Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER TEN

WE’VE BEEN TRAVELING FOR days. True to his word, Zevayr doesn’t touch me—except every night when I sleep in his arms. We don’t talk about it. Like he said, it’s necessary for survival in the frigid landscape and nothing more. I try not to dwell on it.

During the day, we usually travel in silence.

But whenever Zevayr does speak, it’s a struggle not to strangle him. I’ve never met a more infuriating man. It’s as though his every comment is designed to burrow beneath my skin and rile me up.

“How much farther until we’re out of Tundrayn?” I ask, my breath misting in the brisk air. The unforgiving chill manages to seep through my borrowed gloves. I lock my jaw so my teeth don’t chatter. It irks me that the freezing temperatures don’t seem to affect Zevayr nearly as much. He must’ve grown accustomed to our harsh climate over all the years he’s spent in our lands—murdering my people.

“At least another two weeks.” He glances back at me, a mocking smirk curling his full lips. “Tired already? I didn’t realize Tundraynis were such babies.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I’ve met corpses with better insults than you.”

“Meet a lot of corpses, do you?”

“Yes, actually. It’s quite cruel. They come back in droves from the border. Usually burnt to a crisp by lightning.”

His jaw clenches so hard, for a second I hope his teeth will crack.

And just like that, we’re back to traveling in silence.

Frost crunches underfoot as I gather dried pine branches for a fire while Zevayr hunts. We’ve mostly been eating snowshoe hare, though once he caught a large arctic fox.

He scans the perimeter every night and meticulously erases all evidence of our campsites. Sometimes, we double back and take a different route to confuse anyone who might be tracking us. I’m surprised we haven’t encountered any more rebels—it’s impossible to completely erase tracks in the snow. Perhaps they were dissuaded by all the corpses the Dark Commander left for them to collect.

Despite my disdain for him, a whispering ripple of respect begrudgingly flows through me. Smug, arrogant monster, he may be, but he’s kept me alive so far.

Of course he can skin a hare in seconds. Of course he knows exactly what direction to travel based on the sun’s movements.

I hate being so dependent on him.

Why couldn’t he just be an idiot with a pretty face?

By the time Zevayr returns with a large snowshoe hare, the fire is crackling. His hood falls back, and I wish I didn’t notice the perfectly imperfect tousle of his dark hair, the shadow of days-old stubble along the sharp line of his jaw, the firelight dancing across his high cheekbones. My gaze drops to his full lips, currently turned down in a scowl—

I tear my eyes away.

Handsome or not, he’s a murderer.

He skins the hare in utter silence—which is just fine by me. When it’s ready, he skewers it on a long, thin branch and rotates it over the makeshift spit until the flesh is crackling. He doesn’t spare me a glance when he hands me my portion, which again, is just fine by me.

We eat in stilted, familiar silence.

Until he breaks it.

“You think my lightning is cruel?” Zevayr says, his voice frosted with ice. “You should see what waterwielders can do.”

His tone drops, low and razor-edged.

“I’ve pulled men off the battlefield with ice spears piercing their lungs—jagged, serrated shards. They choke on their own blood while we try to break ribs to dig them out. I’ve seen soldiers with bubbles of water forced over their heads. They scratch their faces bloody trying to escape before they drown.”

His eyes narrow.

“But the worst? Water forced in through the nose, mouth, eyes—until it fills the body. And then frozen solid. You know what that looks like, Mayah?”

Zevayr turns away—can’t bear to look at me anymore.

“And while your people have healers with glowing hands and soothing light, know what we have? Poultices. Crushed roots. Bark soaked in boiled snow. Whatever the earth gives us. We’re fighting the same war with blood and dirt, while your people can erase wounds into nothing.”

A beat.

“So don’t talk to me about cruelty.”

He rises, a towering mountain of cold rage. Without another word, he stalks over to the blanket and lies down.

I guess I have first watch.

So don’t talk to me about cruelty.

His words flit through my mind in an endless loop. I stare at the fire, still catching my breath. I want to hate him. I want to cling to the cold clarity of anger. But his words echo like thunder inside me, and I don’t know what to do with them.

I hate to admit it, but he’s right. My people aren’t the only ones who have suffered in this tidescursed war. There must be peace.

For all.

That’s why I’m doing this.

Why I left my home.

To unite Tundrayn and Arbinj and end this war.

With a heavy sigh, I kick snow over the fire and trudge over to the blanket where Zevayr lies still. His stony gray eyes catch mine—he’s still awake.

