Page 43

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Save Yourself

Idris

F og slid down the face of the mountain toward the courtyard, a slow-motion avalanche of air. The rising sun cut a path through the cloud cover, beaming down on the face of Castle Might’s keep. Glorious, godly, the light seemed oblivious to the cruelty that ruled within the stone walls.

Idris had not been permitted inside Anya’s second hearing. After she was dragged away yesterday afternoon, he’d appealed— shouted —at the Lord to set her free. He’d gotten on his knees to beg, only for the Lord to pick up one of the ledgers and hit Idris square in the face with it. Just a master kicking his dog. Idris hadn’t spoken after that—by the Lord’s word, the magic of Idris’s Oath had rendered him completely silent for six hours afterward.

Those six hours had granted him perspective. He’d foolishly let himself believe that his role as a knight would mean something to the Lord, but all he’d really done was set Anya’s trap. Idris had allowed the Lord to use his Oath—his inability to lie—to corner her and condemn her, and he hadn’t even seen it coming.

It had been selfish of him to get close to Anya.

The moment he could speak, he’d gone to her to tell her what he should’ve told her to begin with—that she was better off without him. Even now.

Everyone I’ve ever loved has either left or died because of me .

Perhaps that wasn’t directly true of his father, who’d died in a garrison accident after taking an extra shift for extra money for his family—but Idris’s mother? She’d left because, without her husband, her boys were a burden. Idris being the younger, he had no doubt been her push. And, of course, Grinnick was all his fault. And now, Anya: no matter which path Idris chose, he would endanger her. The only thing he could do was leave.

So, sure, maybe he remained Oath-bound after his sentence in self-punishment, but he also did it to escape his Fate—not just what he’d seen in his Mirrors, but the wretched pattern of his existence. Love, endanger, lose.

It was his love for her that convinced him to let her go. To stay far away, lest he ruin things further. The irony was not lost on Idris that after years of avoiding love and loss through the duty of his Order, the only thing to ever make him want to retire—Anya—was the one reason he couldn’t.

Now, as he paced the courtyard, all he could do was hope that she’d come to the same conclusion that he had. She had been too furious with him last night to see it, but with time, she would come to understand that his leaving was the only possible mercy.

At the sound of double doors clunking open, Idris turned, and saw Oderin swiftly exiting the keep. He was flanked by two Royal Guards, who—after a quick word from Oderin—broke off. Oderin sped straight for Idris, his tan face flushed.

Idris fell in step with the other knight without pause, and together they crossed the yard toward the barracks.

“She goes to the Well of Fate,” Oderin said.

Idris swore, even as his stomach seemed to bottom-out with dread. The pool was located in the foothills of the Bone Mountains. It was a literal breeding ground for monsters—and not the small, secondary spawn Anya had seen previously. He’d tried and failed to communicate the danger to her last night.

All abominations came from the bite of a Morta, parent-monsters that spread their scourge by infecting animals. Knights of the Order of Valiant did not hunt Morta alone. They were grotesque creatures—huge, skinless, made of sinew and bone, twisted with poison in their veins and venom in their teeth. The geothermal pools outside the ruins of Kelebraim are where the Morta multiplied, and there were not enough Valiant Knights in all of Fenrir to infiltrate their nest.

For Anya to venture there by herself—it was unacceptable.

“The Lord truly agreed to it?” Idris asked Oderin. “What were her other options?”

“Dungeon.”

“No Oath?”

Oderin arched a brow and pursed his lips. “I suspect the Lord withheld that option after the scene you caused yesterday.”

Just when it seemed impossible for Idris to hate himself any more, he found himself in deeper loathing. “Fuck.”

They’d reached the side door to the barracks, and Oderin held it open for Idris, patting his back consolingly. “She asked to travel to the pool, and the Lord agreed.”

“He agreed because he knows she won’t return,” Idris said, his disdain echoing off the walls of the narrow hallway.

