Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

“FOX MANEUVER!”

The warriors crouch in tandem, crawl across the wet grass, before pouncing on an unseen enemy, daggers held aloft. Sorka oversees their training, while Father watches from a chair with crossed arms and pursed lips.

I breathe easier knowing his scrutiny isn’t aimed at me.

Not yet anyway.

Sunlight shines over the camp, casting a bright glow over tired faces. The ground is warm beneath me where I sit beside Vy while we watch the warriors train. So far, she’s healed two sprains. I’ve done nothing but steal glances at Zev. He stands straighter today, and I smother the quiet satisfaction that wells in my chest.

It doesn’t last.

During a pause between maneuvers, one of the warriors, a man named Parku, breaks formation, his stiff strides leading him toward my husband.

I stiffen.

At first, he just stares at Zev, hatred crashing through his pale blue eyes like an unforgiving tide.

“You murdered my father,” he spits. “His name was Tommak. Do you even remember him?”

Zev pretends to think. My heart clenches in my chest. Don’t provoke him, I want to shout, but I keep my lips pressed together.

“I remember him. Tall grunting brute with a round belly? Squealed like a pig when I—”

The air whooshes out of him as Parku hauls back and pummels him in the abdomen.

My breath catches as if he’s hit me.

Zev grits his teeth through the pain. He must have broken another rib. Then, my husband grins at him, the daft idiot. “Your father’s corpse hit harder than you do.”

Parku punches him in the face. Blood arcs through the air as Zev’s head is knocked backward. Still, the insufferable man smirks, his teeth gleaming red.

“One more, son of Tommak,” he rasps. “I’ll give you one more hit before I kill you.”

The warrior hauls back again, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Parku!” I shout before he can swing. “Come help me with these supplies.”

I wobble to my feet, heart hammering in my chest. Father’s gaze cuts me like a blade across my back. Parku throws one more venomous look at Zev before jogging over to me.

He staggers back as I shove my supply kit into his arms—valerian root, liniments, gauze, among other things—I’ve learned to manage my reserves and use natural remedies for minor injuries. Sauzon would be proud.

We walk to my tent. I applaud myself for not tripping the hulking warrior beside me.

I don’t turn to see if Father is still watching.

Zev’s chest is cold beneath my palms, his heartbeat erratic, as I heal him under the cover of night.

“You stopped that man from beating me.”

I glare at him. I’ve been eating more than my fair share to keep my reserves high and squirreling away food for him. “You’re an idiot for provoking him. Making more work for me.”

“Why did you stop him?” His steely gaze is unyielding, and I resist the urge to flinch away from it.

The truth rises up my throat, and I don’t swallow it down fast enough. “I couldn’t bear to watch him hurt you. It hurt me to watch.”

His gray eyes are molten as they study me.

“Such pretty lies,” he finally murmurs. “Even now.”

Let him think it’s a lie. I don’t know if I believe the truth, either.

I finish healing his injuries, then tiptoe back to my tent without another word.

I freeze in my tracks.

Vy’s sharp blue eyes stare back at me.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

“VY,” I WHISPER, WIDE eyes studying her face—her perfectly blank face. “Sorry if I woke you. I went to relieve myself.”

I shuffle across the small space, sinking into the narrow cot beside hers, the thin mattress creaking beneath my weight. I draw the blanket to my chin and lie stiffly on my side, my back facing her. My heart thunders against my ribcage, each beat louder than the last. I can’t tell if my lie passed as truth. My breath catches on the edge of each inhale, waiting.

“The Commander looked healthier today,” she muses, voice cutting through the dark. “I imagine he’ll be even better tomorrow.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

The air thickens, and I struggle to breathe. The small tent seems to constrict around me. I slowly turn to face her, though I can’t make out her delicate features in the darkness.

“What do you want?” I ask woodenly.

She’s silent for so long, I foolishly wonder if she fell asleep, and I imagined the entire exchange.

“I’ll keep your secret, Princess,” she says at last, her voice steady in the dark. There’s no judgment in it—just quiet certainty, like a thread pulled taut. Her mattress squeaks as she shifts, turning on her side to face me.

“And what would you have in return?” I ask, my voice edged with steel. Caution frosts each syllable.

There’s a pause, then the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusts her blanket. “Nothing yet,” she says simply. “But you’ll owe me a favor.”