I bite my lip. It feels wrong to sleep beside him and steal his heat, not after our fight. I head toward the other side of the blanket, bracing for a night of numb limbs and chattering teeth when his deep voice stops me.

“Mayah.”

He’s said only my name, but somehow it’s a command.

Something primal flares in my belly. I shove it down and shuffle over to him. Zevayr peels back the cloak and offers me his arm, like he’s done every night since he dragged me over to him. It feels unnervingly natural to rest my head on his large bicep. Comfortable—safe—when he covers us with his heavy cloak.

This is a necessity for survival. Nothing more.

Zevayr is not my friend. I can’t let myself forget that, even when I’m in the protective cocoon of his arms. I steal a glance at his face—his gray eyes are fixed to the space above my head.

No, he isn’t my friend.

But he is a person.

And he’s hurting.

And a healer is helpless against her instinct to soothe pain.

I shouldn’t care. But I can’t look at all that grief and do nothing. I was trained to close wounds. Not turn away from them.

At least that’s what I tell myself before I speak.

“Who did you lose?” I ask softly, eyes focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest. It feels too intimate to lock gazes with him.

He doesn’t answer. I would’ve assumed he didn’t hear me, but his body stiffens, so I know he did.

I begin to think he might not answer at all, when he finally speaks.

“My best friend.” His voice is hoarse, arms tense around me. “Levaint. We grew up together. Zev and Lev.” A brittle, humorless laugh escapes him. “His parents were nonwielders—simple farmers. Imagine their surprise when their five-year-old son grew a giant tree in the middle of their cottage. They brought him to the palace for training. We were inseparable after that.

“He was a powerful wielder—and all wielders must join the army. We fought our first battles side by side before I was assigned to a different squad. Stormwielders are lethal even from a distance, but earthwielders are more effective in close combat. He—”

Zevayr swallows deeply, his throat bobbing.

I don’t know why I do this—I reach for his hand and lace our fingers together. His hand twitches, like he doesn’t know what to do with my kindness. But the small gesture gives him the strength he needs to continue.

“Lev—” Zevayr stutters over his friend’s name. He clenches his eyes shut tightly, as though holding the memory in place. “It was after a brutal battle. Your side won. We retreated. I was settling down for the night, tending to my wounds, when a soldier rushed into my tent, said I needed to come immediately. In that moment, I knew. I just knew what was waiting for me.”

“What happened to him?” I whisper, though I’m afraid to hear the words.

“Waterwielder. Forced water into his body and froze it. He couldn’t see, couldn’t speak. We had fires burning around him, blankets covering him to try and melt it, but wielded ice is cruel. He was in unimaginable pain, and there was nothing I could do for him. Lev suffered for hours before he died.”

I swallow hard. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

I never would have expected to share so much pain with the Dark Commander.

My lips speak the words before I can cage them. “My best friends were Sura and Tumaas,” I say quietly, voice catching. “Twins. Their mother worked in the palace kitchens. We grew up together—three shadows always getting into trouble. They called me Mayah-bear. Because I’m ferocious when I’m mad.”

A watery laugh escapes me, and it coaxes a small smile to Zevayr’s lips. “One time, we snuck into the palace laundry and stole every piece of clothing. Knotted everything together and strung them across the banisters like garlands.” I shake my head. “Father was livid. Tumaas made up a song about it. We were inseparable. Sura always had this hope that Tumaas and I would get married, and we’d be a real family.”

My smile slowly fades, and Zevayr’s grip tightens around me. “But they were nonwielders. And in Tundrayn, that means you’re expendable. They were sent to the border five years ago, despite my begging. Father wouldn’t make any exceptions. Not even for me. Especially not for me.” My voice thickens. “They wrote to me every week—long, silly letters. Tumaas would dictate to Sura—I’d always teased him about his atrocious handwriting. I kept each one. I used to reread them when I couldn’t sleep.”

I pause, bracing myself.

“There was a big battle. One of the worst. So many wounded, so many dead. We won—barely, but we won. They made it back to camp. I know because Sura wrote me a letter. Said she was safe, that they’d survived. And that maybe, in a few weeks, they’d come home. I slept with that letter beneath my pillow. Clung to it like a promise. Her letter made it, Zevayr, but she never did.”

He’s deathly quiet.

“Hours after the battle was over, they were attacked. In the dark of night. Tidescursed cowards,” I spit, cheeks wet with tears. “Everything was incinerated. No survivors.”

Zevayr swallows. He draws me closer until I’m pressed flush against his firm chest. “I—I’m sorry,” he whispers. A muscle ticks in his jaw, his breathing shallow.

