Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

AWEEK PASSES QUICKLY, THEN another, like the rapid current of a rushing river. The leaves on the trees are edged with gold, and the warm wind has a cooler bite, hinting at the change in season to come. It’s strange—in Tundrayn, we only have one season.

A routine slowly emerges, one where I find actual contentment—I spend mornings with Farzina planning every detail of the fast-approaching Equinox Festival. Healing in the infirmary dominates my afternoons and often stretches into the early evening when the patient load is heavy.

Word spread quickly of the Healer Princess performing miracles—Sauzon grumbles that the daily patient count has almost tripled, but the brightness in his eyes tells me he’s pleased. I suspect he’s grown to like me.

I avoid Faramir and Varad like I would a contagious illness. I’m mostly successful, except for the occasional breakfast or formal dinner where my presence is required. Zev always attends and keeps his brother in check, thunder rumbling and threats growled low in his throat.

Zev.

My heart flutters.

True to his word, Zev has made the most of his second chance. Our bed is cold when I wake in the morning, but he never misses lunch with me. Most nights, he comes to bed early, the hours melting away as we talk in the hush of darkness until sleep claims us both. We’ve yet to explore the capital, but he’s promised to take me once things settle down with the Rebellion.

“Soon,” he murmured as we lay in bed last night, facing each other with scarcely half a foot between us. “I’ll take you to my favorite tavern. They have the best mushroom stew in all of Arbinj.” I had laughed at him and his obsession with mushroom stew, trying to mask the effect he was having on me.

Even now, desire curls low in my belly at the memory of his voice—deep and rough and sinful enough to melt the iciest resolve. Each night stretches the fraying edges of my control. I start on my side of the bed, determined to resist him, but as the hours slip by, I find myself drifting toward him like a moth to flame. And when his fingers trace my jaw or his hand tightens around mine, tension ripples through him, barely restrained desire vibrating just beneath the surface.

I know he’s just waiting for me.

I hide a smile, pulled from my thoughts as a young woman walks into the infirmary. She’s a new face—Sauzon says the number of women seeking care has almost quadrupled.

A swell of pride warms my chest.

She offers a tentative smile and shuffles over.

“Y-your Majesty. Princess. Um, hi,” she stammers, tucking a lock of chocolate brown hair behind her ear before falling into a deep curtsy.

I try to ease her nerves with a warm smile. “Hello. What’s your name?” I gesture for her to sit on the neatly-made cot before me.

“Lunayra.”

“That’s beautiful. What is troubling you, Lunayra?”

She bites her lip, eyes flicking to Sauzon standing at the infirmary desk a few feet away. “It’s my monthly bleeding,” she whispers. “It’s extremely painful. Sometimes, I can’t even get out of bed.” She clutches her lower stomach, grimacing. “I’m sorry to trouble you for something so trivial … you treated my friend last week for a broken finger. She said you’d understand.”

I place a hand on her shoulder. “Lunayra, if something is causing you pain, there’s nothing trivial about it. I’m glad you came to see me.”

Debilitating monthly bleeds are not uncommon. I could place a temporary block that would prevent a cycle altogether—I performed it on myself years ago. I worry my lower lip. But if something were to happen to me—if I couldn’t heal anymore or if I left Arbinj … or if an assassination attempt were successful—Lunayra would be left unable to conceive unless she found another healer to undo the block.

Which is unlikely in Arbinj.

“I’ll soothe the pain now,” I tell her. “There’s an herbal tonic that Sauzon can give you—take it in the evenings, and it’ll alleviate the discomfort at night. Come back tomorrow if you’re still in pain. I’ll heal you again.”

Her bright smile is grateful, infectious. I set my glowing palms to her abdomen and channel my power through her lower belly. Lunayra breathes a sigh of relief, the tension easing from her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispers, green eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you so much, Princess.”

“Of course. See Sauzon on your way out for the herbal tonic.” I give her a mock-stern look. “And I mean it. Come back tomorrow if you’re still in pain.”

After Lunayra leaves, Sauzon’s deadpan voice calls out, “Time for a snack, Princess.”

I groan. “I’ll eat some fruit later.”

