Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

“Y OU KILLED ME, MAYAH.” The voice is raw, splintered.

No. No, no, no.

Blue eyes bore into me, accusing and cold.

Dead.

“You don’t love me anymore. But you didn’t have to kill me for it.”

No, no. I—

“Just hang on a little longer.”

Daak.

Awareness reclaims me with a violent jolt. I suck in air, greedy for the breath that my lungs won’t accept. Storm clouds overhead, lightning crashing around me. The threatening caress of electric heat on my face.

Eyes clenched shut, I brace for the next thunderclap.

A beat passes.

It never comes.

The ground rocks beneath me. I’m moving. My eyelids flutter open—hard, wooden seats, a door set into the wall—I’m in a carriage.

I try to move, but I can’t.

Shit. My hands are chained to the wall. And judging by the ache in my shoulders and the numbness in my wrists, I’ve been shackled for hours. Tides, how long was I passed out?

The carriage lurches, and my shoulder slams into the wall. Wood creaks. Chains bite. My breath fogs in the tiny space like I’m breathing inside a tomb.

The air crackles, and I can sense him.

I’m not alone.

“What a relief, wife,” he snarls, voice dripping with venom. “I was beginning to worry you’d never wake.”

I don’t want to look at him.

My husband.

I don’t want to see the gray eyes that glittered with rage as he murdered Daak.

Eyes that will undoubtedly brim with hatred when they land on me.

“A waterwielder,” Zev muses. His voice is colder than the tundra. “Right under my nose for months. In my skiesdamned bed.”

I force myself to meet his stony gaze. His eyes are bloodshot. There’s no warmth in my husband’s face.

This is the Dark Commander, forged from lightning and steel.

And he hates me.

“Mayah, please. Just … please.”

Then, nothing.

Maybe I deserve this. The poison in his voice, the way he looks at me like I’m filth beneath his boot. I’ve betrayed him.

But that was always the plan.

And I think I might hate him, too. For what he did. Because Daak didn’t deserve to die that way, terrified and confused. And knowing I didn’t love him anymore.

So yes—I do hate him. I have to, if I’m going to survive.

He’s planning to kill me. How could he not? A secret waterwielder plotting to murder him and his family?

I straighten my spine as much as the chains will allow. Every rattle of the wheels echoes in my skull. Iron cuffs dig into my skin. I can’t shift without metal scraping metal. I cast my gaze around the carriage, trying to anchor myself.

The Dark Commander’s eyes sharpen as he watches me.

“Recognize it?” he asks, steel eyes glinting. “It’s the same design as the prisoner’s carriage we rode in when we left Tundrayn. Seemed only fitting we end our journey the way it began.”

My blood turns to ice.

He really does mean to kill me.

I suck in a shuddering breath.

He would’ve been a fool to have water inside the carriage, but there must be a source outside—a stream or a river. Tides, I could make do with a puddle.

I cast out my power, trying to sense even the tiniest drop.

And—nothing.

It doesn’t work. Where my power should have been, there’s just an empty void.

A frustrated grunt escapes me.

His lips freeze into a cold smile. “First time in iron chains?”

I glare at him.

“Why did you really come to Arbinj?” he asks, undeterred.

“Untie me.” I force ice into my voice, though the heat in his glare might set me on fire.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a cruel mimicry of a smile.

“Answer my question.”

“No.”

He leans forward, menacing and large in the small carriage. In a flash, his hand wraps around my neck. He doesn’t squeeze—not yet—but his message comes across loud and clear.

The Dark Commander looms even closer, and I recoil as much as the chains will allow.

“Is this where you tell me not to touch you? Because you’re the princess of Tundrayn?” His voice drops to a silken whisper, threaded with violence. “Tell me, was that the real you? Or just another mask?”

I swallow hard, and he smirks, though it’s more a baring of teeth. A long finger traces the line of my bare collarbone—my necklace is gone. I shiver, despite myself.

I’m defenseless prey beneath his hateful gaze.

“Why did you come to Arbinj? Do not lie to me. I won’t ask again, wife.” I wish he’d stop calling me that, a mock endearment wrapped in threat.

“To marry your brother!” I snap. “We’ve had this conversation before, remember?”

Not the answer he wanted, apparently.

The sky darkens outside, dimming the faint shimmer of light that filtered through the small carriage window.

A distant rumble mocks me.

