Page 58 of Fate's Wicked Oath

In my periphery, Faren shrugged his big shoulders. “I wanted to make a name for myself.”

That caught my attention; I looked up, surprised to see that there was a slight tension beside his eyes. Wistful, but also slightly…bitter. “As the second son in a prominent family, with close ties to Lothgaimian nobility, my family name preceded me,” he explained. “I saw no other way to be my own man than to leave Lothgaim, and Fenrir seemed as good a place as any.” He dipped his chin, and a lock of hair fell across his forehead. “Much like your daughter, my mother was from here and married a nice Lothgaimian man.” A thoughtful smile. “Her connection to Fenrir was part of my reasoning, I suppose. It felt distant enough to set myself apart, but not too disconnected from my heritage.”

“A second son,” my mother said. “Do you have a big family?”

His smile brightened. “A brother and four sisters.”

“Foursisters?Fates,” Bard swore. “Are any of them like Mariana?”

Faren’s low voice scraped at my nerves as he said, “No one is like Mariana.”

I felt suddenly as if I’d walked into a clothesline. My mother made a small sound in the back of her throat, halfway between a squeak and a sigh. I finally met Faren’s eyes, scowling—but his expression wasn’t one of mischief. With his hair still falling across his face, he appeared boyish, bashful, as if he’d just said something he hadn’t meant to admit aloud.

It almost made me miss the tremor of footsteps, a vibration that traveled through the floorboards, the rug, and into the backs of my thighs. “Good morning, everyone,” came a familiar, feminine voice.

Celia, my sister-in-law, stood at the base of the staircase. She wore a sky-blue nightdress and a cobalt shawl, the cool tones in perfect contrast to her curly red hair. She gripped the banister with one hand and cradled her prominent baby bump with the other. How my grimy brother had managed to ensnare a goddess like Celia, I’d never know.

I set my plate aside and sprung to my feet, unable to hide my joy. “Celia.”

“Mariana,” she replied, meeting me with a firm hug. Her massive belly pressed against my ribs, making the remaining bruises ache—but I barely noticed as my touch magic felt the faintest flutter of the baby stirring inside. My heart squeezed, and I held her tighter.

When she pulled back, I made a show of observing her. “You’re as big as a horse.”

She pulled a face, nose wrinkling. “And you smell like one.”

We stared at one another for two seconds, three, before descending into laughter. Our friendship had always been expressed through teasing. Arm in arm, we wandered back toward the living space—only for Celia to halt at the sight of the Mighty Knight lounging beside her husband.

Faren looked rather ridiculous seated on the floor in his golden armor, but he didn’t appear uncomfortable. Not in the slightest. With his mouth full of bread, he offered Celia a lopsided grin. “Hello,” he said, swallowing. “Pleased to make your—”

“WHOA!” Tiny footsteps thundered down the stairs. My nephew, Timand, gaped at Faren with wonder. “Mama, it’s Kieran!”

I cringed, not ready for what was about to happen.

Faren set his plate aside. “My name is Faren,” he said. “Who is Kieran?”

Timand pressed his lips together, then raced back upstairs.

“Kieran is the main character in his favorite bedtime story,” Celia explained, holding her belly as she lowered herself onto the settee, seating herself directly behind Bard. She raked her fingers over my brother’s head as she added, “You have similar armor. And hair. Faren, was it?”

Before Faren could respond, my nephew barreled back into the room, a book clutched to his chest. His rambunctiousness turned timid as he approached the Mighty Knight. After hesitating a moment, he thrust the book out toward Faren, showing him the cover: the silhouette of a man with a sword backdropped by a looming burgundy dragon.

“Kieran and the Red Dragon,” Faren read aloud. “Sounds exciting. Can I see?”

Timand glanced at his father; with Bard’s encouraging nod, the seven-year-old tiptoed closer. Faren took the book from his hands, studying its tattered cover with reverent care. The spinecreaked as Faren opened it and flipped through the first few pages. An amused brow rose as he studied the illustrations.

I lowered myself to the floor again, wishing I could sink through it.

“He appears most gallant,” Faren said to Timand at last, his tone serious.

Forgetting his shyness all at once, Timand plopped down between his father and Faren, leaning over Faren’s vambrace-clad forearm to point at all his favorite scenes: Kieran in profile on a field of green, with his strong nose, stern jaw, and a twinkle in his brown eyes; Kieran accepting a flower from a maiden in pink; Kieran sitting tall atop a dapple-gray steed that bore a close resemblance to Sunny; Kieran with sword aloft, facing a hulking dragon with a menacingly toothy grin.

“I must say,” Faren murmured, “I do see the resemblance.” He held the book up, showing the rest of my family the page. On it, Kieran stood with his feet wide, fists on hips, a maroon cloak billowing behind him. Golden armor. Charming grin. A flawless swoop of light brown hair, ruffled by an invisible wind.

When Faren angled the book at my mother, her attention cut straight to me.

She might’ve seemed the stereotypical matchmaker, keen to see her children partnered up—but under the surface, I knew it stemmed from a deep need to see us all happy. No matter how well I concealed the worst parts of my duty from her, I couldn’t hide the dark circles under my eyes, the new scars and injuries, or the tension in my body that never fully relaxed. While she was not so antiquated as to think a man could solve my problems, I knew she came by her teasing glances honestly.

I ought not to have brought Faren here. His presence only got my mother’s hopes up about her eldest daughter enjoying any sort ofnormalcy. Even if Heris’s plot worked out and I managed to earn my freedom, I wasn’t sure a peaceful retirement fromknighthood was possible for me. Twenty-four years of death and gore and horror had broken a vital piece of my humanity. How could I build a quiet life after what I’d seen? Contentment, domesticity,lovewere out of reach, unrealistic, fantastical.