Sauzon straightens, glaring at me over his spectacles. “It’ll be my hide if the prince finds out. Fruit. Now. Please.”

“I would never let him lash you.”

“Wonderful. My fate rests in the hands of a wisp of a princess. Very reassuring.”

A peal of laughter bursts from my chest. “Wisp I may be, but I’m persuasive! At the very least, I’d heal your back.”

Sauzon fixes me with a stern look, though his mouth twitches.

“What the fuck, Sauzon?” a deep, gravelly voice rumbles from the hallway. Sauzon freezes, dark eyes wide with panic behind his spectacles. Zev stalks into the infirmary, his face bearing the wrath of lightning itself. “Did you just refer to my wife as a ‘wisp’?”

The blood drains from Sauzon’s face, and he takes a shaky step back. “Sire, I meant no—”

“Leave him alone, Zev.” Hands perched on my hips, I glare at him. “I’ll have no friends at all if you keep scaring everyone. Ignore him, Sauzon.”

The medic bows deeply to Zev, spectacles almost sliding off the straight bridge of his nose, then hurries to the supply room, muttering “ignore him” under his breath and shaking his head.

Zev crosses his arms over his broad chest. “You think it’s appropriate to tell our subjects to ‘ignore’ me?”

I offer him my brightest smile in response.

With a low chuckle, he ladles a bowl of vegetable stew from the rolling cart in the corner—the palace staff know to send food to the infirmary—and settles onto the cot across from me, so close that our eyes are level.

With Sauzon gone, Zev shucks his princely exterior, a look of pure mischief gracing his face. “I’m in need of your services, healer.”

“Oh?” A stubborn smile tugs at my lips. “And what is troubling you, sir? You seem like a big, strong man.” A giggle escapes me, even as I try to keep a straight face.

“It’s my wife,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice dropping. “She’s driving me insane.” Zev brings the spoon to my mouth, hovering until I take a sip of warm, savory stew.

“I don’t know if a healer is the right person to help with that,” I whisper.

Another spoonful of soup.

“I think you’re exactly the right person.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “How exactly does your wife drive you insane?”

“She’s cast a spell on me. When I’m away from her, she’s all I can think about—what she’s doing, if she’s eaten, if she’s happy.” His voice pitches lower. “If she’s thinking about me.”

Another warm spoonful. My tongue darts out to lick the edge of the spoon, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “And when she’s with me,” he continues, his smoldering gaze still settled on my lips, “my heart doesn’t know peace until she’s in my arms. I can barely function. The palace gossips about their inept prince, smitten with his wife.”

He sets the bowl of soup aside and raises an arm in invitation. His side presses against mine as I sit beside him on the cot, the length of his arm a pleasant weight over my shoulders.

“And you want me to rid you of this spell? So you might have some peace?” My lips curve downward in a frown.

“Absolutely not. I want you to help me cast the same spell on her.” He twirls a lock of my hair around a long, graceful finger. “Tell me how to make her ache for me. The same way I do for her.”

His face inches closer until there’s only a scant sliver of space between us.

My heart flutters in my chest. I can’t think straight with his intoxicating smoky scent enveloping me. We’re in the middle of the infirmary, anyone could walk in, Sauzon could return, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“I don’t think you need any help in that regard,” I whisper, my breath fanning across his lips. His gaze is molten steel as he studies my face. He leans in closer, his nose nudging mine. I part my lips on a shaky inhale. My palm splays over his chest, eyes drifting closed, and—

The sudden thudding of footsteps has me jerking away, smoothing the fabric of my simple gown. A middle-aged woman walks into the infirmary, wide eyes darting between me and her prince.

Zev growls a low string of curses behind me.

The woman mumbles an apology and turns to leave, but I call out, “Wait! Have a seat, please. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

When I turn back to Zev, he’s practically pouting. Something flickers in his eyes—a flash of hurt?—but it’s there and gone in a blink.

With a long-suffering sigh, he rises from the cot. “I’ll be late coming to bed,” he says. “A delegation from Volca arrives tonight. Don’t wait up for me.” His thumb traces the line of my jaw.