It’s not a threat. Not quite. But the implication coils between us, cold as ice. I stare at the ceiling, weighing her words.

But my silence is a pretense.

I already know my answer. And I think she does, too.

“Done,” I whisper.

The next morning, I emerge from my tent to find Father interrogating Zev. Somehow, he manages to look regal despite the dark blood splattered on his blue robes, burgundy flecks dotting his neatly combed beard.

“How many men are stationed at the border?”

“Fifteen, last I checked. Some might have died by now, though. We’re not suited for Tundrayn’s abysmal temperatures.”

Father grits his teeth. “Has Varad secured an alliance with Volca?”

“Maybe. Probably not. My brother’s an ass.” He grins, sharp and mocking. “Not half as charming as I am. You lucked out with me as a son-in-law.”

My heart thuds painfully in my chest, cold dread freezing my lungs. I recognize the tension in Father’s shoulders, the white-knuckled grip of one hand around the other, the tight lines around his mouth.

“I’m afraid you’re not taking me seriously,” Father murmurs, his voice a silken threat.

With a casual wave of his hand, Father summons a sloshing ball of water. It spirals through the air, swirling and compressing until the outline is a smooth sphere.

My breath stutters.

I know what comes next.

The translucent orb floats through the air—then submerges Zev’s head. My husband doesn’t move, doesn’t struggle. The only outward sign of its effect are the bulging tendons in his neck. Small bubbles escape from his mouth and float to the top as he slowly releases air.

I haven’t taken a breath myself.

Minutes pass.

His shoulders vibrate, veins cording in his arms. His eyes widen, neck bobbing futilely.

My hands clench into tight fists, nails digging so hard into my palms that I’m sure I’ve drawn blood. I could wield the water, make a small pocket of air, just enough so he can—

A soft hand on my shoulder startles me. “Come inside, Princess,” Vy murmurs. “You should not watch this.”

I shrug her hand off.

I have to watch. I did this.

I don’t know how long it’s been. Zev’s face is dark and splotchy inside the bubble of water. He’s out of air. His lungs must be burning. My husband had been right—death by lightning is nothing compared to this cruelty. His head swings from side to side, thrashing in his restraints, trying to escape drowning on land.

But it’s no use.

A deafening crash, like angry waves battering an iceberg, rings in my ears, drowning out the jeers of the warriors. They watch him suffer like he’s a tidesdamned spectacle for their enjoyment.

An eternity later, Father lets the sphere drop.

Zev gasps for air, violently coughing up water. His hair is drenched, slicked against his forehead in dark swirls, his skin pale.

“Princess, please.” Vy is more insistent now, but I ignore her. My breath wrenches through my lungs, leaving behind a harrowing tightness.

“How many soldiers are stationed at the border?”

Zev hasn’t stopped coughing, but he still manages to be an idiot.

“Three”—cough—“but your pathetic warriors”—cough—“wouldn’t last ten minutes”—cough—“against them.”

Father submerges Zev’s head again.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of healing and shoveling food down my throat and willing it not to come back up. Father calls me into his tent to discuss strategies, though I barely hear a word. Muffled grunts and the agonizing sound of fists striking flesh bombard me.

The warriors are taking turns pummeling Zev again.

Bile rises in my throat, hot and punishing.

“…promise them a third of our food stores?” I catch the end of Father’s sentence. He’s talking about convincing Volca to ally with us. Or at least, that’s what I assume.

“We won’t survive. Our stores are lean enough as they are, and that’s including what Arbinj has sent us,” Sorka responds. “We won’t be getting the third shipment from them now.”

Muffled laughter.

A shrill blaring in my ears.

Five repeated thuds, and a mocking jeer.

The distinct sound of crunching bone.

I think my heart might give out, it’s racing so fast. Violent streams of acid climb up my throat.

I can’t contain it. My head swings to the side, and I retch all over the floor in great, heaving shudders.

“Princess!” Sorka darts over, sweeping my hair from my face and rubbing a large hand over my back. “Are you ill?”

I wipe my mouth.

Father hasn’t moved. He just regards me with his cold, unreadable stare.

“Are you with child?” Ice is warmer than Father’s voice.

“No.”

“Are you cert—”

“I’m a healer,” I snap. “I think I’d know.”

That’s his concern? Not if I were violated, but if I ended up with child?

