Zara Grayson's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

Zara stared at the palace, then at Fabin. He was a stranger. He had drained her fear once, and it had worked. But she knew nothing about him. Trust the wrong scarred elf, and her charm could sour again. Still, he was her only way past those gates. "You've got a reason to hate that place," she said. "Give me one reason to trust you." Fabin didn't blink. "You don't have to trust me. You have to move." He pointed down the lane. "There's a side path. Old blossom grove. Less watched." He started walking. He didn't check if she followed. That, more than any promise, made her go. He led her to a tree heavy with red blooms. The petals glowed faintly, alive with old magic. Fabin crouched behind the trunk and waved her down. "Wall's low here. Guards change at the bell." He tapped his scarred cheek. "I got this the last time I climbed it." "Comforting," Zara said. "It isn't." She almost laughed. He gave her a leg up. Her fingers caught the wall's top. For one breath, the charm burned warm against her chest, steady and bright, pointing straight through the palace stone. Her mate was close. She hauled herself higher. A bell rang. Not the guard change. An alarm. "Down," Fabin snapped. Too late. Along the palace wall, shutters flew open. Crossbows swung out, six of them, aimed at the grove. Zara froze on the wall's edge, wide open. A man stepped onto the high balcony. Old, crowned, robed in green and gold. He looked at Fabin below, then at Zara clinging to his wall. His face twisted with something worse than anger. Recognition. "The prince returns," the old king said. "And brings a witch to my gate." He raised one hand. "Fire." The bolts came. Zara threw herself sideways off the wall. Fabin caught her arm and yanked. They hit the grass together. Bolts thudded into the tree above them. Red petals rained down. One bolt grazed Zara's shoulder and drew a hot line of blood. "Move!" Fabin dragged her behind the thick trunk. More bolts struck the far side. The blooming tree took every shot meant for them. They ran. Out of the grove, back down the lane, until the bell faded behind them. Zara pressed her torn shoulder and gasped for air. The charm still glowed, still pointed back at the palace, mocking her. Fabin leaned against a stone wall, chest heaving. Blood dotted his sleeve where a splinter had cut him. He looked at her, and for once his flat face cracked. "That was my father," he said. "He knows my face now. And yours." He pulled a folded paper from his coat, edges burnt. "The deal I made. He'll use it against us both now." He held it out to her. "You're in this. You should read what I signed." Zara took the paper. Her way in had just become her way into his war.