Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

IDON’T WANT TO WAKE up.

I’ll have to live with what I’ve done—what I wanted.

Sleep abandons me anyway.

My eyelids flutter open. Beige canvas above me. The mattress beneath my body is thin, barely there. Damp, scratchy sheets tangle around my waist and legs. I try to swallow, but my mouth is bone-dry. A raspy cough escapes instead.

There’s an ache between my thighs. The wetness is damning.

But my head is clear. The fog of lust has dissipated, leaving me to face the cold clarity of reality.

A throat clears, a few feet away.

I bolt upright, one hand covering my chest, the other flung out in front of me. Vykiss’s face bears an apologetic smile.

“Have some water, Princess. I’ll fetch you something to eat.” She hands me a canteen, and before I can question her, the petite woman disappears through the tent flap.

I chug the water in heaving gulpfuls. My reserves are pitifully empty.

I’ve finished the canteen by the time she returns with a small tray laden with soup, bread, and some type of charred meat. My mouth waters, and I devour most of the food as soon as she sets the tray down.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Two and a half days.”

I drop the spoon.

“Did—did anyone come in?”

She shakes her head. “Sork—the general came to check on you a few times, but he didn’t enter the tent.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Vykiss.”

“Vy. Please.” Her smile is tentative.

I bite my lip, flicking my gaze toward her. “Vy, did I … say anything while I was asleep?”

She looks away, her face flaring a damning shade of pink.

“No, Princess.”

“Vy.”

Her lips press together. “At first, it was just sounds. You were panicked. Afraid, maybe? You kept saying no. Then, you were quiet for some time. I might’ve dozed off. But then, um …” She averts her gaze. “You kept saying Zev. Loudly.”

It’s my turn to flush.

“This doesn’t leave the tent,” I say, voice firm. “Please.”

Vy nods quickly. “Of course, Princess.”

With my hunger sated, my power again thrums inside me. The food soothed something primal. But nothing can ease the ache in my chest.

My feet are unsteady as I rise. Vy hands me a blue tunic—hers, I assume.

Sunlight punishes me as I exit the tent, blinding me for several heartbeats.

It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust.

When they finally do, I wish I had actually gone blind.

Zev is still chained to the platform directly across from my tent, exactly where I last saw him.

But he’s unrecognizable.

His face is a mess of angry, purple bruises and jagged, open cuts. Both eyes are swollen, though one is completely shut. His open eye is fixed on me, though I’m too far to read the emotion that passes through it. His shoulders drop slightly when he sees me.

His dark hair is matted against his forehead with what I know is blood. My gaze drags downward—his shirt has been cut away, but instead of any fabric, he wears evidence of a brutal beating. Every inch of his tanned skin is mottled with bruises—some red and fresh, others yellowing and faded.

I wish that was the worst of it.

Someone took a blade to him and carved thick, straight lines across the top of his chest in a neat, macabre row. A swathe of skin across his left flank is an unnatural black—rotting and leathery. An ice burn. Around the edges, his skin has paled to a sickly bluish-gray, ringed with bruises.

My husband slumps forward in his chains, shoulders bearing the bulk of his weight.

My eyes burn.

Unbidden, my feet carry me across the campsite toward him. He watches me, his face stoic, though I’m not sure his battered visage can manage any other expression.

Ten more steps, and I’ll reach him. My palms glow at my sides.

I need to—

“Princess!”

Sorka’s voice stops me in my tracks. He rushes toward me, thick brows knit with concern.

“Are you well? The effects wore off? You’ve eaten?” he rushes out.

I give a single nod in answer to all his questions, shoving my hands behind my back to hide both their quiver and healing light.

“Good. Come with me.” He rests a hand on my back, guiding me away from the center of camp.

Away from Zev.

I crane my head to look back at him—he’s still watching me, hands chained but still clenched. The rise and fall of his chest looks dangerously shallow, and the faint, wheezing rasp of his breath whips my heart into a panicked rhythm.

Tides, fuck.

“Princess?” Sorka says, glancing down at me in concern. “Did you hear what I said?”

“No, sorry,” I stammer, tearing my gaze from my husband. “I’m still disoriented.”

Sorka lifts his tent flap. Vy is inside, clearing away empty dishes. She startles when we enter. The tray drops to the ground with a thud. Her eyes are wide, palms outstretched before her. A beat—then, recognition seemingly dawns, and the tension seeps from her shoulders.

