Oathbreaker

by Cara Witter

  Feldan turned back, still glaring, and shook his head. “I’d heard rumors of a few extra soldiers nosing around the docks, bothering the ship captains for their passenger registries. They had some descriptions of who they were looking for, but no one would tell them a thing. No one ever speaks to the soldiers in this town.”

  He sounded proud of this. Perchaya was loath to correct him, but there was at least one person in town informing on them. She turned to Ronan. “Do you think there are others in the town who will join us?”

  Ronan looked at his father, weighing the level of disapproval. Feldan’s face was all barely checked anger—he clearly didn’t like where this was going.

  But Ronan must have decided he didn’t care.

  “Yes,” Ronan said. “I know others who will fight. Especially after what happened here tonight. I heard the commotion on the street before I found you. They were beating down doors, searching houses. Everyone in Ithale will be in a rage.”

  “Good,” Perchaya said. “Because we have to act immediately, before it’s too late.”

  Nine

  As Jaeme moved through the swamp, Daniella and Sayvil following behind, a heavy deadness hung around them, the only sounds of life the sucking of their feet pulling rhythmically up from the mud, punctuated by the occasional croak of a lone frog defying the smothering silence of the dank paths. The smell was thick in his lungs—of wet clothes left in a bunch overnight, of roots newly pulled from the dirt.

  As they reached a cluster of rocks, Jaeme paused, letting the women catch up. They’d fallen behind him several paces, and Daniella had long since let go of his hand, even though he’d tried to pull the reeds aside in front of her consistently enough that she wouldn’t have to.

  “Do we need to rest?” Jaeme asked.

  Daniella sat down on a rock before she even answered. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I am definitely not dressed for this.”

  None of them were, and the muck had soaked clean through Jaeme’s boots. He took a moment to smooth the top of a rock with his hands. The stone softened beneath his fingers, and he formed it into a seat and motioned for her to take it while he fashioned one for Sayvil a bit farther off. Finally, he made one next to Daniella for himself. He sat as close to Daniella as he could without shoving her off the rock.

  He looked over at Sayvil, noticing her torch growing dim. “Do you have any oil for that?”

  Sayvil shook her head. “I’d thought to buy some in Ithale. Didn’t expect to be leaving so soon.”

  Now that they had stopped, Jaeme heard noises in the swamp, beyond the hum of the insects. Somewhere off to his left, a low sound like a creaking floorboard set the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

  “It’s a frog,” Daniella said. Then, less certain. “Isn’t it?”

  “Well, it isn’t a legendary Nichtee,” Jaeme said. “I’m confident of that much.”

  Daniella jumped at another noise behind them, this one different, starting with a flat hum and opening into an “oh” before ending with the harsh hiss.

  “Here,” Sayvil said, reaching out for a reed and pulling it from the foliage. “These burn, if they’re mature enough.” She held it to the torch, and sure enough, the thing burst into flame, then settled to a deep ember, giving off light. “They won’t last long,” Sayvil said. “I’ll go see if I can find some more. And maybe some whistlemoss. We’re going to need a good disinfectant in the morning, if we don’t want our feet to rot in our boots before we arrive in Haidshir.”

  She handed Jaeme the proper torch and headed off through the muck, glowing reed in hand. Jaeme was glad for a second source of light, though he hoped it wasn’t theirs that ran out first.

  Jaeme let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his damp hair before returning his arm to rest on his knee. Daniella shivered beside him, the skirt of her thin nightdress soaked through with swamp muck, and he wished he had a cloak or a blanket, anything to offer her besides his own thin shirt. She must be as tired as he was, or more so, being unused to this kind of travel.

  Not that Jaeme had spent a lot of his life pressing through swampland.

  Jaeme shifted closer to Daniella, and their arms touched. He gave her a moment to pull away, but she didn’t, so he reached out and put an arm around her, pulling her against him.

  She leaned into him rather than away, and Jaeme smiled.

  After several moments of silence, Sayvil gasped, somewhere off to their left.

