Page 70 of Fate's Wicked Oath

He bumped her shoulder with his own. “I like to believe I possess a little more nuance than that.”

She stared into his eyes, as if she could spot the lie if it was indeed somewhere inside him. Her delicate brows pinched together. “Fucking Fates, you really want to know?” She dropped her voice, until even the wind and the rustle of the bare branches surrounding them were louder. “Lord Haron is—”

She coughed—choked. Her eyes widened, watering, and she tried to speak again—but descended into a fit of coughing, which she smothered with her hand. “Fuck,” she muttered, rubbing at her Oath tattoo. “Fuck, I can’t.”

Realization formed in Faren’s chest, crystalizing, making each breath feel jagged. So, shedidknow something. Something about the Lord that Faren—a Mighty Knight—was not permitted to know.

He had the sinking sense that if hewereto learn the secret, it would impact his loyalty and duty. The thought was unsettling. He had half a mind to play a guessing game with her, to tryand suss out the answers, but Oath magic was powerful, and he didn’t want to risk cornering her into breaking her Oath.

He forced a smile, instead. “Not to worry,” he said. “We were bound to find the boundaries of our Oaths at some point.”

Mariana was still coughing, head bowed, back convulsing against the straps of her breastplate. When she looked up at him again, coming out of her fit, there was anger and pleading in her eyes—an enraged sort of apology, as if she were caught between two impossible choices.

The expression did something to him. It was like water breaking through a dam, erasing all trace of the structures of before. Suddenly, Faren wasn’t thinking about his knighthood, or the Lord, or even the Morta lurking not a mile from where they lay—he was thinking only of the woman beside him. How wrong he’d been about her.

A lock of hair had fallen across her forehead and Faren didn’t think—he reached out, tucking it behind her ear, careful to keep his touch purposeful, so he didn’t irritate her sensitive skin. Her hair was soft, and when his thumb brushed her temple, he found that her skin was soft, too.

His attention slipped to her mouth, to the pale scar that cut from the left side of her nose through the swell of her upper lip. In the dim, patchwork light of the moon through the hazel branches, the scar was like a silver thread in the dark, leading him. With a brief flash of longing, Faren imagined what it would feel like against his lips, on the tip of his tongue. He wondered why he was still resisting finding out.

Mariana did not move a muscle, except to lean—ever so slightly—into the palm of his hand. Inexplicably inviting. Irresistible. He cupped her jaw more purposefully, using his thumb to tilt her chin up, holding her firm. The pads of his fingers dragged along the nape of her neck, inquisitive, and her skin pebbled under his touch. Feeling her respond positively tohim—it sent his nerves scattering, his magic flaring, his pulse throbbing.

Why wasn’t she pulling away? Why wasn’t shestabbinghim? Why were her goosebumps as flustering as foreplay?

He could feel the heat of her breath on his cheeks, quick and silken, and he was close—so fuckingclose—to forsaking everything he’d known before this moment just for a taste of her. He leaned a little closer.

Then a greatcrackrent the air.

Faren released Mariana abruptly, and the two of them looked out at the Western Wood to see the Morta emerging, breaking branches as it stumbled out of the forest like a drunkard.

Faren cleared his throat, trying to clear away the headiness of whatever had just transpired between them, his lips still tingling with want. “Have you decided about the potion yet?” he asked hoarsely.

She shook her head, looking vaguely whiplashed.

“Any tips for fighting this thing? I don’t want to fuck up again.”

That made her crack a smile. “Go for its tendons: wrists, knees, neck if you can.” She rose to her feet. “And get close. It has considerable reach, so it’s not as dexterous up close.”

Faren pushed up off the ground. “Understood.”

Mariana unsheathed her sword. Faren moved for the edge of the thicket, reaching back for Mercy’s hilt—then he paused, waiting for Mariana to make the call to battle. She rolled her shoulders, and with the movement, transformed from Mariana into the Maiden Morta Killer. Confident, vicious, deadly.

As they waited for the Morta to amble in their direction—the direction of town—Faren thought of what he’d learned in Yar, about the Valiant’s request for assistance and the Lord’s callous refusal. He thought of the dead animals, the broken windows, the missing townsfolk. He thought of Mariana’s rage, her hatred for his Order, her principled nature, her good heart.

His mission was to gather information, but he realized now that the case he’d been building wasn’t the one he’d been tasked to report. Day by day, fight after fight, he’d been building a case in favor of the woman beside him—and it felt worrying like a case against his own Lord. His own loyalty.

Yet Faren couldn’t ignore the signs. The Lord knew about the Morta. The Lord had condemned an entire town to ruin. The Lord sentenced an eleven-year-old girl to almost certain death out of vengeance. He’d known Lord Haron could be quick-tempered, but how could Faren support a ruler who was willfully cruel to the realm and the citizens that Faren was bound by Oath to protect? Oderin had bid him to follow his morals on this mission, and here he was, doing exactly that, only to find that they were leading him away from the duty he knew.

Toward Mariana.

“For what it’s worth,” Faren said, “I trust you.” He glanced through the hazel branches at the nearing monster. “But if you don’t trust me,” he went on, “just say the word and I’ll look the other way. You do what you must.”

Mariana stared at him, then nodded, hefting her sword, readying to intercept the abomination’s path. “On my count,” she said.

“On your count,” he agreed.

26

To Whom Are You Loyal?