“Apologies, Vykiss,” Sorka murmurs with a remorseful twist of his lips. “We didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s all right,” she whispers back, holding his gaze. The corners of her mouth tilt up just slightly. “I’m finished here. I’ll just, um—”

Sorka drops onto one knee, grabbing the tray off the ground and handing it back to her. She dips into a graceful curtsy, then sweeps from the tent, one final glance thrown back at us.

The general turns to me. “I was saying, Daak hasn’t reported for briefing in days. Do you know where he is?”

The air leaves my lungs.

My pulse stutters as the memories crash back.

Daak.

Sorka goes deathly still. He must read the harrowed anguish on my face. He swallows hard. “What happened?”

“He-he was caught in the tunnels,” I whisper. “The day Ze—the Commander discovered the plan and captured me.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you immediately. Just—the power sharing. I was running out of time. I’m so sorry, General Sorka.”

Sorka’s gaze drops to the table. His hands clench into tight fists, knuckles white as snow. The bereft father takes three shaky breaths, a glossy sheen covering his eyes.

“Who?” he asks hoarsely.

Zev’s battered face flashes through my mind, his wounds still oozing blood.

“It-it was a palace guard. I don’t know his name.”

Guilt coils around my heart, its barbed tendrils leaving jagged wounds, but I don’t say anything else.

“Tides carry him to peaceful waters.” His voice is a broken whisper. Sorka takes another deep breath. “He loved you, Mayah. He never said a word, but I could see it in his face. I knew it.” His splintered voice cleaves another fissure in my heart. “It always frightened me, knowing fate had written heartbreak for him.” His smile is watery. “Perhaps you’ll be his in another life.”

Twin tears slide down my cheeks, and a quiet sob bursts free. We sit in silence for a few minutes, grieving a man we both loved.

That’s all the time the general allows us.

He clears his throat again, scrubbing his eyes and straightening in his chair. He reaches into his cloak, then places a silver chain across his desk.

My mother’s necklace.

“It was in his pocket,” he explains. “I thought it might be yours.”

My fingers are reverent as I trace the teardrop pendant. “It was Mama’s,” I whisper. “Thank you.” I slowly meet his eyes. “Did—did he have anything else?”

Sorka shakes his head.

He must have had my ring melted down. Or thrown into the sea. Or stuffed in a messy drawer like an unimportant afterthought.

I don’t know which one is worse.

“We need a new plan,” Sorka says, pulling me from my tangled thoughts. “With the Dark Commander in our grasp, we have leverage over Arbinj.”

“What does Father plan to do now?” I ask. Cold dread slithers its icy tentacles up my spine. It coils around my throat, poised to choke.

“You can ask him yourself. He arrives tonight.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

SORKA DOESN’T LEAVE ME alone for the rest of the day. A dense haze clouds my mind, but I try to focus as he gives me a tour of the camp. In the center is, of course, my battered husband strung up on a wooden platform. Around the camp’s perimeter, tents are staked into the ground in a semi-circle. On one side, there’s an open space where warriors are training. Beside them, a handful of horses paw the ground, tied to trees. One of the warriors tends to them; his posture is tense, wary of the unfamiliar animals.

Sorka introduces me to the men—there are a handful of waterwielders, though most are nonwielders. Vykiss is the only healer, and the only other woman, amongst them.

Sorka tells me that after the escalating Rebellion attacks, Arbinj had allowed Tundrayn to set up a few camps deeper within their borders. This camp is one of many smaller ones, though most of Tundrayn’s forces remain on our side of the border. A handful of warriors remain in hiding in the Arbinji capital, though without Daak to lead them, they’ll need to find their own way home.

As we walk through camp, warriors stop to greet us. I nod politely, but my eyes keep drifting to where Zev is tied up. A strange sense of disorientation clouds my senses, like my head is submerged in water. Shards of ice lodge in my throat, scratching each breath I take.

I can’t stop looking. I can’t stop caring.

Tides damn me.

I shouldn’t feel this way.

He hates me. He was planning to kill me.

Even still—he saved me from Sulon. And he killed all of his men.

For me.

But he put me in that position.

After he learned of my betrayal. After he murdered Daak.