Dark shadows stretch along the walls like tendrils reaching for me. My bladder twitches, and I clench hard, humiliated by the familiar terror clawing through me.

The Dark Commander sits back, knees spread wide, hands steepled casually over his abdomen. “I’ll summon the storm inside the carriage, if that’s what you wish. But then you’d faint again like a sad, sniveling child, and I’d have to wait for you to wake up and start all over again. So make it easier for both of us and tell me. Why. Did. You. Come.”

His words ravage my already shredded heart.

His cruelty is precise, practiced.

The air shifts—thicker, wetter. Like the breath of the sea before it drowns you.

I tilt my chin in defiance, mouth stubbornly shut.

He sighs. “You were going to poison everyone at the Equinox Festival.”

Shock roils through me, and I can’t stop my mouth from parting.

“I had the tunnels flushed out. There were barrels of toxinnia ready.” He rests his chin on a hand, cold eyes trapping me in place. “And the wormbark oil in my chambers?”

His chambers.

Not ours.

“Who was it for? Your dead captain?”

Tears prick my eyes at the mention of Daak. I turn my face away. Can’t bear to look at his murderer for another second.

“Who was it for?” he snarls, leaning forward.

Silence.

The ceiling feels lower with every second. As if the storm outside bears down from above, shrinking the air, crushing me inch by inch.

Lightning flashes, bathing me in its harrowing light.

“Who was it f—”

“For you!” Tears slide down my cheeks. “It was for you!”

For a moment, he just stares at me, unmoving.

“Stop lying.” His voice is deathly calm.

“I swear by the Tides, it was for you!”

Before my next heartbeat, he’s flown across the carriage, palms braced against the wall, caging my head between them.

“STOP. LYING!” he roars into my face.

The thunder is louder inside this coffin of wood and steel and violence. I gag, bile rising in my throat. My wrists jerk in their chains.

I can’t get out. I can’t get out.

There were nights he held me through storms, voice soft in my ear. Now he is the storm. And he’ll never hold me again.

I cower. I’m not proud of it, but I do. His fury is terrifying.

He is terrifying.

I don’t know how I’ll escape this. How I’ll escape him.

If I even can.

Panting, he settles back on the bench, scrubbing a violent hand across his mouth.

“You were going to poison everyone at the Festival. And then what? Rule Arbinj and Tundrayn with your captain by your side?” He tsks. “Shame he’s dead. You could’ve ruled together—how romantic.”

Anger drowns my grief at his flippant mention of Daak’s death.

How fucking dare he?

“You seem more upset to have caught me with another man than you are about the fact that I plotted to murder your family and seize the throne,” I hiss, lips curved in a mocking smile. “Poor baby commander. Can’t handle a little heartbreak?”

Another loud rumble of thunder sounds out, but I force myself to meet his gaze without flinching. For the first time since I awoke in chains, I have the upper hand.

His hands clench into tight fists, knuckles flaring white. A low growl echoes through the cramped space. His arms twitch, and for a moment, I think he might strike me.

I wish he would.

But he doesn’t. Just keeps glaring at me.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To the border.” I’m surprised he responds.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided.” He says it so casually, like he hasn’t decided what he’ll eat for dinner.

I swallow hard. “What did you do with his body?” I whisper.

The Dark Commander watches me with narrowed eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

I brace for his next cruel jibe—but it never comes.

The carriage jolts to a stop.

CHAPTER FIFTY

IT SHOULD HAVE TAKEN a full day’s ride to reach the border. I couldn’t have been knocked out for more than a few hours. There’s no time to wonder, though, because the Dark Commander looms over me, one knee braced beside my thigh on the wooden bench.

He’s so close. His scent hits me first—smoke and pine and the ghost of safety—and my traitorous lungs inhale greedily. But the image of Daak’s body crumpled on the ground flits before my eyes, lifeless because of him.

He leans over me, and my body does the unthinkable—recognizes him.

I want to crawl out of my own skin.

I hate the way my body trembles. A flush creeps up my neck, traitorous and humiliating. Why does his proximity still sear me like a brand? His exhale ghosts over my lips, and my stomach lurches—because part of me still leans toward the heat.

Part of me still wants.

And all of me hates it.

Impatient hands uncuff one wrist. The skin where the iron rested is red. He stills, eyes riveted to my skin. His lips purse, but then he fishes out another iron bracelet. It snaps around my wrist with a soft click.

