Page 5 of Fate's Wicked Oath

A crisp autumn breeze ruffled Faren’s hair as he was led through a narrow walkway and into the fortress’s inner bailey. There, the larger-than-life statue of Noble the Mighty, first Order Knight of Fenrir, stood resolute in the bright sunshine. Faren saluted the statue as he passed. His Major’s office was located in the barracks, but to Faren’s surprise, the squire continued in the direction of the keep—which could only mean one thing: Faren had been summoned by Lord Haron himself.

It was a good sign, but: “I’m rather disheveled from sparring,” Faren said to the squire. “If I am to have an audience with the Lord, may I—”

“There will be no delay,” the squire said, clipped.

Very well. Faren raked his fingers through the ends of his hair and buffed a smudge out of his golden breastplate; that would have to be enough.

Inside Castle Might, the squire led Faren down the long corridor toward the guarded double doors of the throne room. Faren drew a steadying breath, focusing on the sensation of his lungs expanding and the hug of his breastplate against his chest. He kept his strides languid but purposeful as the guards opened the doors and welcomed him seamlessly into the grand space beyond.

Though the ceiling inside was vaulted, the temperature of the room was a few degrees hotter than the corridor, thanks to the stained-glass windows that splashed colored sunlight onto the tile. Sweat prickled along Faren’s spine and underneath the straps that held his armor in place, the fabric of his tunic chafing his clammy skin. He resisted the urge to tug at his collar, and instead used his touch magic to numb the discomfort, maintaining his air of calm.

Lord Haron sat on his raised throne at the other end of the chamber, one leg hooked over the armrest, a pointed shoe dangling off his white-socked toe. Flanking him like a pillar of gold was Faren’s superior, Major Oderin Farkept, along with eight royal guards.

Having grown up among the upper classes of Lothgaim, Faren was no stranger to opulent spaces and individuals of importance, but this room in particular roused in him a slight uneasiness. After all, according to the Mirror of Death, the Fates predicted he’d meet his end upon these marble tiles.

He put that out of his mind as the squire broke off, allowing Faren to approach the throne platform on his own. When Faren was a respectable distance away, he dropped to a knee on the hard floor, bowing before his Major and Lord.

“Seems we have interrupted his training,” Lord Haron said to Major Farkept in a nasal tone.

Faren resisted the urge to apologize for his appearance and kept his chin tucked.

“Faren Hayward is a dedicated knight,” Oderin said, his tone resonant and authoritative. “Hence my recommendation.”

Faren bit his cheek to stop himself from smiling.

“I require someone supremely loyal,” Lord Haron said, and because Faren had yet to be given ease, he could not look up to see whether the Lord spoke to him or his Major. “Someone with bravery and discretion.”

There was a long pause in which no one spoke.

“Faren Hayward, do you claim to be these qualities?”

Faren recognized the passing seconds as a test. He kept his head down, waiting for explicit permission to speak.

Finally, Lord Haron gave a satisfiedhumph, and said, “At ease.”

Faren dipped his head lower, then rose to his full height. He kept his shoulders back and his chin up as he addressed his Lord. “I don’t presume to claim any one quality, but instead let my actions speak of my character.”

Lord Haron tipped his head, appearing less than amused. “And what actions might prove your worth for my mission?”

“I recounted Faren’s most notable deeds in my report,” Oderin cut in. His blue gaze flicked to a sheet of paper resting at the foot of the throne, where it must’ve been discarded.

The Lord lowered his leg from the armrest, resettling into a more upright seat. “I tire of reports. I want to hear him recount his own deeds.”

Faren spoke clearly, happy to name his victories. “I am reigning champion of swordplay at the last three years of Mighty Games—proof of my skill. I have not once missed a shift or engagement—proof of my reliability. And, as I vowed when Itook my Oath, there is nothing I hold in higher esteem than the realm I serve—proof of my loyalty.”

The Lord waved a hand, unimpressed. “What of your secret keeping?”

“In all my time serving as a Knight of the Order of the Mighty, I have never once felt the warning of my Oath,” Faren stated, not without a note of pride in his tone. “You can check the Ledger.”

The Lord narrowed his eyes. “What do you know of this mission?”

“Not much for certain,” Faren said. “I do not deny hearing gossip about the quest, but I onlyknowwhat Major Farkept relayed to me.”

“Which is?”

Faren heard footsteps approaching from the double doors, but his attention did not waver from the Lord. “You wish to send a Mighty Knight to investigate the fall of Yar-on-Gray,” he said. “Due to the nature of the incident, you seek someone honorable and discreet.”

“That is true,” the Lord said, sounding pleased. “Are you prepared for your talents and loyalty to be tested by the demands of this mission?”