“It’s all right. There’s no healing this,” I say, almost to myself. “Some wounds never close. No matter how many times you pass glowing hands over them.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SLEEP EBBS AWAY THE next morning, slowly, languorously, like a gentle receding tide. Every inch of me is pleasantly warm. I try to shift, but I can’t—there’s a heavy weight settled over my legs and waist.

My eyes flutter open, squinting against the sunlight.

I’m met with a strange sight—Zevayr asleep next to me, my limbs tangled with his. Though we sleep beside each other each night, I always wake alone. He’s the first to rise, already dressed and brooding.

But not today.

I frown, scanning his face. Is he coming down with something? He’s never slept later than me. Gingerly, I untangle my arms and press my palms to his neck, sending a soft, probing wave of my power through him. He seems fine—no sign of sickness.

A gentle snore escapes him, and I can’t help but smile. His brow is smooth, relaxed, his full lips slightly parted. It’s a stark contrast to the raw anguish on his face last night when he told me of his friend.

I shouldn’t think about the way he said Lev’s name—raw and reverent—like it pained him to speak it aloud. Or how his voice broke mid-sentence, like the memory carved straight through him. Or how much I’d wanted, in that moment, to take away his pain and carry it with my own.

Unbidden, another detail returns to me—how he’d called Lev’s parents nonwielders instead of commons. A small thing, maybe. But from the most powerful stormwielder alive, it felt like something more. A crack in the image I’d built of him. A glimpse of the man beneath the thunder.

Zevayr is full of surprises.

And I’d told him of my own grief—of Sura and Tumaas—and he hadn’t offered platitudes or pity. He’d just listened. As though his silence alone could bear the weight of my sorrow.

I shouldn’t notice the way the sunlight brushes against the strong line of his jaw, softening the stubble that shadows his skin. Or the sweep of his lashes against his cheeks, darker than night. My gaze drops, lingering on the solid column of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders, the dip between his thick collarbones. Warmth coils low in my belly, and it has nothing to do with his body heat.

But what of the brother waiting for me in Arbinj? Will he be just as handsome?

A sharp pang of guilt pierces my heart, and I tear my gaze away.

Daak.

He would understand me sleeping in Zevayr’s arms each night—he wouldn’t like it, but he’d understand. He’d want me to be safe and warm and alive. But the thoughts running through my mind right now—those feel too much like betrayal.

I shift more forcefully, putting space between our chests, and Zevayr’s grip tightens around me as if even in his sleep, he can’t bear to let me go. His brow furrows, and his eyes flutter open, clouded with sleep before it’s blinked away. His hand skims the curve of my hip before he realizes we’re still touching.

I stiffen.

So does he.

Realization dawns on him, and he quickly releases his hold.

I inch farther back.

“Sorry.” His deep voice is rough with sleep, and I hate the part of me that wants to hear it again. He clears his throat. “I overslept.”

“It’s all right,” I say softly, offering him a tentative smile. It feels foreign on my face. His gaze drops to my lips. Traitorous warmth rushes to my cheeks, and I pretend I don’t know why.

“Your brother,” I blurt out, rubbing my thumb over the betrothal ring on my finger. “Has he also fought in many battles?”

A shadow settles over his face at the mention of Faramir.

“No,” he says stiffly. “Earthwielder or not, the crown prince is excused from combat. Too risky for the future king.”

“Oh. Are you two … close?”

“No.” The word rings with finality this time.

Zevayr rises before I can ask anything else.

The rest of the morning has been strange. Zevayr and I have reached an uneasy truce—he hasn’t insulted me once today, and I haven’t felt the need to remind him of the blood on his hands. Even the silence stretching between us as we walk beneath the snow-capped trees, normally vibrating with barely repressed disdain, seems—comfortable.

Still I hesitate before I ask, “When do you think I’ll be able to … bathe?” I cringe as the words leave my lips. Most nights, I’ve scrubbed melted snow over my face and neck, then promptly roasted by the fire until I stopped shivering. It’s only been days—I can’t imagine weeks without a proper bath.

Except now I’ve given Zevayr a fresh opportunity to belittle me. Will he call me a pampered princess? A spoiled, vapid girl? Or his favorite insult—a baby.

The corner of his mouth twitches. I bristle, readying a sharp retort.

But surprisingly, he doesn’t insult me. The rhythmic crunch, crunch, crunch of our boots sinking into half-frozen snow is the only sound until he says, “If we keep this pace, the weather will warm up soon. We’ll come across several streams that you can use.”