The iron bites into my skin, the ache already blooming. He repeats the process with my other wrist, but he doesn’t linger this time. A rough length of rope binds my hands together.

There’s iron on my wrists and hatred in my mouth.

He grips my arm roughly and drags me from the carriage.

Sunlight lashes my face like punishment. Tall trees frame the sky, an endless sea of green across every horizon.

I squint against the brightness.

“You said we’re going to the border,” I accuse, leveling him with a glare.

“So eager to meet your fate?”

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

He nods to the carriage driver—a lanky, disheveled man who doesn’t dare look at me. With a crack of his whip, the carriage rolls away, leaving me stranded.

With my husband.

Is he going to kill me here?

Will he bother to bury my body or leave me to rot beneath the sun?

When the driver has vanished from sight, the Dark Commander drags me through the woods like a sack of meat, my feet slipping on damp, rotting leaves. I’m off balance with my hands bound, and the insufferable man hauls me along like a doll.

“Where are we going?” I grit out, tripping over another gnarled root.

“Shut up.”

“I swear by the Tides, if you—”

He whirls, large hand coiled around my neck as he shoves me into the nearest tree. Rough bark scrapes my back as he presses me harder against it. Panic rears in my chest, sharp and hot. I crush it down before it reaches my eyes.

I won’t let him break me.

His molten gray gaze is alight with icy rage and—something else I can’t quite name.

“You’ll what?” he snarls, baring his teeth, his breath hot against my face. “I don’t think you realize what kind of trouble you’re in. If you test me, I’ll kill you. If you annoy me, I’ll kill you. If you breathe wrong—I’ll. Kill. You. Stop asking questions.”

I believe him—the thud of Daak’s body hitting the ground still echoes in my heart.

My chest heaves against his, a rough tide of anger coursing through my veins. He’s right. I shouldn’t test him. I need to bide my time and figure out how to escape. My power is suppressed, and even if it wasn’t, he’s stronger than I am. For the briefest moment, his gaze drops to my lips before he steps back and continues dragging me through the woods.

Ten minutes later, we arrive at a small camp—three tents pitched around a crackling fire.

But it’s not the fire that holds my attention.

It’s the six men crowded around it, clad in dark leather and glinting armor.

Arbinji soldiers.

The hair on my arms stands on end.

I recognize one of the soldiers.

Sulon. Zev’s second in command.

My stomach knots when I spot him, that massive, unblinking brute.

And based on the pure hatred in his cold eyes, it seems like he hasn’t forgotten me either. Sulon doesn’t speak—just stares at my bound wrists and wipes his blade clean on a rag already stained with old blood.

I struggle, digging my feet into the ground, as the Dark Commander drags me forward.

But it’s useless. My heels leave a trail of flattened grass stretching from the edge of the clearing until the firepit.

“Sit.” When I don’t move, his large hands clamp around my shoulders and force me down. “Stay.”

I snarl at him. The soldiers chuckle, though some of them eye my bound wrists with confusion. They know I’m his wife. The Dark Commander gestures to Sulon, and the two of them step farther away, voices too low for me to make out. The other five men form a semi-circle around me.

Dread burns like acid in my veins.

I’ve never felt so vulnerable.

The Dark Commander and Sulon speak in hushed voices. The second in command’s gaze rakes over me like a rusted knife. He nods at whatever his commander says, and the two men return, settling across from me by the fire. The other soldiers slowly disperse, doing whatever it is that soldiers do between killing and marching toward killing.

My husband doesn’t spare me a second glance. The other men give me a wide berth, avoiding even glancing in my direction.

All ignore me. Except Sulon.

Whenever my gaze cuts to the hulking man, his eyes are already riveted to me, a vicious whirlpool of hunger and hate swirling within them. I feel dirty just under his gaze. Whenever my husband’s back is turned, Sulon finds some way to touch me—fingers brushed over my hair as he walks past or the side of his leg knocking into mine. Every time he’s near, the scent of rust and rancid oil curls in my nostrils.

I grit my teeth and watch him, rage simmering inside me, the iron cuffs chafing at my sore wrists.

I can’t remember the last time I drank anything. My mouth is painfully dry, like I’ve swallowed sand, but I’m too proud to ask for water. The sun slowly disappears beneath the horizon, the sky darkening to a deep purple. The men stop their tasks to eat.

