Page 126 of Fate's Wicked Oath

It’s for the best.

Though our plans had gone to shit, Faren and Bard were safe. Flesh wounds only, I told myself. Faren was smart. I trusted that he could take care of himself and get Bard home—by now, Bard probablywashome. Sheltered by our parents, tucked into bed with his wife and son, patched up and on the mend. I imagined Faren there, too—healing, resting, and restoring himself before he returned to Fenrir City to warn Oderin of what was to come.

My only wish was that, once Faren made it back to Castle Might, he would not trouble himself with worrying about me. Because who was I kidding? I could not double-cross Heris, not when my family was vulnerable. I wasn’t a storybook hero, destined to save the realm. I was an accomplice to the villain,desperately scrambling to protect what little I held dear; a no-name character destined to disappear off the page.

Perhaps it was time for me to accept the fact that my Fortune had always been about self-sacrifice. Whether the Valiant rebellion succeeded or failed—whether I achieved my freedom or not—at least my family would be safe from Heris’s retribution.

As for saving the realm, Faren was better off teaming up with his Major and any other Mighty Knights they managed to rally. And if I saw him again in Fenrir—whenI saw him again—it would be safest for both of us if I kept my distance. Opening up to Faren had only put him in harm’s way, and I refused to make the same mistake I had with Grinnick. I wouldnotbe the harbinger of Faren’s Fated Death.

Still, I almost resented him for giving me a taste of something better. For making me feel likebetterwas possible for someone like me.

I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes until I saw spots, distracting myself from another stab of heartache.It’s for the—

A door banged open. “Mariana, you in ‘ere?”

I wiped the tears from my face and sprung to my feet. Algar—the man who’d shot Faren with a crossbow—was at the other end of the barn. It took all my strength not to wring his fucking neck.

“What now?” I snapped.

“A new Morta’s just been cured and brought in. Heris summoned everyone to see.”

“Why?”

“Just get out ‘ere.”

After giving Simon a soothing pat on the neck, I strode heavy-footed down the corridor and out into the inky night. Algar’s shape was already retreating into the fog, leading me in the direction of a large plaza where Heris liked to make his demonstrations. Other knights were gathering, too, collectingaround the circumference of the square—not just Bad Blues, but members of other factions as well; I even spotted Ivan, the messenger, among the crowd. Across the way, I spotted Heris standing on the marble steps of a grand but crumbling building, lording over his Valiant subjects. I shouldered my way through the crowd of black-clad criminals and blazing torches toward the front—stopping short when I broke through the throng.

A lone man lay in a naked heap in the center of the square. His skin was a dusky, mottled gray, marred with blue-black veins and scars. Bruises bloomed across his elbows, knee joints, and torso, marking all the places his human body had been unnaturally stretched in his Morta form. The gnarled antlers of the monster he’d been remained, as did the long black claws that protruded from his fingertips.

Though he had yet to move, iron cuffs and chains bound his limp wrists. Four Valiant Knights stood over him, their clothing speckled with black blood and the shimmery splatter of the potions I’d brought. They were still panting, their faces stricken.

I had only witnessed a couple transformations and had never stuck around long enough to see what happened when the poor soul woke up. Now, as the man in the square began to stir, I recalled Heris’s cryptic words a few weeks earlier.The cure you gave us? It has a…peculiar effect.Let’s just say that it works in our favor.

Murmurs broke out among the audience as the former Morta lifted his head. His movements were jerky, inhuman. Ember-like eyes—still glowing faintly with the remnant of his monster form—took in the crowd. With effort, he pushed up from the ground, getting his bearings. As he raised his chin, I noticed a thin black ring around his neck, just like mine.

A pair of Valiant Knights approached the former Morta from the sidelines, carrying a piece of timber. The log was at least fiveinches in diameter and about six feet long. When they presented it to him, he looked at the offering with the same confusion I felt.

“Break it,” Heris ordered.

The man jerked, swinging his attention toward the Valiant leader.

“Break the wood,” Heris repeated, his voice bouncing off the surrounding stone buildings.

The man opened his mouth as if to speak—andhissed.

One of the Valiant Knights standing guard drew his sword. Blue flame ignited, illuminating the man’s brutalized body. “Do as he says,” the knight threatened.

The man glanced between the knight and Heris, blinking bemusedly. How long had he been in his abominable form? What did he remember about his life before? How much of his soul had been corrupted and lost? If he could no longer speak, could he still understand language? Was there any humanity left inside him?

Hattie had framed the cure as a kindness; the Knights of the Order of the Morta had been men, once, and they deserved a second chance at life—just like Noble. But Noble had only been a Morta for mere minutes, and no trace of the monster had remained; this man, on the other hand, had probably lived in his abominable form foryears. Maybe even decades. And seeing the state of him now…I wondered if death was the only merciful Fate left.

“Break the wood,” Heris ordered again.

Did Heris truly expect the cursed creature to snap the timber with his hands? The man didn’t seem to understand; he simply stared at the log.

Heris snapped his fingers, and the knight standing watch lowered his sword against the man’s flank, searing him with the magical flame. The man screeched—a terrible, otherworldly sound—and swiped defensively at the knight. He was no morethan an animal, frightened and tormented. The chains rattled, seeming to startle him.

“The wood,” the knight said, waving his sword at the log.