Page 49 of Fate's Wicked Oath

That night, we made camp early, settling under the boughs of a great oak tree. We were sheltered on one side by a long-forgotten stone wall, overgrown with blackberries, and with the wagon parked just so, we were able to corral the livestock and settle in. I made the fire. Faren prepared dinner. Orna and Pete tended to their animals. Darkness descended, and the homesteaders bedded down.

As I warmed my hands and feet by the fire, I could hear Orna’s soft crying and Pete’s deep, soothing tones. Not only had they experienced an unimaginable loss, they’d witnessed a horror of which few citizens were even aware. A horror I could not deny nor name. For Orna and Pete, this would forever be unresolved—a cruel symptom of Lord Haron’s secrecy on top of an already devastating event.

I snatched up a piece of kindling and snapped it in half. Seated across from me, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, Faren flinched.

No one deserved to be caught up in the Lord’s mess, but having come from rural kin, I possessed a particular affection for countryfolk. Orna and Pete reminded me a bit of my parents—perhaps not in manner, but in lifestyle. They were honest, hardworking,good. To witness such pointless suffering…it roused a familiar fury in me. A sense of justice. I could still picture Lord Haron’s smirk as he denied my father’s request regarding his debts. I could still remember the weight of the ledger in my palms, the power I’d stolen, the consequences yet unimaginable for a girl of only eleven.

Rage tingled in my fingertips, making them ache—or perhaps I was holding them too close to the fire. I curled my fists in mylap, resisting the urge to remove the ribbon from my pocket and fiddle with it in front of Faren.

If my vengeance was a bonfire, homesickness was the water that doused it. I missed the place, but more than that, I missed an era that no longer existed. My childhood was hazy as a dream, and I longed for a slumber that would take me back to that time of safety and love and laughter, when I could rely on someone—anyone—other than myself.

I would’ve wondered what my parents were doing right about now, but I already knew. My mother would be kneading bread dough, preparing it to bake in the morning. My father would be seated by the hearth, reading aloud to her. I could almost see the scene: crinkles forming beside her eyes as he attempted the female voices, his gruff tone rasping high. I could almost smell the rosemary and woodsmoke scent of their cottage, the rose soap my mother used to wash her hair, and the dried-fruit waft of my father’s pipe weed.

Rarely did I allow myself to linger in such memories; the blend of comfort and regret was too excruciating.Steel does not feel, I told myself, but tonight, the phrase rang false. I was flesh and blood and a beating heart. It was impossible for menotto feel.

A tide of emotion rose within me, and suddenly I couldn’t stand my own thoughts. “Can you take first watch?” I blurted.

Faren looked up, and our gazes collided. He held his fox figurine between both hands, campfire shadows catching on his knuckles. There was a crease between his eyebrows; he appeared as stricken as I felt. How could a man like Faren—one whom even I could not deny was well-meaning and kind—serve a ruler like ours? How could he not see Lord Haron’s greed, apathy, and corruption?

Why did I care whether or not he did?

“Of course,” he replied.

I stood. Faren’s throat bobbed, and mine did the same. A slight tension had been building between us since Yar—not acrimonious, but anawareness, a tug, a bowstring pulled taut. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. As he stared at me across the fire—his light brown irises glimmering with flame—he seemed to be pondering the same tension I felt. But, then again, maybe not. A few seconds passed, then he silently dropped his chin, back to fiddling with his trinket.

I retreated to my bedroll, which was a little ways off from the fire. My skin buzzed and my emotions felt scattered; I expected sleep to evade me, but the exhaustion and strife were a potent mix, and I fell swiftly into slumber.

I woke sometime around midnight to a robin’s song. Three trills of varying notes. Faren was hunched over the smoldering fire. He didn’t glance up from the ashes until I hovered over him.

“Get some rest,” I whispered.

Wordlessly, he rose and wandered off toward his pile of gear.

While he settled, I threw another log of the fire and sat, listening to the sounds of night. Pete snored. Raccoons chittered distantly. An owl hooted. The robin trilled three more times, its diurnal song entirely out of place in the darkness. Once Faren’s breathing leveled out and I was sure he was asleep, I rose and followed the direction of the call.

Sweet notes led me through a gap in the stone wall. Blackberry vines snatched at my trousers as I stepped over the toppled bricks and made my way into the open field beyond. There was a figure there—no more than twenty paces from camp, but with the wall and the oak tree, the newcomer was fully out of view should anyone rouse. As I neared, the world went silent, as if all wind and wildlife ceased.

I halted two strides away and folded my arms. “Out with it.”

“Nice to see you, too, Mariana,” Heris said. With the moon obscured by clouds, I couldn’t see much of his face, just the weathered planes of his cheeks and the deep socket of his missing eye. “This is quite the diversion.”

“I’ll say,” I quipped, gesturing at him. “Why not send one of your lackeys to check up on me, as you usually do?”

“Do not misconstrue my words,” Heris said. “Care to defend this…unique choice of yours?”

Empathy was not something Heris understood, so I shrugged and went with an excuse he was more likely to grasp. “It’s my duty, is it not? Protecting citizens of the realm?”

His lips thinned with disdain. “Has the Mighty Knight gotten to you already?”

The comment knocked me off balance. “Of course not. Nothing gets to me.” Defensively, I added, “If anything, I’ve gotten tohim. You asked me to create leverage.”

“And have you?”

My fingernails bit into my palms. “I’m working on it. This diversion will allow me more time.”

“So it is not duty, but opportunity, that guides your actions?”

“It’s both,” I said through clenched teeth.