I’m huddled by the fire, wrists burning, shoulders sore. My eyes fall to my bound hands—my finger is bare. The Dark Commander took his betrothal ring along with my necklace. I ignore the sting that pierces my heart.

That’s the least of my worries.

Because my husband stalks over, lowering himself beside me.

I hate the way my body still responds to his proximity—I catch myself leaning closer to him before I remember that I despise him. When I recoil, his scowl deepens. He tears off a strip of dried meat and holds it to my lips. Grimacing, I turn away.

“Eat,” he commands gruffly. The firelight casts dancing shadows across his face.

“Untie me. I’ll feed myself.”

“No.” He presses the meat to my mouth again, and I snarl, flinching away from his hands.

Zev eyes me for a beat, then shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

One of the soldiers, a tall, lean man with dark eyes says, “I can try to feed her, sire, if you’re worried about her reserves. A healer would be useful if one of us is injured.”

A beat.

My husband looks like he wants to murder him. “No,” he growls.

My stomach rumbles in protest.

“Wait,” I say to the soldier. “I’m very thirsty.”

The soldier hesitates for a second, then grabs a canteen, heading toward me.

He never makes it.

Like lightning, the Dark Commander storms over and snatches the canteen from his hand.

“Don’t go near her.” His voice is venomous, a muscle pulsing in his jaw.

The soldiers’ eyes are on me, even as they pretend not to watch.

With a long-suffering sigh, Zev strides back.

“Don’t try anything, waterwielder,” he hisses, face stony as he crouches to my level. I glare at him, holding up my iron-bound wrists. Idiot. Did he forget how iron works?

He tilts the canteen against my mouth, and I gulp down the water as quickly as I can manage before he changes his mind. There’s a strange expression on his face as he watches me. I wait for him to insult me, liken me to a fish or something equally stupid, but he doesn’t. He lets me drink my fill in tense silence.

When I finish, he grabs me by the arm and hauls me up.

“What—”

I don’t get my question out. My husband drags me over to a tree and forces me to the ground, hands heavy on my shoulders.

Hot anger courses through my veins, and even still, a spark skitters across my skin where he touches me.

I hate myself. I hate him.

“I could run,” I snap, trying to burn him with my glare.

He smirks. “Try it. I’ll drag you back by your pretty hair.”

Before I can respond, he slams his jaw shut and storms back to the fire.

My faithless eyes linger on the stretch of his tunic across the breadth of his shoulders, even as scorching fury simmers in my belly.

I’m an embarrassment to Tundrayn.

With a huff, I lean back against the tree and observe.

Sulon and one other soldier are earthwielders—Sulon summoned roots from the ground to secure the tents while the other grew some type of root vegetable within minutes. Three, I suspect, are nonwielders. Their tasks seem more menial compared to the others—sharpening weapons and cleaning armor.

The men speak in low voices around the fire, and I strain to listen.

“…Tundrayni…” Sulon whispers, but I can’t make out the rest. Tides drown them.

“…camp?” Zev responds, his voice low. He glances at me, as if he can sense my eyes. The bastards lower their voices further, and then it’s impossible to hear anything at all.

I don’t know how long I rest against the tree, but fatigue eventually overtakes me. I fight off sleep for as long as I can—I’m bound and surrounded by enemies, for Tide’s sake—but eventually I succumb.

A rough hand glides across my ankle, shoving up my leggings to skate along my bare skin. Sweaty fingers stroking my neck, yanking down my collar.

“Zev?” I mumble, trying to move.

I can’t.

A dark chuckle scrapes against my nerves.

“Zev? That’s cute.”

The camp is quiet. Too quiet. No hushed murmurs, no thudding boots. Not even the crackling of the fire.

My eyes snap open.

Sulon is hunched over me, hateful eyes glittering in the dark, one hand wrapped around my bare ankle, the other shoved down the front of my tunic.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

“HELLO, PRINCESS. REMEMBER ME?” His voice is slimy, just like him. A cruel smile stretches across his lips as he gropes me. “Not so queenly now, are you?”

“Get off me,” I rasp, struggling to scramble away from him. He shoves me onto the cold ground, twigs and rocks digging into my back.

His meaty fist grips the collar of my tunic.

A sharp rip. He tears it down to my navel, where my bound hands rest on my abdomen.

He buries his face in my neck and inhales, and Tides, I’m going to vomit. With all my might, I bring my knee up into his groin.