“You know how he delights in…unique alternatives,” Oderin said. “And in the unlikely event that she does return, well, that’s valuable information for the Lord, too.”

So, the Lord wanted to know if a path to the Well of Fate still existed and was willing to gamble Anya’s absolution—her knowing too much —to prove the theory. Idris shook his head, sick to his stomach over the Lord using Anya in this way. Nobility might’ve traveled to the Well of Fate hundreds of years ago, but there was a reason the practice had ended: at a certain point, those who sought the pool stopped returning.

“Why you serve him willingly, I’ll never understand,” Idris said.

Oderin unlocked the door to his quarters and closed them inside. “I serve the great territory of Fenrir and the Kingdom of Marona,” Oderin said with intensity, “ not the disposable headpiece who calls himself Lord. There’s a reason Oaths are controlled by whomever holds the title , and not the individual ruler.”

“So long as Haron holds the title, though, he also holds your leash. Do you not feel complicit in his cruelty?” Idris asked.

“Do you?”

“I’m different.”

“We can both walk away anytime we want.” Oderin dug a large rucksack out of his armoire and began shoving clothes into it. “We all have our reasons for remaining. I can do more good for the realm working from the inside.”

Idris pressed his fingers against the bruise on his cheek, just to check its tenderness. “What could I have done differently?” he asked his friend.

“You could’ve not fallen in love with her.”

Idris stiffened.

Oderin shot him a quick glance over his shoulder. “Don’t look surprised that I noticed. Your feelings are all over your face.”

Idris tried to smooth his features into the bored neutrality expected of knights, but Anya had stripped him all pretense weeks ago. He was afraid for her. Terrified for her. It was impossible to pretend otherwise.

“You really told her about the warped Fate of the Valiant?”

Idris was glad Oderin had his back turned; he felt exposed enough by the question. “She saw me in her Mirror of Death,” he ground out. “I didn’t want her to fear me.”

Oderin’s glanced back again, this time with wide-eyed shock. It took a lot to surprise the Mighty Knight, and apparently Idris had succeeded. “Fuck, Idris,” he said. “You know I’m no stranger to dubious conquests, but even I know that was a bad idea.”

“She’s not a conquest,” Idris said flatly.

Oderin stuck his head inside the armoire again, rummaging around for something—a mess kit—only to shove it into his bag. “At least her Fate isn’t yet fixed, by age or by proximity to your charge.”

“Not yet.” Idris leaned against Oderin’s small writing desk, the wood groaning under his weight. In many ways, he himself felt like the desk—too brittle for what he bore. “I should’ve retired my Oath long ago.”

“ Should is nothing more than mental torment.” Oderin fastened a strap on his bag with a quick jerk.

Finally taking note of his friend’s quick actions, Idris asked, “What are you doing?”

Oderin turned, rising to his full height. His hair was tousled from having his head in the closet, giving the regal Knight of the Order of the Mighty a boyish air. Idris knew from countless nights drinking with Oderin that his friend often used that boyish charm to lure unsuspecting men into his bed. He was quite successful at it—and proud of it. Oderin was the most stereotypical wielder of touch magic Idris had ever met—completely insatiable.

Oderin raked a hand through his hair, then folded his arms, assuming a more authoritative posture. “I ought not say what I’m doing.”

“And why’s that?” Idris asked, letting the implication of the question—Oath or general secrecy?—remain unspoken.

“The Lord didn’t trust Anya to walk the path to the pool alone.”

“You were…assigned to escort her?” Idris asked.

Oderin shook his head.

“You volunteered .” Idris would’ve felt heartened by his friend’s gesture, if it weren’t for how wretched he felt over the prospect of Anya going there at all.

“The least I could do for an old friend,” Oderin said, clapping a hand on Idris’s good shoulder. “Besides, I still owe you for helping me get my promotion. I get laid twice as often as a Major.”

