Page 69 of Fate's Wicked Oath

“It’s hard to explain.” Her jaw pulsed. “There’s this slight but insistent tug that comes from my Oath magic, leading me to a…trace of eeriness that the monsters leave behind. Sort of like a shiver you get when a cold breeze stirs.” She squinted. “There’s also the scent of upturned soil, that way. The unnatural silence, where there should be nocturnal animals chattering.”She stepped closer, a little in front of him, bidding him to look down her arm at where she was pointing. “And see that grass there? It’s trampled.”

It was hard to spot in the dark, but with her help, he saw it: a path in the grass where there was no frost, no illumination of moonlight, too wide for the average deer to have carved.

“What a dreadful thing to be so good at,” he mused.

The wind kicked up, causing a couple strands of her hair to catch in Faren’s stubble. Standing like this—with her back to his front—all he’d have to do to kiss her neck would be to bend down.

Mariana glanced over her shoulder at him, shrugged, then stepped away. “Mastering dreadful skills has kept me alive,” she pointed out. “You, too.”

He swallowed thickly. “Not a complaint,” he said. “So, what now?”

“I can’t tell exactly where it’s hiding,” she said. “We’ll have to approach carefully and see if we can find any signs of movement.”

“You’re the boss,Ana.”

He expected her to roll her eyes again, but her expression turned pensive. “Not Ana,” she corrected. “Not out here.”

The comment saddened him. But there was a distinct difference between the woman warming her feet by her parents’ hearth and the toughened knight out here, tracking a monster. There was also a difference between the Mariana of now and the one of just four hours ago. Faren admired the Valiant version, but there was something uniquely alluring about Mariana two ciders in, her smooth skin flushed from the warmth of the pub as she pretended not to notice him fiddling with her hair. Perhaps it was because she didn’t allow everyone to see that side of her—the soft side. The unguarded side.

But she’d allowedhimto see it. And he…wanted to see more.

Without another word, Mariana started down the hill, her steps slow and methodical. Faren followed, moving just as intentionally. The grade was steep, the frozen mud uneven, pocked with livestock tracks. In the icy stillness, it was hard not to make a sound: grass snapped as they cut their path, their armor and buckles clinked, the ends of his cloak wafted noisily in the frigid breeze.

Halfway down the hill, Mariana’s hand went to his breastplate, barring him from walking farther. She tilted her head, listening to—or perhaps sensing—something Faren couldn’t detect. He held his breath and waited, observing her observing the land.

Then, just as abruptly as she’d stopped, she adjusted their course, leading him into a nearby thicket of twiggy hazel trees and thorny wild rose bushes.

“We’ll wait here,” Mariana whispered. “But we need to hide.”

She dropped to her knees, then belly, taking cover behind a pile of half-decayed branches within the copse. After a beat of hesitation, Faren joined her, propping himself up on his forearms to peer out through the tangle of vegetation. They had a clear view of the Western Wood and the trampled grass leading into the forest.

Faren let out a slow, silent sigh. The ground was hard, and the edges of his armor dug into his clavicles, hip bones, wrists. He smelled decaying leaves and tried not to think about all the spiders lurking in the wood pile. Moisture soon seeped through his trousers and the sleeves of his shirt, chilling his knees and elbows. He used his magic to diminish the discomfort, but that didn’t address his unease with the task at hand.

“What do we do once it emerges?” Faren whispered. “Observe? Confront?”

“We can’t let it go free,” Mariana said.

“Will we be using that potion you’ve been carrying around?”

“Depends.”

They were lying close, shoulder to shoulder. His gaze slid to hers, and her face was barely more than a shadow in the dark thicket. “On?”

“Trust.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Mutual trust.”

He loosed a bemused breath. “You’re not giving me much to work with, here.”

She shifted her elbows, adjusting her body on the unforgiving ground. A slice of moonlight cut across her face, illuminating one cheekbone, the side of her nose, a portion of her full mouth.

Without answer, she worried her bottom lip, clearly debating the issue in her mind.

“Is your hesitation about my Oath or about me?” he asked.

“Are you not a product of your Oath?”