Page 23 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Her insults might’ve been effective against the men she usually encountered, but Faren was neither hurt nor angered—he was amused. Giving one sword a casual spin, he said, “Feel free to change your mind at any time.” He rolled his shoulders back, dropping his energy into a place of grounded focus, and prepared to recite the words that would begin their sparring session:Fate, Fortune, Death.

But Mariana was not a Mighty Knight. She simply began, lunging at Faren with a strike at his knee. He evaded—barely—as her blade grazed the fabric of his trousers. She did not pause or retreat. Her next move was just as quick, a swipe at his hip. He had to angle Honor awkwardly to deflect her blade, but he used the momentum to make his own attack: a powerful swing at her shoulder. She ducked easily, aiming her next swipe at his shins, but he retreated.

Though they’d been in brawls and shared jabs in the past, Faren had never properly sparred with Mariana, and as theytraded blocks and blows, he watched her movements closely. Faren had trained numerous groups of new recruits, shaping already-skilled sword fighters into truly Mighty warriors. Much of his mentoring experience had involved looking for patterns, halting bad habits, and finding unique qualities that his trainees could exploit on their foes.

Mariana, however, was harder to read.

As he would expect from someone of her stature—her frame small and athletic—she used her size to her benefit. She dipped low, dodged quickly, and kept close to Faren’s larger body to keep him from using the advantages of his superior strength and reach, instead forcing him to deflect at awkward angles that kept him weakened. But where he would’ve trained someone of her height to mind her limitations, Mariana did not evade him in the manner he would expect. She absorbed his hefty strikes with more fortitude than he anticipated and fought boldly when he would’ve suggested she back off. This made it impossible to predict her next move.

But Faren had his own tricks. After absorbing a particularly relentless onslaught, Faren flourished his swords in tandem, forcing Mariana back. Instead of ending the flashy move with both blades upright, he used the distraction to switch Honor to a backhand grip. He used Mercy to force Mariana to block, then made a cross-hook motion with Honor that had his blade colliding with her breastplate. A terrible metallic clatter rang out, announcing his victory.

When Mariana stepped back, her tawny skin was flushed. He couldn’t tell if she was panting or chuckling—maybe both.

“Mariana Bellkeep,” Faren drawled. “Are you havingfun?”

With a growl, she came at him with renewed vigor, fighting close. Faren had about a foot of height and sixty pounds of muscle on her, but she was fearless. She rushed his personal space, turned her back to him, and stomped on the toe of hisboot with her heel; when he instinctively bent forward, she elbowed him in the stomach. Having not bothered to don his breastplate, a sharp pain radiated through his gut. But other sensations hit his senses, too: the warmth of her shoulder blades brushing briefly against his chest, the ends of her hair tickling his face as she spun around, the puff of her breath as she faced him again.

He was too slow—too dizzied—to make his next move, and when their eyes met, he knew he’d lost before he felt the nudge of her sword’s point against his abdominals.

Her grin was slow, wicked. “I win.”

In front of his peers, the loss would’ve humbled him, but out here, Faren felt strangely exhilarated.

When was the last time he’d fought someone who dazzled him like this? Warner, Lee, Shae—they all had their talents, but as of late, he had not felt challenged by them so much as he felt well-matched, their sparring sessions coming down more to stupid mistakes than quick thinking. Had he and Mariana been in the training yard at Castle Might, he might’ve asked her to show him that move again.

But they were not at the castle, and they did not belong to the same Order.We might serve the same realm, but we arenoton the same side, she’d snarled at him just yesterday. And yet, in swordplay, it felt as if they had something in common.

They were still positioned close, staring at each other. Mariana was the first to break the standoff. “We ought to get a move on,” she said. “Pointless missions wait for no one.”

She started up the hill, cutting a path through the tall grass.

Following on long legs, it didn’t take Faren long to catch up to her. He held both his swords in one hand, reaching out with the other to graze her bare arm. He meant only to get her attention, to ask about the logistics of their day, but when he made contact, the words died on his tongue, his touchmagic eagerly cataloguing details he hadn’t meant to notice. Her forearm was firm and corded with strength. Thin scars marred her surprisingly soft skin, which was a little clammy from the exercise. And the way she tensed wasvisceral.

Before he had the chance to think about howawarehis magic had become, Mariana jerked away, her expression stony. “Don’t touch me.”

Faren held up a palm, placating. “I only meant to get your attention.”

“I have ears,” she said tightly.

Faren wanted to point out that they’d touched numerous times. Most recently, her elbow in his abs. But the intensity of her response gave Faren a sinking feeling, one he chose not to voice. He could connect the clues.You think I was alone in my cell in the dungeon at Castle Might?He’d hated her insinuation. Hated to think that justice could be dealt so cruelly. It’d given rise to an odd sort of guilt in his gut, as if his association with Lord Haron made him complicit in her suffering.

His hand flexed at his side, his heightened magic still buzzing. He recalled past instances in which they’d touched. Most, she’d initiated. All, she’d seen coming—except this time.

A person didn’t become that edgy without good reason.

She wasn’t just a fierce knight, who’d studied tactics from the safe confines of a training yard, practicing on fake foes and rote drills as Faren had. She’d honed her abilities—her hard exterior—tosurvive.

“I just wanted to know,” Faren said, “when do you anticipate we’ll arrive in Yar-on-Gray?”

“We’ll get there when we get there.” She turned her back to him again, but her shoulders were rigid as she returned to camp.

“Any song requests for the road?” Faren called after her.

She didn’t reply, but he thought he could see her posture become a little less tense.

10

Lying to Good People