Volca? It seems talks of an alliance are progressing. I’ll have to ask Zev for the details later. For now, I clasp his large hand, holding it to my cheek. “All right.” I hesitate. There’s a question poised on my tongue that I’m not sure I want to ask.

“What is it?” His brows furrow.

I bite my lip. “Have there been any letters for me? From my father? Or anyone?”

His eyes shine with so much remorse, they give me my answer before he does.

I stiffen. “It’s a long distance from here to Tundrayn,” I mutter. I shouldn’t have to defend my father’s silence—there shouldn’t be a silence—yet the urge still clings to me all the same.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re just delayed.”

I appreciate the lie.

Sometimes, it’s the lies we choose to believe that let us keep moving forward.

The tile is cold beneath my bare feet as I emerge from a long, hot bath. I pad over to the sofa, eager to continue my latest book about medical practices in Arbinj. My legs ache from long hours standing in the infirmary, and I quickly send a wave of healing energy through my calves.

I’ve barely settled into the plush pillows when I hear it.

A loud rumble of thunder.

Too loud.

My mouth goes dry.

There’ve been several storms since I arrived in Arbinj, but they all were brief and tame—usually during the day, either when I was with Zev or buried in the infirmary, deep enough inside the palace that the thunder barely reached me.

Another startling boom, even louder than before.

A soft whimper pulls from my trembling lips.

Rain sluices the windows, insistent and unforgiving.

My breath escapes in sharp pants.

A bolt of lightning rips across the sky.

Book forgotten, I crawl beneath the covers, yanking them over my head.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

It’s just a storm.

The thunder rumbles louder. Closer.

It pounds in my ears, in my heart.

Mama? Where are you?

The rain slams harder against the windows, each drop threatening to crack the glass.

Loud steps thudding on stairs, and I know. I just know.

It’s not Mama.

It will never be Mama again.

I can’t breathe. Frantic, shaky, useless inhales. Not enough air. Is it possible to suffocate this way?

The storm doesn’t sound like a storm anymore.

It sounds like boots. Like shouting.

Like the night my life shattered.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the room even beneath the covers. I’m curled into a ball. An embarrassment. A sniveling excuse for a princess. My hands tremble where they’re locked around my knees.

My wooden reindeer’s antlers bite into my palm as I squeeze myself smaller.

The door flings open. Heavy boots thud through the room.

Me, they’re looking for me.

“Mayah,” they call, rough, foreign voices. “Princess Mayah, come out. We won’t hurt you.”

Lies, lies, lies.

The closet door barrels open. I’m blinded by light. Large hands grip my arms, yanking me out.

The mattress dips, covers pulled back. Calloused hands wrap around my arms. “Mayah, open your eyes.”

“No! No, no, no!” I struggle and writhe, trying to escape their hold. “NO! NO!”

“Mayah,” the voice calls again. Every syllable thrums with panic.

I know this voice.

I know it in my bones.

His breath catches on his next words. “Mayah, it’s me. You’re safe, baby. Open your eyes.”

I stop struggling. I know him. It’s him. I’m safe. I’m safe with him.

I open my eyes.

It’s Zev. And his face looks as broken as I feel.

I launch myself into his arms, losing myself in his familiar scent.

Sobs rack my body, but he holds me tight.

He doesn’t let go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I’M SAFE.

In Zev’s arms, I’m safe.

He cradles me against the firm pillar of his chest, murmuring soothing words as the storm rages around us. His large hand rubs tender circles over my back, anchoring me against him.

Every crack of thunder echoes in my chest.

Zev wipes my tears with the pads of his thumbs, still whispering reassurances muffled by the ringing in my ears. But I feel them—like the steady beat of a drum calling me back from the dark.

Hours later, or maybe just minutes, the storm dies down, softening into a gentle drizzle. My body trembles in his arms. I’m wrung out—bone-deep tired, like my muscles remember the fear, even now. I pull back slightly, just slightly, and look at my husband’s face. His gray eyes brim with worry, a deep crease set between his strong brows.

I take a shaky breath. “Thank you,” I whisper, the words dry in my ravaged throat.

My eyes widen. Tides drown me. “The Volcan delegation. You were supposed to—”

“It’s all right,” he says gently, brushing back a damp lock of my hair. “My father and brother will take care of it. I need to take care of you.”