Tides, take me. My thoughts oscillate wildly like a broken compass.

I don’t hear a word Sorka says.

At night, I pace in my tent, wearing a worn path in the yellowing grass beneath my boots.

There’s a soft rustling as the tent flap opens. Vy enters, her eyes misty and red.

My steps falter, brows furrowing. “Are you all right?”

She clears her throat, nodding slightly, before settling onto her cot beside mine. Trembling hands skate over the sheets until there’s not a wrinkle left. Then her hands clench the fabric, knuckles white, before smoothing out the wrinkles again.

“The general’s son,” she finally murmurs, not quite meeting my eyes. “You knew him well?”

My throat tightens. “Yes. Daak. How did you know?”

She doesn’t respond, just watches me silently, but I can practically hear the words lingering on her tongue.

The general told me.

You two were close.

He loved you. Did you love him back?

But when she speaks, it’s not at all what I expect.

“You care for the Dark Commander.”

I freeze.

Her words aren’t accusing—they just are.

When I don’t answer, she continues. “It was his name—Zev—you were calling in your drugged sleep. And when you saw his condition this morning … well, your face spoke for you.”

I scrub a hand over my damning face.

“It’s—it’s complicated.”

She hums but doesn’t press further. “You should eat. Keep your reserves high. It can be disorienting after a massive power sharing.”

Vy’s right. I’ve felt a strange sense of dizziness all day that I don’t remember from the first time Zev channeled into me. Maybe because he shared so much more this time—because I tricked him into it.

I sit on my thin mattress, only a foot of space between us, munching on the dried meat she hands me. “Vy…” I start, brows knitting together. She seems quite knowledgeable about power sharing and its effects. “Have you power shared before?”

She blanches, her spine going rigid.

“Yes.” Her voice is so soft, it’s almost lost in the scant space between our cots. “But not by choice.”

Tides drag me into uncharted waters. My blood runs cold.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, because what else can I say?

She shrugs, like the only way she can keep going is to pretend it doesn’t matter. “It was years ago. I was stationed by the border. That night, I was alone in the healing tent, cleaning up. Two waterwielders entered—I had healed them earlier that day.” A broken, humorless laugh wrenches from her throat. “I thought they had injured themselves again. One of them held me down while the other channeled his power into me. Not a lot. But it was enough.” Her glistening blue eyes rise to meet mine.

“Then they just had to wait.”

Her words pierce my heart like serrated shards of ice.

No wonder power sharing is forbidden.

Tides, drown those men. Let their bodies bloat, faces turn ashen. Let them be torn limb from limb by ravenous sharks, their remains scattered in the vast oceans.

“I’m so sorry, Vy,” I whisper. “Did you—”

She nods quickly. “I reported them. Sorka was the general at the camp … he was very kind. Understanding. He believed me even when those men denied it. They said I was willing.” She spits the word like a curse, and her hands fist the sheets again. “We can’t execute wielders, as you know—too valuable. But he put them on the front lines. He told me himself when they’d been killed a month later.”

I hope their deaths were painful.

Foolishly, I hope it was Zev who killed them.

I open my mouth, more comforting words poised on my tongue, when there’s movement outside the tent. Frantic thudding of boots, muffled shouts.

Then, his booming voice echoes—deep, commanding, and familiar enough to freeze my blood.

Father has arrived.

CHAPTER SIXTY

MY TIDESDAMNED HEART BEATS in my throat as I exit the tent on shaky legs like a newborn reindeer. Warriors crowd the clearing, craning their necks to see their king, a wall of leather and muscle and reverence.

And there he is—cutting through the throng in flowing robes trimmed with fur, long white beard gathered with a blue ribbon. He needs no crown. There’s an innate regality in his posture that I’ve tried to mimic for years.

I’ve never mastered it. Perhaps, I never will.

Father isn’t looking at me, though.

His icy gaze is frozen on Zev as he stalks toward the platform.

But my husband can’t be bothered to look at him.

His one open eye is riveted to me.

Father reaches the platform, long robes trailing behind him.

My lungs hold my breath captive. Zev is still watching me, hands clenched, knuckles white. Father follows his gaze—he could never stand to be ignored. His cold eyes land on me. For a second, I think—I hope—they might soften at seeing his only child after months.