Before he can react, I stumble from the tent, heading for the men loitering around Zev.

Vy intercepts me before I can reach them.

“Not here, Princess,” she whispers, pulling me into our tent. “Lay down. You don’t look well. I’ll handle those men.”

She draws the blanket around my shoulders, then disappears through the flap.

It’s dark when I wake—Vy is asleep beside me.

I edge toward the tent flap, easing it open. The night sky is clear, stars twinkling overhead. It clashes with the turmoil in the chest, this gnawing ache that has only grown stronger with every passing day. With every new bruise on my husband’s body.

Zev’s slumped in his chains, asleep, chin tucked against his chest. My heart tightens with concern. Did Vy manage to distract the warriors lined up to use him as a punching bag?

I’ve nearly taken a step into the clearing when I freeze—Father stalks out of his tent, heading toward the wooden platform where Zev is bound. I quickly close the flap, peeking through the slivered opening.

Father’s knees crack as he climbs the platform. Zev doesn’t stir. Father regards him for a moment, then viciously kicks his boot. My husband startles awake, head snapping up. His eyes sharpen quickly, sleep blinked away, when he sees Father standing before him.

“You interrupted my dream, Tormik,” he wheezes. Shit. More broken ribs. “And it was delightful.”

For a beat, Father just stares at him.

“Did you touch my daughter?”

Zev breaks into a salacious grin. “Tormik, please. That’s between me and my wife.”

A sharp crack reverberates through me as Father backhands Zev.

“Answer me! Did. You. Hurt. Her.”

The mock playfulness vanishes from Zev’s face. “What did you think was going to happen to her?” he seethes, face twisted with rage even as his voice cracks with pain. “When you wrapped her in a bow and gifted her to your enemy? Where did this sudden concern come from, Tormik?”

“You despicable bastard,” Father hisses, knuckles white around his staff.

“You’re the one who sent your daughter to your enemy’s bed. Whatever she’s endured, it’s by your hand.”

The sky rumbles, low and ominous, then—

–a bolt of lightning strikes the ground a few feet behind the platform.

A startled gasp escapes me.

And my world burns to ash.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

ASHRILL RINGING BLARES IN my ears, sharp and relentless.

The sky had been clear moments ago—inky black night stretching endlessly overhead. No clouds. No warning.

So where did the lightning come from?

The flash still burns behind my eyes, seared into my vision.

My gasp caught Father’s attention. His head snaps toward me, ice-blue eyes narrowing. Zev follows a beat later.

“Mayah…” Father starts.

Wind slams into me as I barrel out, the tent flap snapping like a whip behind me. My legs tremble as I approach him.

The lightning couldn’t have been Zev. He’s bound with iron.

A fractured sob escapes me, and I know.

I just know.

“It was you,” I whisper, edging closer.

“Mayah,” Father says again, and it’s his stern voice, the one he uses when I haven’t lived up to his standards. “You’re confused.”

I am livid, is what I am.

“The lightning. I saw it. It was you.”

Father descends from the platform and strides toward me. His hands rest on my shoulders, but I shove him away.

“All those nights I spent cowering in my bed,” I whisper. “Those storms. They were you. You’re a stormwielder.”

His lips twist with barely repressed rage. “Calm down. You’re drawing attention,” he hisses.

He’s right. Faces slowly peer through darkened tents, wide eyes watching us. Some of the warriors emerge, disheveled and groggy.

But I don’t care. For the first time in my life, I don’t care what my father has to say. My mind reels, struggling to process what I saw with my own eyes. Father has a second ability, like me.

He’s a tidesdamned stormwielder. But how?

Realization dawns on me, cold and swift.

“Turmah,” I whisper, eyes wide. “She was already with child when she returned.”

His mother’s name ignites Father’s fury.

“You know nothing of what you speak!” he shouts, his eyes wild. Just as quickly, he seems to remember an audience has gathered. His posture morphs, assuming the disguise of respected king once more. Everything about him is a lie.

Father’s gaze sweeps the camp. “Return to your tents,” he says evenly, waving his hand in dismissal. “Recent events have made my daughter … sensitive. Perhaps it was wrong of me to send her to Arbinj. She is upset. The Commander has harmed her.”

“He has not!” I shout. “You have!”

All eyes are on me, but I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.

Vicious power swirls inside me, fueled by my rage.