My heart stutters. I don’t know what to say, what I can say to him that would express the warm gratitude flowing through me like a gentle current.

I know what I want to say, but the raging storm within my chest terrifies me. I’m terrified of being hurt—and of hurting.

So I don’t say anything, just let myself melt into the strong circle of his arms.

“You said there were thunderstorms in Tundrayn? Over the last two decades?” he asks, long fingers tracing patterns across the bare skin of my shoulder.

“Nearly every month. Sometimes several.”

“What did you do, then?”

I swallow my shame, even as it threatens to choke me. “I cried. Cowered.” My words sharpen with self-loathing. “Sometimes I passed out in bed.” My eyes cut to him. I don’t know what possesses me to speak the next words, but I want to be truthful with him. I owe him at least this much after all he’s done for me. “And when I was older, I wasn’t always … alone. I mean—I’ve never, um. But…” I trail off, unsure how to explain my relationship with Daak.

His fingers still on my skin.

“Does that upset you?” I whisper.

He works his jaw, hands gripping me tighter. “I don’t care what you did before.” A beat passes, then he sighs. His fingers drag down his face, frustration etched into the motion. “No, that’s not true. I do care. I’m burning with jealousy, actually. But I don’t hold it against you. You weren’t my wife then.”

I’m silent for a heartbeat, a strange mix of emotions pulsing in my chest. “You’ve had lovers.” Not a question.

“Yes,” he admits softly. His iron-tight grip loosens marginally around me. “But the last one was months before I met you.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

There’s a bitter taste in my mouth. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

“No. I find most people … disappointing. I become disenchanted quickly.” His eyes cut to me. But not with you, they seem to say.

We fall into a silence that isn’t entirely comfortable, but not unpleasant either.

“Your father,” Zev says slowly. “Did he comfort you during storms?”

I stiffen in his arms. “No. Not once.” It’s difficult to speak past the shards of ice in my throat. “He knew I was afraid—I’d burst into his chambers often enough as a child, tears streaming down my face. Searching for a mother that wasn’t there. Desperate for a comfort that never came. He’d always look disappointed. Disgusted, even. A servant would walk me back to my chambers. Some were kind enough to stay until the storm passed.”

Zev is quiet for several heartbeats, his fingers tracing the shell of my ear. “It must have gutted you to marry me,” he finally says, remorse coating each syllable. “The embodiment of your greatest fear.”

“No,” I say immediately, cupping his cheek. “I may fear storms, Zev, but I don’t fear you. Not at all.”

I hold his intense, searing gaze until I fall asleep.

My eyelids slowly flutter open. I try to stretch, but I can’t. Strong, muscular arms wrap around me, my back flush with a firm, broad chest.

Zev. He’s still in bed.

I shift slightly—and freeze.

The hard, unmistakable length of him presses against me. Heat pools low in my belly. I shift my hips again.

A ragged breath tears through his throat, hot against my neck.

Tides, he’s awake.

Half of me is desperate to flee, the other desperate to melt deeper into him.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep. “I usually leave before you wake. I don’t want you to feel … that.”

But I do feel it. And it sparks something dangerous inside me.

I swallow hard. My heart batters my ribcage.

“It’s all right,” I whisper. “When I came here, I knew I’d have to … with Faramir—”

“Don’t say his name in our bed,” Zev growls, hand braced firmly over my clavicle. “Or at all.”

“Sorry,” I murmur.

I worry my lower lip. Zev’s been nothing but patient.

Nothing but kind.

He holds me when I fall apart. Protects me when I can’t breathe.

“You’ve done so much for me,” I whisper into the charged air of the room. I’m too nervous to turn and meet his gaze. “You keep me safe—and I know I don’t make it easy. And it’s your right as my husband. So … if you wanted to … I’d be willing.”

Zev looses a deep, shuddering sigh, and I fill my lungs with it. His fingers caress my collarbones, skimming down to splay over my ribs. Bright, electric pulses burst across my skin everywhere he touches me. His searing heat seeps through the flimsy fabric of my nightgown, and Tides, I want to burn.