“…Thanks.” It looks like the truce is holding. Something shifted between us last night, and the animosity that’s lingered between us has dissipated into … something else. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

Zevayr lifts a low-hanging, frost-covered branch with his bare hand for me to pass beneath. He doesn’t even grimace.

“You seem well acclimated to the cold.” I fold my arms tighter, bracing against the chill. He glances at me sideways. His lips thin, and he steps closer until our shoulders are almost touching.

“I’ve spent more time in Tundrayn than in Arbinj in the last decade.”

Right—killing my people. Except the thought doesn’t incite the same burning hatred in my heart.

Definitely not a good thing.

We keep a breakneck pace the rest of the day. When we stop at night, every single muscle aches in my legs. The heat of the fire seeps through my numb fingers as I hover them over the dancing flames.

My eyes cut to Zevayr’s slumbering form on the blanket.

I have first watch.

Which means, I have time to think.

Time for intrusive thoughts to bombard me—like how my feelings about Zevayr have grown complicated since our conversation last night. I want to see him as the fearsome Dark Commander—a ruthless murderer.

But the truth is, I don’t anymore. I see Zevayr, the man. I see his heart. He’s been hurt as much as I have. And that makes it difficult to keep hating him.

With a sigh, I gingerly stretch out my legs. I send a gentle wave of my power pulsing through my thighs and calves. A low hum of contentment escapes me as the day’s aches are erased.

When enough time has passed, I kick snow over the fire and head to the blanket where Zevayr sleeps. Careful not to rouse him, I gently peel back his heavy cloak. His arm is extended, as if waiting for me to rest my head on his bicep. I settle in beside him, letting his cloak fall over us.

I shift, my legs bumping against his lightly. My lips twist. His muscles must ache, too. He walks more than me, often doubling back to create new tracks, or scouting the path ahead, while I wait for his return.

Before I can change my mind, I rest my palms against the exposed skin of his neck. He doesn’t stir. Closing my eyes, I send a wave of power through him, soothing every aching muscle, every inflamed tendon.

When I pull my hands back, my heart feels lighter.

“What would you do if you weren’t a prince?” I ask as Zevayr studies the position of the sun, one hand angled against his forehead. Maybe I’m imagining it, but he moves easier today. He must’ve slept well after I healed him.

“I’d leave the realm.”

I stop in my tracks, but Zevayr keeps walking.

“Why?” I jog to catch up.

“To see the rest of the world,” he says with a shrug. “There has to be something better than this skiesforsaken continent.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Where would you go?”

“Volca, first. Then beyond.”

“And what would you do?”

He glances sideways. “That’s an awful lot of questions, Mayah.”

“Let me check our packed schedule.” I hold up an invisible sheet, scanning it with exaggerated seriousness. “Let’s see … walking. More walking. Oh, then after lunch—still more walking.”

He exhales hard, tilting his face to the sky as though summoning patience, but I catch the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I’d help people if I could,” he finally says. “To … try and make up for all the damage I’ve caused. Or just exist. Peacefully. No war. No responsibilities.”

I trip on an overgrown root, and his hand finds the small of my back, steadying me.

“What about you?” he asks.

I bite my lip, then admit, “I’ve always dreamed of ruling. Of making Tundrayn better. Safer. For all my people.” His eyes catch mine. He knows what I mean—nonwielders and wielders alike.

“And I’d still heal of course.”

Zevayr lets out a quiet laugh.

“What?”

“I’m just picturing the Queen of Tundrayn in a healer’s apron.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I’d make it work.”

“I have no doubt you would.”

That night, Zevayr portions twice as much snowshoe hare for me. I frown at his meager allotment. “I can’t eat this much. And you’re literally three times my size. You need it more.” I move to slide off some of the meat, but he stops me with a firm grip on my wrist. My breath catches, skin tingling beneath his touch.

“If you’re going to spend your nights healing us both, you need more food to replenish your reserves.”

I yank my hand back like he’s scorched me. Heat rushes to my cheeks.

“You were awake.” I can’t bring myself to look at him.

“I usually am. Men need less sleep than women.”

I gape at him. “Then why even pretend to let me take watch if you’re not going to sleep?”

He shrugs, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Because I know you wouldn’t tolerate anything less than being treated as my equal.”

My lips purse into a thin line, even as dangerous delight swirls in my belly at how well he already knows me. He’s completely right—if he’d offered to take watch every night and let me sleep, I’d have refused, hackles raised and teeth bared.

Begrudgingly, I return only half the extra portion and bite into a thick strip of meat.