“Admit it,” I pant, shoulders heaving. “Say the words.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Liar. He’s a tidescursed liar.

He’s been lying to me my entire life.

“Mama. Who killed her?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, sidestepping me.

He’s walking away. He’s fucking walking away.

“It was you,” I seethe, whirling to look at him. Zev’s eyes burn into my back.

“Sleep, Mayah,” Father calls over his shoulder. “You’ve embarrassed me enough for one night.”

A tremor starts in my spine, crawling up my throat until it tastes like blood. He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even flinch. That silence—that fucking silence—splinters something inside me.

I grit my teeth, slamming my boot into the ground. A wall of water, siphoned from the damp earth, rises in front of Father and freezes into a thick sheet of ice.

The entire camp falls silent for a heartbeat. Then, whispered murmurs erupt at once.

“…was that…”

“…a second ability…”

“…did you know…”

I ignore them all. My focus is reserved for my father. He slowly pivots and faces me, his silhouette stark against the sheet of ice still glistening behind him.

“Yes, Mayah,” he spits, rage blazing in his cold eyes. “It was me. I made a mistake marrying Meerah. A filthy common.” He spits on the ground. “I loved her. Treated her well. And still she asked for more.” A scoff. “Always more. Just. Like. You. ‘Better treatment for nonwielders,’” he mocks, waving his hand through the air. His spine is rigid, knuckles white around his staff. “Still, I could have lived with it. But she couldn’t, as it turns out. She ran.”

My breath escapes in harsh pants. I remember the night she died—the sky raged as if it wept for her.

But it was him.

His cold eyes cut through me, each word an icy shard in my heart.

“I would have let her go. It would have been a burden off my shoulders, truly. But she took you—my heir. That, I couldn’t forgive. So I came for you. To bring you home.”

“You told me it was Arbinj,” I seethe, tears blurring my vision.

A casual fucking shrug even as his voice hardens. “Arbinj has harmed our women before. Our wives. Daughters. Mothers. They will do so again.” I know he’s thinking of the shell of a woman who raised him.

Tides, what if Varad had been telling the truth about Turmah? What if she’d wanted to remain in Arbinj with her husband? I can’t trust anything my father has told me.

My head spins. Bile churns in my gut. “And all the storms?” My voice cracks. “Why? Why put me through that?”

His lip curls with disdain. “I couldn’t stomach the fear the … experience left in you. I wanted to rid you of your weakness. I wanted to help you.”

Everything I’ve ever believed was a lie.

This is the man I spent my life trying to make proud.

This liar.

This murderer.

The fissure in my heart splinters wider and wider, and fury keeps gushing from the angry wound.

My hands rise of their own accord.

Father tsks. “Accomplished wielder, you may be, but you’d be a fool to challenge us all.” He casts his gaze around the camp, at the warriors standing ready, at Sorka also watching, his eyes dimmed with a quiet sadness.

In my tent, Vy peers through the flaps.

My murdering father is right.

I can’t take on all these warriors.

At least not alone.

Father must read the intention in my eyes.

“Mayah, no—”

But he’s too late.

I’m already on the platform, thin ribbons of water snaking into the keyholes of his iron collar and cuffs. Lock-picking with ice—a skill Daak reluctantly taught me years ago.

The iron clanks as it hits the ground.

Zev falls to his knees with a dull thud.

My body moves before my mind can catch up.

I whirl to face my mother’s murderer.

A scream tears from my throat.

I attack.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

CHAOS DESCENDS ON THE camp. Men scramble, some with hands poised to attack, others with fists clenched in hesitation. Even now, with my second ability revealed, their wide eyes stare at the battered man behind me.

They think I’m weak.

They think I’m not a threat.

The air hisses as I summon water from the soil, from the mist, from the very breath of the storm—shaping it into a towering tidal wave. A sharp flick of my wrist, and it crashes into the unprepared warriors.

Father raises a hand. Effortlessly, the wave parts around him, flowing past his body as if he’s the eye of the storm itself.

The sky groans above us, clouds pulsing with fury.

I don’t hesitate. I lash another whip of water straight for his chest.

Behind me, Zev coughs, hacking up congealed blood and bile.

The warriors gain their bearings, realizing that, princess or not, perhaps they should attack me. Three whips of water nearly slam into my torso before I’m able to freeze them and send them flying back at the wielders.