  Jaeme jumped immediately to his feet, heart pounding. “Sayvil?” he called. “What is it?”

  “Gods, that can’t be . . .”

  Jaeme’s blood went cold, and then Sayvil let out a shriek that sounded oddly . . . excited. “It’s plianth leaf! It’s here! I’d recognize the leaf-pattern anywhere. It’s very distinct, but I’ve never been able to locate it . . . and here it is!” She practically giggled with glee, and Jaeme wondered if that burning marsh reed contained some kind of hallucinogen.

  He returned to the rock—satisfied at least that the danger was only to their sanity, not requiring use of his sword—and returned his arm around Daniella.

  “And here I thought the middle of this gods-forsaken, pitch-black swamp would be the one place in the Five Lands that I wouldn’t have to hear about herbs,” Jaeme said. He turned to Daniella. “Have any tidbits about the history of this hellhole you’d like to share?”

  “Well, there are those Nichtees I mentioned,” she offered.

  “People who Mirilina supposedly cursed for betraying her to Maldorath,” Jaeme said, rolling his eyes. “I remember.” He paused. “I still can’t believe we merited the pursuit of Erich Dektrian. You know he was just a peasant from backwoods town? Gods, the knights back home don’t love mentioning that part, but even they have to respect the man. I mean, he’s a gods-damned legend.”

  Beside him, Daniella stiffened. Her voice was bitter. “Yes,” she said. “I’m aware.”

  Jaeme looked at her. He’d thought before that her annoyance had been about the timing of his outburst, but now—

  “You know him?” Jaeme ventured.

  “Yes.” Daniella pushed a lock of her damp hair behind her ear. “Such is my misfortune.”

  Jaeme waited for more, but all he heard was the occasional happy shriek from Sayvil as she dug around in the woods for that plant.

  Finally, Daniella sighed. “He and I were . . . he was my . . .”

  Jaeme turned to stare at her. “Whoa,” he said. “You were courted by Erich Dektrian?”

  Daniella scooted away from him. “Stop saying his name like that!”

  Jaeme sat for a moment, stunned. He remembered something Daniella had said, back in Berlaith, when he’d been prodding her about whether or not she had a suitor.

  “Gods,” he said. “You were in love with—”

  “Don’t say it!” Daniella snapped.

  “—him,” Jaeme said. “I was going to say him.”

  “Yes, I was. But I’m not now, and it scares every level of hell out of me that he came so close to finding me.”

  A trail of ice ran down Jaeme’s spine. “It ended badly,” he said.

  “Yes,” Daniella said. And Jaeme was about to let it go—the gods knew he’d pressed her for enough.

  But Daniella went on. “Yes, he courted me. Yes, I was in love with him. Yes, I thought we were going to be married and have children and live happily ever after, because I was stupid and naive, and he was charming and wonderful. And not because he was Erich Dektrian, all right? Because he was sweet and good to me. For a while.”

  Jaeme put his hand on her arm and was grateful when she didn’t pull away again. “And then?”

  “And then he told me that I was an assignment. That my father instructed him to seduce me, and he always excelled at his assignments. He said he’d grown to love me, that it was more than that, but I�
�I couldn’t ever trust him after that.”

  A lump formed in Jaeme’s throat, such that he could barely breathe.

  Gods.

  He’d meant to tell her that the Council had sent him to seduce her. It had occurred to him that he probably wasn’t the first one sent to try—though he’d assumed he was the most successful.

  But her own father had done this to her?

  He’d thought that when he told her his feelings were real, that he no longer had any intention of reporting on her, that she would be angry but eventually be able to look past it. But.

  “You never forgave him,” Jaeme said, and the words felt like weights on his chest. If that was the case, could he never tell her? Would he be able to keep up that façade when they reached Mortiche?