“Are you upset?” I ask quietly, glancing at him through my lashes. “I used my power on you without permission. I should’ve asked first.”

He tears his eyes away, teeth raking over his lower lip. “No,” he finally says. “You were doing me a kindness.”

“If I had asked,” I add quickly, “you would’ve said, ‘No, Mayah. You’re just a Tundrayni baby. I’m a big, strong man. Save your reserves. I don’t need the element of surprise to overpower you because I’m a big, scary man.’”

He laughs—deep and unguarded—his gray eyes crinkling at the corners. The pure masculine sound sends warmth blooming across my chest.

“You don’t need to heal me every night,” he says, voice low, still amused. “I’m used to sore muscles. And you are a delicate baby.”

I glare at him, chomping into the next bite with more force than needed. “I’m not a baby.”

“You need more sleep, too,” he says, ignoring me.

“How do you know men need less sleep than women?”

His lips curve into a sinful smirk, and I immediately regret my question. My face burns hotter than the crackling fire. “Never mind,” I mutter. “Don’t answer that.”

The amused smile doesn’t leave his stupidly handsome face, but Zevayr doesn’t say anything else.

It’s me who can’t keep my tidesforsaken mouth shut. A niggling curiosity keeps prodding my mind, coupled with the barbed, green tendrils of an emotion I’d rather not name.

“Have you been with … many women?”

A beat.

“Define ‘many.’”

Tides drown me in every lifetime.

“More than five.”

He doesn’t answer, but his lips twist into a soft smile that’s somewhere between a teasing grin and an apology.

“It’s not fair,” I huff, tearing my gaze away. The barbed tendrils curl around my heart and squeeze. “There’s no purity test you need to worry about.”

“You’re right,” he agrees easily. “It isn’t fair. The purity test is archaic.”

A flicker of surprise wells in my chest. “Really? You wouldn’t care if your wife wasn’t pure?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t care. If I … loved her, I’d probably be burning with jealousy at the thought of her with someone else.” His voice is tight, hands clenching and unclenching over his knees. A rain drop lands on my cheek. I frown, looking up at the sky. He shoots me a faint smile, but it’s more teeth than anything else. “There’d be a perpetual storm over my head. But I wouldn’t begrudge her something that happened before she was mine. I’d hope she wouldn’t begrudge me the same.” The flames crackle, and he stokes the fire with a long branch, his eyes fixed firmly on his task. “And it wouldn’t be anyone’s business but mine and hers. I don’t see the need to parade the knowledge of her alleged ‘purity’ before anyone else.”

I swallow hard. “Does Faramir share your sentiments?”

Zevayr’s face shutters as soon as his brother’s name crosses my lips.

“No. He’ll insist on the purity test.”

“And has he remained ‘pure’?”

A quick shake of his head is the only response.

I snort. “That’s awfully hypocritical.”

A beat passes, then another.

Zevayr opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. Once, twice, as if he’s determined to cage whatever words are trying to escape. Then—finally—he asks, “Are you … worried about passing the purity test?”

Tides, if my cheeks keep heating like this, there won’t be any warmth left for the rest of me. I worry my lower lip between my teeth—it’s a deeply intimate question, but I suppose so was mine.

I flick my gaze to his, but he’s still staring at the fire. I can’t decipher the emotion swirling behind his molten gray eyes.

“No,” I finally say. “The purity test will be uncomfortable, to say the least. I’d rather slit my wrists than let some stranger prod around, um, me. But I’m not worried about passing. It’s just … I don’t relish the idea of marrying a man who holds me to a different standard. I’d want him to see me as his equal.”

Zevayr’s head turns sharply, and my breath stutters at the intensity thrumming behind his eyes, a maddening swirl of emotions I can’t name.

Desire? Warmth?

And maybe … hope?

Almost like he—

I can’t hold his gaze. It’s too much.

I bolt to my feet, pressing a hand over my heart, as if that might soothe its incessant pounding.

“I—I’m still going to marry your brother, of course. Archaic traditions or not.”

“Of course.” His voice is stiff.

“Maybe I can change his worldview with my ferocious temper.”

My lips curve into a weak smile. Zevayr’s gaze drops to my mouth. The heat in his eyes chases away the chill in my bones, leaving behind a searing heat.

And it’ll burn me if I’m not careful.

“No more pretend first watches for me,” I stumble over my words. “I’m going to sleep.” Before he can answer, I pivot on my heel, practically running to the blanket, and nestle myself beneath his cloak.

When he finally joins me, I pretend to sleep.

He pretends he doesn’t notice.