When he speaks, his voice sounds as if it’s been raked over shards of serrated glass. “Skies, Mayah.” His lips brush my temple like a vow. His fingers ghost over my hip, dragging lower to grip my bare thigh.

He stills.

“I don’t want you just willing, Mayah,” he groans into my ear. “And definitely not because you think you owe me something. When I take you, I want you begging for my touch. You come to me when you ache. I can wait until then.”

But I am aching. It would be so easy to turn around, to say yes, to—

No. No. I can’t.

My pulse races, wild and unsteady, and I’m certain each beat thrums beneath the iron hold where he grips my thigh.

I trace an invisible circle on the bedsheet, voice barely above a whisper. “I could move to another room. Just for a little while. So it’s not so … hard for you.”

The silence that follows is deafening. My chest aches. My fingers curl in on themselves.

“That’s very considerate,” he finally says, his voice stiff. “But I want you right here. With me.”

“But you’re suffering.”

“Nothing a cold shower won’t fix.”

I shift slightly, and he groans, low and guttural.

“A very cold shower.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“READY?” I ASK SAUZON, though my voice is too tight, too high. I try to ignore how the gleaming scalpels reflect the torchlight like tiny lightning bolts. My palms are slick with sweat. This is a procedure neither of us has performed before. Our patient’s life—and her baby’s—depends on us. We cannot fail them.

Sauzon adjusts his spectacles. “I spent all of last night reviewing the diagrams again. It will go well.” His hand comes to rest on my shoulder in a comfortable weight, before he clears his throat and begins unpacking gauze and salves from a nearby cabinet.

“Should we ask Graman to assist?” I ask. Nerves flutter in my belly, and I wring my hands as I pace the stark, white room. “I haven’t seen him since that first day when—”

“You barged in here like it was your father’s infirmary and the prince coerced me into becoming your nanny?” Sauzon drawls, his voice dry. He attempts to look stern, but he can’t hide the twitch of his lips or the mirth in his dark eyes.

“Yes,” I laugh, the weight in my chest loosening. “Since that.”

He hands me a numbing oil and sutures—we shouldn’t need them, but it’s good to have precautions.

“I dismissed Graman.”

“Why?” I frown. “He seemed interested in my powers. He watched me heal every patient.”

Sauzon casts me a sideways glance. “It wasn’t your healing he was interested in.”

Oh.

“I’d wager he remembers the curve of your smile better than any healing you performed. I did the boy a kindness by letting him go. The dungeon would have been a mercy if your husband walked in on him gawking at you. He wouldn’t have lived to see the dawn.”

I suppose he’s right, but guilt pummels my conscience anyway. A man lost his livelihood because I wanted to heal.

“Stop that,” Sauzon mutters, frowning at me. “It’s not your fault. He’s found another job in the capital. That I may or may not have helped secure. You’ve done good here, Mayah. Real good.”

Relief sparks inside, threaded with the faintest shimmer of pride. The foreign emotion lodges awkwardly in my chest, unfamiliar and ill-fitting.

There’s a soft knock on the door where a heavily pregnant woman stands. She shifts her weight, and I rush over to her, helping her sit on a cot.

“Rinaya! How are you feeling this morning?” I ask brightly.

Her smile is dim. “Nervous, Princess. I—I trust you and Sauzon, but—”

“I completely understand. Everything will turn out just fine.”

Rinaya doesn’t look convinced, but she changes into a robe without further comment and lays back on the cot. I set my palms to her belly, sensing the growing life inside her.

Her baby is still turned the wrong way.

We’ve monitored her for weeks, hoping the baby would shift into the correct position. It hasn’t. So Sauzon and I will have to make an incision in her abdomen and remove the baby—something neither of us has ever done before.

Something, no one has ever done. The diagrams in Sauzon’s medical texts are all theory.

“I’m going to give you valerian root now. It will put you into a deep sleep. When you wake, you’ll meet your baby.”

The woman nods, eyes glistening with tears. She downs the entire cup, and within the next fifteen minutes, she drifts to sleep.

Silence blankets the room as Sauzon makes the first incision. I press steadying hands to Rinaya’s belly, healing as he works—matching his rhythm, breath for breath. Power hums beneath my skin as blood beads, then stops, tissue knitting together beneath my touch. The baby emerges, slick and pink and impossibly alive.