  Daniella shrugged. “After that, he became obsessive. I could see the signs looking back, of course. He always wanted me all to himself. He grew jealous of men I barely spoke to, hardly knew their names. He would become enraged sometimes, and the things he would say to me . . .” She looked down at her hands. “I let myself believe it was because of how deeply he loved me, as idiotic as that sounds now. And after it was over—he followed me. He plagued me constantly, begging me to take him back. Then threatening me, and then—” Her voice broke off for a moment. “I did this to him.”

  Jaeme returned his arm around her. “No,” he said. “No, if he treated you badly, that’s on him.”

  Daniella shook her head, and with that denial, Jaeme discovered that he officially hated Erich Dektrian. He hated how small Daniella looked, how she shrank within herself. It all fit now, all the pain he saw in her, the self-doubt and fear that she battled constantly. He’d assumed it was because of her treatment at her father’s hand, but there was more. Her father, Adiante, the other noble women—all these people had begun making her feel like she was nothing, but it was Erich who had ultimately convinced her of it. It was this bastard who would beat down an already wounded girl, who would do this to a woman who loved him.

  “Did he hurt you? Physically, I mean.” Jaeme’s voice was even, but too low to be natural.

  “Not when we were together,” she said quietly. “I think he was afraid to, because of my father. But sometimes I wish he had. I know that sounds horrible, but . . . it might have made it more real somehow. I might have realized what he was sooner.”

  “But later,” he said.

  Daniella hesitated. “I overheard him talking to the blood mage—to Lukos, in the Chamber of Binding. I told Kenton and the others that they were talking about what I was—what I am—but there was more to it. Erich was asking Lukos to teach him blood magic, so that he could—” she shivered “—control me.”

  Jaeme felt ill. General Dektrian’s circling of the Andronish army at Oresh was legendary among the knights, who prided themselves on similar feats of mounted valor against a larger foe. Dektrian’s Riders were considered by most to be the only real cavalry threat Mortiche faced. But more than that, Jaeme had admired Dektrian for rising above his background to become the people’s general, relying on his military mind and sword-arm rather than a fortunate pedigree.

  Any trace of that respect was gone. Erich Dektrian would pay for what he’d done to Daniella. If Jaeme hadn’t had her to protect, he would have gone back to Ithale at that moment to see to it.

  “And when he was told he couldn’t,” Daniella continued, “that I’m not a person, but a weapon, that I was too much for him to control—by magic anyway—he fell back on threats. He said that if I wouldn’t come back to him, he would . . .” She hesitated, like the words were hard to say, and Jaeme tightened his arm around her, wishing that he could take the memories away.

  “He said that he would take me by force,” she said.

  “Gods, Dani,” Jaeme said. “I’m sorry I ever said that bastard’s name.”

  “I left before he could. I got away during the invasion of the castle and found Sayvil and then Kenton. But that’s why I didn’t want to go back. However much Kenton hated me, I couldn’t go back there. I can never—”

  “He’ll never touch you,” Jaeme said, feeling that resolve in his very bones. “I swear to it. I will die before I will let him lay a hand on you again.”

  Daniella turned toward him, looking up at him in surprise, and Jaeme’s hand went unconsciously to her face, caressing her cheek, drawing her closer. He looked into Daniella’s eyes, watching the way the torchlight danced in them, and saw something beyond the pain and hesitation.

  Longing.

  And so he kissed her. Their lips met and parted, their arms encircling each other. Kissing Daniella was like breathing; she was as necessary to him as the very air. When they broke apart, Jaeme ran a hand gently over her damp hair, brushed a smudge of mud from her cheek, and laughed.

  Daniella’s eyes crinkled. “What?”

  Jaeme shook his head. “I never thought I would find a woman who would be so utterly beautiful covered head-to-toe in swamp filth. It’s too much for me.”

  She smiled back at him. “The torch is low. You can barely see me.”

  “Well, I can definitely smell you.” He grinned as she faked indignation and jabbed his side. He grabbed her hand and held it, happy she allowed him to have it back.

  “You do have a penchant for kissing me when I’m coated in filth,” Daniella said. “Should I be worried about that?”

  “The truth is,” Jaeme said, “I’d been wanting to do that for a long time. Way before Tir Neren.”