Idris had happened to be in the city for an intelligence briefing the same week Oderin was to take his Major’s exam, and Idris had spent three sleepless nights helping him study. It was not a true debt between friends, but he appreciated Oderin’s attempt to ease the tension of the current moment.

Idris smiled, but it didn’t last. “It’s a dangerous path,” he warned. “Shouldn’t a Knight of the Order of the Valiant accompany you?”

“The Lord wouldn’t allow it.”

“But he would risk a Major Knight of the Mighty?”

“I am to escort her only to a point, then she must go alone,” Oderin said. “If she returns, she will have a chance to view her Mirrors before the Lord; if they are changed, she will be absolved. If she does not return—well, her sentence will be complete in a different way. He made her take an Oath of Proving to ensure she completes her mission with no assistance.”

Idris covered his lips with his fingers and shook his head. Oaths of Proving were woven of lesser magic, not nearly as complex as Order Oaths, which possessed enough power for the Lord and his ledgermasters to directly control behavior, such as lying. An Oath of Proving was tied to a single matter; complete a mission, and it dissolved.

“The Lord only agreed to this plan because he trusts the honor of the Mighty,” Oderin said. “The Valiant have not given him much reason to trust them as of late.”

Idris lowered his hand. “She won’t make it, Oderin. No one in recent history has sought the Well of Fate and lived.” He wanted to murder Hammond for putting such a useless hope in Anya’s head. He wanted to murder the Lord for letting her go on this fool’s mission. He wanted…he wanted to protect Anya, and he couldn’t.

His friend turned away to continue packing. “She won’t make it in the dungeon, either, Idris. At least this way, she has a shot.”

“Not without a magic weapon,” Idris said, voice rising. “Not surrounded by Morta alone, defenseless—”

“Get her bag ready, would you?” Oderin said, clearly not interested in further debate about that which they couldn’t control.

What would Grinnick do? Idris wondered. Grinnick had always been the more gallant of the two of them. “What if I—”

“Even a hint of interference,” Oderin interrupted, “and her Oath of Proving will consider her bid null. The best thing you can do is stay out of it, Idris.”

To hear Oderin confirm it—Idris wasn’t comforted. He was powerless, useless , to assist the woman he loved. Idris growled with frustration, even as his chest ached.

“Her bag ,” Oderin repeated.

Anya’s things still rested where she’d left them at the base of the window. With nothing left to say, Idris pushed off Oderin’s desk to do as he was asked. The wood squeaked, briefly drawing his attention. His eyes landed on a small but thick book nestled amongst the mess of papers. Orders .

Idris had been shocked to hear Anya guess his Order last night. Hearing her say it aloud had been an unexpected and dreadful thrill, like a child losing a game of hide-and-seek. Finally found .

While Oderin’s back was still turned, Idris lifted the book from the desk and slipped it into her pack. If he couldn’t explain to her the tenets he followed, perhaps the book would elucidate his limitations. Provide the answers he himself could not.

He was securing the top of her pack when Oderin pivoted. Idris handed Anya’s things to his friend, feeling like he was passing off a piece of himself.

“Do you wish to communicate anything to her?” Oderin asked.

Idris shook his head. “I broke things off with her last night. She’s better off if I stay away.” He winced at the echo of Anya’s shrill, angry voice in his head: Better off?

Oderin only nodded. “Good. I’d hate for you to follow us. You know I’d be forced by my Oath to fight you off.”

Idris snorted. “Not to worry. I know how you hate to lose.”

Oderin rolled his eyes, then gripped Idris’s shoulder and shook it a little. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Idris pressed his lips together, then nodded. “When do you ride out?”

“An hour,” Oderin said, slinging Anya’s meager supplies over his shoulder. “It’ll take us three days to reach the path, and Anya another day to find the pool on her own. If she is successful, I am to escort her back to Fenrir City for an audience with the Lord to verify her new Fate. Stay in the city. You’ll know within eight days whether or not she succeeds.”