“Fuck,” he wheezes, pushing himself off.

A loud crack echoes through the silence as his palm connects with my cheek.

Pain explodes through every nerve. My face is on fire.

A warm drip. My nose is bleeding.

“On your feet,” he growls, glaring down at me.

“No.” I hate the tremble in my voice.

“On your feet, now.”

I ignore him, working my jaw. All my teeth seem to be intact.

With a low growl, Sulon grabs my arm. His grip is clammy and unyielding, like a dead thing pretending to be warm. I stumble as he hauls me to my feet, extending my bound arms for balance.

Rustling sounds from the tents, and the other soldiers slowly file out, some of them wiping sleep from bleary eyes.

But no sign of their commander.

Where is he?

“What are you doing?” one of the soldiers hisses, the same one who’d offered to feed me earlier. “She’s the Commander’s wife.”

Sulon stares down at me, eyes flinty with malice. “She’s in chains, idiot.” The soldier still looks uncertain, chewing the inside of his cheek. It’s clear Sulon outranks him.

“I don’t know…” the soldier says, worried eyes scanning my bruised face. “He asked me if I thought she was pretty before he left. He was acting strange. Angrier than usual.”

Sulon scoffs. “She’s a prisoner. And that means she’s mine.”

No one says anything else. No one tries to stop him.

His gaze slides across my body again, and its filthy heat burns as if he’d pressed an open flame to my skin. Sulon’s cold eyes meet mine. “Bow.”

Terror grips me, freezing me in place. I know what comes next.

He scowls. “Bow, Tundrayni whore.”

The red of rage seeps into my vision, even as fear coats my tongue.

He will not break me. I’m the princess of fucking Tundrayn.

I straighten my spine. Then, I spit right in his ugly face.

Sulon freezes.

The men stare in shock.

Calmly, too calmly, Sulon wipes the spit from his cheek.

Then, he backhands me.

A sharp crack splinters the silence as my head flings to the side. The coppery tang of blood explodes across my tongue. The sheer force of the blow knocks me off my feet. I hit the ground hard.

Blood trickles from my mouth, dripping down my neck. Jagged rocks shred through my leggings, the skin of my knees, as I crawl away, but rough hands fist in my hair, yanking me back. Sharp needles of pain radiate through my scalp. A pained yelp claws up my throat, but I press my lips together, caging in the sound.

I refuse to give him that satisfaction.

Sulon hauls me to my feet again, this time holding me against his body—it’s the only thing that keeps me from falling over.

The world tilts.

My head is swimming.

His breath is hot against my face, rough fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him.

“Beg me to stop, and I’ll consider it,” he whispers against my lips.

He’s lying. I know he won’t stop. He’s just a sadistic prick who wants to hear me plead.

“Stubborn little bitch,” he says when I don’t respond, almost tenderly. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you beg before the night is over.” His hand clamps around my throat, fingers digging in like an iron cuff. Pressure builds fast—too fast—until my eyes are wide and panicked.

I can’t breathe. His grip shackles my throat. My bound fists hammer at his chest, his arms, his side—wild and desperate strikes that do absolutely nothing. He doesn’t flinch. It’s like hitting a mountain.

Still, I fight.

Still, he squeezes.

My lungs burn. My vision blurs. Black dots flicker like ashy snow. My knees buckle, and Sulon forces me down until I’m kneeling before him. His grip eases around my neck, and I finally suck in sharp, frantic lungfuls of air.

The soldier who tried to feed me … I try to catch his gaze, but he stares at his boots. Tidescursed coward.

“See? Not so bad when you listen, hmm?” He pats my cheek sharply. Tidesdamned bastard. I launch myself at him with a garbled cry.

Sulon growls.

There’s a low rumbling.

Not in the sky—but in the earth.

Thick, gnarled roots emerge from the ground, coiling around my ankles, trapping me in place. I watch in muted horror as another set of roots erupts and coils around my wrists like writhing brown snakes.

I’m utterly at his mercy. If I survive this, I’ll haunt Zev until his last breath.

The other soldiers watch in silence—some with concern, others with leering gazes like they’re waiting their turn.

Panic claws at my chest, sharp as the thorns piercing my flesh.

“Enough playing, Tundrayni bitch,” Sulon snarls, unbuckling his belt.

Tides, let me survive this.

Let me live long enough to kill them all.