It’s a girl.

I hold my breath.

Her first wail breaks the air, and every knot in my body loosens.

We did it.

She’s here.

I swaddle the beautiful, impossibly tiny baby in blankets and cradle her to my chest, rocking the little one until she falls asleep. Her mother should wake soon and feed her—hopefully we won’t need to summon a nursemaid.

“Sauzon,” I whisper, brushing a gentle finger against the baby’s soft cheek. “Can you send for a heartwielder? It’s Rinaya’s first baby—and she’s still grieving her husband. I’ve seen new mothers struggle with the adjustment.”

Sauzon gives me a strange look. “There are none in Arbinj,” he says slowly. “Heart– and truthwielders are put to death as soon as they’re discovered.”

I can’t hide my jolt of horror. It’s barbaric. Inhumane.

In Tundrayn, heart– and truthwielders are bound early—branded with facial tattoos the moments their gifts emerge. Children, marked before they’ve even grown into their powers. I’ve never liked the practice, but I understand it. Their abilities are dangerous. An unmarked heartwielder could bend another’s will, make them believe they consented when they hadn’t. A truthwielder could easily learn truths they have no right to.

So yes, we draw boundaries back home, too.

But we don’t kill them.

My fingers still. The baby fusses, but my arms are frozen, unable to even rock her.

“Children, too?” I whisper.

“Especially children,” Sauzon says gravely. The way he says it—heavy, resigned—makes something splinter inside me.

My eyes drop to the baby in my arms. Shards of ice lodge in my throat.

It isn’t fair.

Anger rises inside me like a swelling tide.

Things need to change. That’s why I’m here. I need to try harder to make a difference. To accomplish my goals for my people—all my people.

I take deep, steadying breaths, cradling the baby closer to my chest. When I look up, Sauzon is watching me, a strange expression on his face.

“…and this is our infirmary,” a deep voice carries from the corridor. Zev strides in, flanked by three men in flowing burgundy robes.

The Volcan emissaries.

Zev stills when his gaze finds me. Or maybe it’s the baby he sees. A muscle jumps in his jaw. Forgetting the emissaries, he cuts across the room mid-sentence, closing the distance in three long strides, heat and something primal blazing in his eyes.

I present the baby to him. He swallows hard.

The inferno in his eyes softens into something raw—something unguarded—as he steps closer.

“I didn’t realize tour guide was part of your job description,” I tease.

“I may or may not have volunteered—so I could escape the stuffy meetings and come see you. I knew you were on edge about today.” He reaches for the baby, glancing at me for permission, and when I nod, his large hand rests over the entirety of the baby’s chest. He swallows again. “It went well?” Zev asks softly.

I nod. “Yeah. She’s beautiful. And Rinaya did so well, too.”

“The princess is being modest,” Sauzon says. He’d been conversing quietly with the Volcan emissaries. “She is the one who did well. It’s been a blessing to have her.”

My cheeks warm, even as a flutter of pride wafts through my chest. The emissaries turn their attention to me. The shortest of the group, a bearded man with a stout belly, offers a smile that reaches all the way to his crinkled eyes. “Princess Mayah. We’ve heard much about your healing endeavors. And your marriage. Many congratulations.”

“Thank you.” The baby fusses again, still asleep, and I rock her gently in my arms. Zev’s hand rests at the small of my back, his attention only for me, as if the delegates his father has been courting for weeks aren’t in the room.

Sauzon turns back to the emissaries. “I cannot stress what an asset the Princess has been. She’s a talented healer. And she’s exceedingly kind.”

“Sauzon, please,” I insist, cheeks flaming. “The emissaries must be ready to continue their tour. They’ve heard enough about me.”

Zev chuckles, brushing a kiss to my temple. Warmth blooms beneath my skin. He means it to be chaste, but it unravels something in me all the same.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he murmurs in promise. With one last look steeped with longing, he leads the emissaries away.

I glance at the baby in my arms. I stroke her tiny cheek, etching every line of her pink face to memory. “Tides protect you, little one,” I whisper, willing the words into a shield.