But they don’t. The ice in his eyes doesn’t melt. His gaze doesn’t linger for even a breath. I may as well have been part of the scenery. He looks through me, as he so often has.

He turns back to Zev.

Crack.

Father backhands him.

The loud slap shears through my heart, and I lose another piece of it.

Zev’s face twists to the side, a stark white mark blooming before it flares red and melds into the patchwork of his other bruises. There’s a shallow rasp in his breath as he says, “Hello, father-in-law.”

Father sneers at him, hand clamping around Zev’s jaw. “You will die in this camp, Arbinji filth. I swear it by the Tides.”

A broken excuse for a laugh bubbles from Zev’s chapped lips. “Lord over me later, Tormik. I’m not going anywhere. But at least pretend to be a good father and see your daughter first.”

All eyes swing to me.

My face burns.

Father grits his teeth before slapping Zev again. I stifle a gasp, biting my tongue until I taste copper. Vy’s gaze burns the side of my face, but I don’t dare move.

Father whirls, striding away. He doesn’t pay me a second glance.

I’m supposed to follow him. My legs obey, but my eyes refuse to listen.

They find Zev. He isn’t looking at me anymore, though. He stares at the ground, shoulders shuddering with labored breaths. Worry floods the chambers of my heart, drowning me even after I can’t see him anymore.

In Sorka’s tent, Father’s already seated, maps unfurled on the table before him. Sorka stands at attention behind him, jaw set and concern lighting his gaze as he assesses me. I fold myself into the rickety chair across from Father, and he finally, finally deigns to look at me.

“Mayah,” he says softly. His gaze drops to my mother’s necklace, and his lips turn down at the corners. “You are … well?”

That’s a strange way to ask if I’m all right after months of sleeping in his enemy’s bed while risking my life to organize a coup.

“I am. All things considered.” I can’t help the sharp bite that creeps into my voice, but Father doesn’t notice. Or he pretends not to.

“Did you send search parties? After the Rebellion attacked the carriages?” My hands clench into fists in my lap.

“No. Our scouts found your tracks. They surmised that you were heading toward Arbinj. I knew you could handle yourself.”

“What if he had hurt me?”

“Did he?”

“No.” My voice is sharp.

“Mayah—”

“Let me brief you on my mission.” His mouth tightens into a scowl, but he dips his chin.

I recount as much as I can. The mounting Rebellion attacks, Zev leaving for the border. My carefully laid plans for the Equinox.

Father nods, his gaze pensive, a gnarled hand stroking his neat, white beard. “All of the attacks were not Rebellion—we staged most of them.”

My brows knit together, and Father explains, “To lure the Dark Commander away. When you didn’t make contact with Daak, Sorka deduced that you were being closely monitored. Without the Commander hovering, we hoped it would give you more freedom to achieve your goals. How were you discovered?”

“Ze—he returned unexpectedly. Found me in the tunnels with Daak. With his guards,” I lie, glancing at Sorka whose spine goes rigid. “I tried to fight back, but he summoned a storm, and I fain—”

“Enough,” Father interjects sharply, his features severe. My weakness has always embarrassed him. I bow my head, throat tight. “Sorka informed me of the rest. Luckily for you, the tidesdamned idiot Commander stopped so close to the Tundrayni camp. I can’t imagine what horrors he had planned for you at the border.” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “I’m glad you are safe, Daughter.”

Tears prick my eyes, Zev’s bloodied face flitting through my mind.

“What is your command?” I ask woodenly, still looking at my lap. My gaze snags on the pale sliver of skin where my betrothal ring rested.

“Varad knows we have his son. If he wants him back, he’ll need to meet our terms.”

“And what are our terms?” I whisper.

“Expand our borders to include fertile land, for one. Anything else he’ll give me for his son. And Varad and his heir must come here to finalize the agreement and collect his Commander.” Varad would never agree to something so risky. Would he?

An icy smile frosts over Father’s face.

“Where we’ll kill them. Our revenge is near, Daughter. Your efforts will not be in vain.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

IDON’T SLEEP THAT NIGHT. After Vy drifts off on her narrow cot, I tiptoe quietly to the tent’s canvas flap. Peeking outside, my eyes find Zev’s silhouette.

The camp is deserted. Except for the two guards flanking Zev.

Tides damn them.

