering how he had broken his own Oath—the excruciating pain of it—Faren braced for a sudden snap in the already-taut air. Instead, the prickling sensation began to simply…fade. Wind dying. A storm passing. Sparks sizzling into nothing.

Mariana’s breathing was labored. She still leaned on the cart, head hung between the jut of her shoulder blades. A faint shiver traveled down the lean lines of her back, but Faren couldn’t tell if she was laughing, crying, or chilled.

Unable to contain himself any longer, he swept the blankets off his lap and climbed out of his sickbed. “Mariana?” he asked, hesitating a beat before placing a palm in the center of her spine. Her skin was clammy beneath her shirt. “Ana?”

When she looked over her shoulder at him, her cheeks were tear streaked and tight with a grin, and her neck—her neckbore no trace of arcane ink at all. Her tattoo hadn’t justfaded, as happened with retirement, where all knights and adepts remained loosely bound to their Oath, sovereign, and realm forever, even when their duty ended.No. Her throat was entirely bare.

Her Oath was gone.

With a sharp, hysterical laugh, Mariana launched herself into Faren’s embrace. She looped her arms around his neck, burying her face under his jaw. Her legs had gone weak, and Faren held her up, allowing her to fall apart in her relief. Her body quaked as she laughed and cried and trembled against him. He crushed her close, rocking from side to side, moved by her unbidden joy. Emotion thickened in his throat as his magic soaked up every ounce of it.

He swallowed hard and looked past her at the ledger. There was a blank space where her name had been, the page steaming slightly with the remnants of magic. Faren had known it was possible to undo the knots of an Oath, but rarely were magical weavings unraveled completely.