A rough scrape of wood behind me.

A heavy thud. Ragged, labored breaths.

The wood creaks as Zev bears his weight on a post, attempting to stand on his feet after days of being bound and beaten. Warriors close in, their movements sharper now—more urgent. Until now, they hadn’t truly been trying to harm me.

But that’s quickly changing.

Sorka keeps his eyes on Zev, hands raised and ready, though he doesn’t attack. Not yet. There’s something unreadable in his eyes as they flit between me and my father—tension bracketing his jaw, hesitation in his stance.

Vy bursts from the tent, panic etched across her face. She says something to the general, but he shakes his head and pushes her back inside.

“Get the king to safety!” Sorka calls, whirling and pointing to a cluster of warriors. They snap into motion.

I hurl an ice shard toward them, but a larger icicle slices it midair, scattering tiny, glittering pieces across the dirt. Four warriors flank my father, lifting him onto a horse before mounting up beside him.

And then they vanish into the trees, swallowed by shadows.

The remaining warriors advance, sculpting water into frozen spears and jagged shards aimed straight for us. Behind them, nonwielders loose a volley of arrows—some I barely deflect in time.

Sorka steps forward again. Whether to stop them or join them, I can’t tell. But then Vy’s hand shoots out from the tent, grabbing his arm and yanking him inside. Her cool eyes lock with mine. The message is clear.

Sorka is her favor.

My hands tremble as I fight—strike, defend, strike, duck—each movement fueled by panic and fury.

The warriors advance.

“Zev,” I call behind me, chancing a glance back.

He doesn’t answer—he’s doubled over, hands braced on his knees.

A shard of ice skims my cheek, leaving behind a bright trail of pain.

“Shit!” I whirl around, raising another wave of water and catapulting it toward the encroaching men.

“Zev!” I call again, my voice rising higher.

“I’ve been strung up for a week,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Give me a fucking minute.”

The rhythmic splash of water and scraping of ice bombards my ears as I struggle to block their attacks. My breath cleaves my lungs as some of the warriors dart behind the platform, poised to attack from behind.

Tides. I have one shot at this.

A powerful thrust of my hands.

The crackling sound of water freezing into thick ice.

My breath shears my lungs. I did it. Tides, let it hold.

A dome of water encases the platform, several inches thick. Dull thuds echo inside the small orb as the warriors attack from the outside. I grit my teeth, struggling to keep the dome frozen while the other wielders try to force the water to melt.

Slowly, Zev straightens.

Even inside the dome, the threatening boom of thunder echoes.

“I’m ready.” His voice is still hoarse, his eyes are bloodshot, but thank the Tides, he’s standing.

Relief crashes into me like a tidal wave.

I drop the ice shield.

It’s raining, the sky a dark, ominous gray.

Raindrops freeze into sharp needles, sent careening into flesh. Zev drops his hand, and a bolt of lightning slams into two men.

But it’s not enough.

The warriors close in. My hands shake as I block their attacks.

“Can you electrocute them? Like you did with—”

“No,” he grits out. “Too weak.” His hands tremble as he summons another bolt of lightning, weaker this time, and kills one more Tundrayni. “Get behind me.”

“No. You get behind me.”

When he doesn’t move, I dart in front of him, taking an ice spear to the chest that I barely manage to blunt in time. I crash backwards into Zev, and we both almost go tumbling. His hands steady my hips.

“Summon a massive wave.” His voice is rough in my ear. “Flood the entire camp.”

I obey.

I call to the water, as much as I can summon. It flows close to the ground, weaving between boots, rising and rising until it’s ankle deep.

The air is charged.

Static crackles around me.

Zev raises a hand.

The sky splits open.

A bolt of lightning shoots down.

Electricity flows through the rushing water, into every man on the ground. Their bodies jerk, rigid limbs clawing the air. The stench of singed hair and burnt flesh assaults my nostrils.

It seems like it lasts hours, but it must only be minutes.

One by one, the warriors drop.

My lungs expel all my air.

A sense of numbness travels through my fingers, stretching through my limbs.

I wait, foolishly hoping some will rise again. That I didn’t murder an entire camp of people in cold blood.

But none do. Tides damn me into oblivion.

“We killed them,” I breathe. “I—”

A whisper of movement behind me.

A sharp crack.

A splitting pain in my skull.

The world goes black.