  She bit her lip thoughtfully before taking the bait. “How long?”

  “Pretty much ever since you told me I was a disloyal, disrespectful oaf whose only dubious contribution to the knighthood was to give them reason to keep a tight rein on their wives.’”

  “Jaeme, I’m sor—” she began.

  “Don’t apologize!” he said with a laugh. “It was true. Well, except if we’re being literal about the wives. I’ve never broken up a marriage that I’m aware of. But I absolutely was being an insincere cad, and when you called me on it . . . well, I knew you were different from all the Adiantes of the world, all the brainless court women I’ve met.”

  Daniella seemed to relax a bit, the farther they got from their discussion of Erich. And while Jaeme didn’t hate the man any less for what he’d done to her, he was glad to banish the ghost of him from their conversation.

  The less Daniella had to think of him, the better.

  Not too far away, Sayvil made another excited exclamation about a plant, confirming Jaeme’s suspicion that she remained close enough to hear every word they’d said. At least she seemed to be so occupied with her botanical discoveries that she wasn’t paying too much attention.

  Daniella removed her hand from Jaeme’s and ran her fingers lightly along his cheek and jaw. Jaeme had been with a lot of women, but he’d never felt stunned at their touch, at the mere sensation of fingers on his skin.

  “Well, I think you’ve managed to prove me wrong about you. But don’t expect that to happen too often.”

  He chuckled and brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly before returning it to rest intertwined with his own.

  Sayvil burst through the brush, her herb pouch stuffed full of leaves. “Well, at least something has come of this mess,” she said. “I’ve found two different kinds of plianth leaf. I can only imagine the restorative properties.” She adjusted her things in her pack. “So unless you two want more alone time, can I ask how much longer before you’re ready to move on?”

  Jaeme stood, still holding tight to Daniella’s hand. “We’re ready,” he said, though reluctantly. “The farther we get from the town, the better.”

  By Daniella’s grip on his fingers, he was fairly certain she agreed.

  Ten

  Kenton didn’t bother trying to fight the soldier’s grip as he was brought to Erich’s tent. He was going to h
ave to deal with that bastard sooner or later.

  Erich’s tent was quite large and brightly lit with several lanterns hanging from hooked poles. The shaggy fur of thick animal skins lay across the ground, providing a soft floor of sorts. Several black and gold banners whipped in the wind as Kenton entered, as well as one blue banner with a gold crest. The crest of Dektrian’s Riders. There was a table in the middle of the tent, with several rolled-up scrolls lying atop it, and a platter of meats.

  At the table, seated casually in a wooden chair with that same feral smile on his face, was Erich. He didn’t stand when they entered, just gestured to a chair across the table from him. The soldiers shoved Kenton onto it, rather unnecessarily. He was glad to sit rather than being in that awkward position on the ground.

  Erich waited for the soldiers to give a salute and leave before saying, “You’ll forgive me, if I don’t untie you. I’ve found myself on the wrong side of your fists too often for that.”

  Kenton said nothing in return. When it came to Erich, he had nothing left to say. He knew perfectly well that he served a blood mage, and apparently didn’t care. That told Kenton everything he needed to know.

  “Still not one for excessive talking, I see.” Erich said, his tone artificially light.

  “Being a prisoner doesn’t exactly encourage me to boast over my fighting abilities,” Kenton said. “Why don’t we just cut to the chase? You want Daniella and the others. I won’t tell you where they are. Go ahead and torture me; see if it changes.”

  Erich arched an eyebrow. “Blunt as ever. Too bad you haven’t held to your ideals as well as your idiosyncrasies.”

  Kenton spoke evenly. “I could say the same about you.”

  Hot anger sparked in Erich’s eyes, but only for a second before it was replaced with a kind of calm bitterness. “We fought together for Diamis. For the change he represents. We fought to bring the stability of Sevairn into Foroclae, to unite people under one banner. And now here you are, trying to tear apart everything we fought for.”