With a quick glance at Vy’s sleeping form, I cast out my power, sensing the water flowing through the earth.

A beat, then—

Twin cracks echo through the camp, the noise sounding from opposite directions. The guards startle and share a quick glance, then hurry off to investigate the disturbance.

They’ll find trees fissured in half, much like Zev did months ago.

Tides, let it be enough time.

The hood of my cloak is pulled low over my head, my steps silent as I cross the camp.

This is potentially the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Zev is restrained right in the middle of camp. Anyone could peer out from their tent and see me—my father could see me.

It’s a risk I’m willing to take, apparently.

Under the silvery moonlight, his hair shines almost blue except where it’s matted with blood. Both eyes are closed, and there are fresh bruises marring his torso. Right before I reach the platform, his eye snaps open.

I freeze.

We stare at each other.

“Come to have a turn?” he rasps. His voice sounds like it’s been dragged over broken glass.

With slow, shaky steps, I climb onto the platform. My hands tremble as I reach for his ravaged chest. I swallow thickly, hovering for a second, unsure if touching him will unravel me.

When my palms finally rest against his chest, I gasp sharply.

So much pain.

I close my eyes, sensing his injuries.

Six of his ribs are broken, one of which has pierced his lung, and two others are cracked. There’s a slow bleed seeping into his stomach. Both of his kidneys are struggling to function—likely pummeled into oblivion. Four toes and his right ankle are broken.

Hot, anguished tears prick my eyes.

He was used as a punching bag while I slept for days.

His pain thrums beneath my palms, a damning echo I can’t escape.

I take another shaky breath, willing my healer’s training to steady my hand. Willing myself to see him as just another patient.

I can’t do anything about the external wounds—they’ll know someone healed him—but I can heal his internal injuries.

When I open my eyes, Zev’s squinted gaze is riveted to my necklace.

I take another shuddering breath, willing my heartbeat to slow. My palms alight, and I set to work on healing him.

“Why are you helping me?” he grits out, gray eyes almost silver in the moonlight. “To draw out my suffering?”

Tides, the sound of his splintered voice rents my heart in two.

So I pretend I don’t hear him.

I don’t have an answer I can give anyway. Instead, I focus on his ribs, slowly mending the fissures in the bones. Once those are healed, I work on his punctured lung.

“Why?” he presses. His voice sounds better, already stronger, and it’s a balm to my battered heart. With trembling fingers, I retrieve the bread hidden in my cloak. I tear off a chunk and hold it to his lips. The stubborn man turns his face away, much like I did at his camp when I was his prisoner.

“Zev,” I hiss, casting a quick glance around the clearing. “I don’t have much time. Eat.”

“Don’t call me Zev.”

I bare my teeth. “Fine. Eat, dumbass.”

His eyes brim with unfiltered suspicion.

“What’s your plan?”

“For Tides’ sake, I don’t have one.” I force two fingers into his mouth and pry it open, then shove the bread inside.

I half expect him to spit it out, but he swallows it down. When he’s eaten all the bread, I wield a thin stream of water from my canteen, flowing it into his mouth.

“Why didn’t you let me die?” I ask after he’s finished drinking. “When I was bleeding out.”

Zev doesn’t answer immediately. His chapped, bloodied lips press into a grim line. A muscle jumps in his jaw, as if the memory infuriates him. It probably does—I tricked him into sharing his power, weakening him. It’s why he’s strung up in a Tundrayni camp.

Yet another betrayal to add to my growing list.

“You’re mine to kill,” he finally says, his voice cold. “I’ll die before I let you leave this world of your own choice.”

My hands still, my gaze slowly meeting his.

“Why are you helping me?” he repeats. The labored wheeze from his pierced lung has vanished.

“You’ll die if I don’t. Father has plans for you.”

I heal his broken toes and ankle—hopefully no one notices the mended bones inside his boot.

When I’ve healed all that I can, I set to numbing his pain.

“Stop,” he snaps, his voice cutting through me like a blade.

“You’re in pain.”

“I said stop.” His eyes are hard. “The pain reminds me I’m still alive. And if I’m alive, I can still kill you.”

I turn away before he sees the tears slide down my cheeks.

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

Father will kill him, and I don’t care.

We need him alive. That’s what I tell myself.

But I know that’s not why I came.

It’s the lies we tell ourselves that keep us moving forward.