Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

WE’RE HERE.

The Arbinji army base looms before us in the distance, large and imposing. Soldiers mill about, and rumbling voices float through the air, along with the occasional loud burst of laughter. Tents are pitched neatly in rows, and Zev tells me there are over six hundred men stationed here alone. In the center of the sprawling camp, there’s a large metal spire, reaching toward the skies.

Zev casts me an apologetic look. “The safest way to alert them of my return is to summon a storm.”

I nod stiffly, holding my breath and resisting the urge to cover my ears. I won’t cower, not in front of the enemy.

No.

Not my enemy. They’re my future people.

I need to remember that.

But it’s hard to look at a camp full of Arbinji soldiers and think of anything but death.

Zev scans my face for a beat, his hand twitching at his side, as if he wants to reach for me. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns back toward the camp. The sky darkens, large storm clouds gathering overhead.

My heart forgets to beat, and I force myself to take deep, even breaths. Zev’s eyes cut to me again. They burn into the side of my face, but I keep my gaze fixed ahead.

The din of chatter quiets. Some of the men stare at the sky.

Zev raises a hand.

Thunder rumbles.

The sky splits open, and a massive bolt of lightning hits the spire.

A panicked cry escapes my cowardly lips, and I’m relieved the thunder drowns it out. Zev’s fingers twitch again, and this time, he grabs my hand, squeezing tightly.

I squeeze back.

The rhythm of my sniveling heart slowly settles.

My attention returns to the camp. It’s gone eerily quiet, the men slack-jawed. Then, they all jump into action.

“The Commander has returned!” one man shouts. The soldiers line up in formation, neat rows stretching back endlessly.

Zev takes a deep breath. “Ready?”

I’m not, but I nod anyway.

We walk into the camp, side by side. The men cheer for their returned Commander, though their voices falter when they catch sight of me. I keep my chin high, shoulders square.

“Commander!” a burly, dark-haired man greets. “We had thought you dead. The attack—”

“We survived, Sulon. Clearly,” Zev interrupts. “Tell me the developments. Quickly.”

The hulking man’s narrowed gaze flicks to me, then back to Zev. “The Tundrayni forces found the attacked carriages. It was difficult to identify the bodies—it’s tense, sire. Tormik blames Arbinj, says we planned the attack to kill his daughter.” Another quick glance at me. I flinch at the casual use of Father’s name, the foregone honorific. “The only thing that prevented a retaliatory attack is the fact that you’ve been missing as well.”

“You didn’t send search parties for us?”

Sulon shakes his head. “Tormik wouldn’t allow more Arbinji soldiers on Tundrayni land. He said he sent his own search parties.”

Zevayr sighs, raking a hand through his dark hair. “We leave for the capital immediately. Ready a squad to accompany us.”

Within thirty minutes, I’m staring at two large stallions, flanked by ten armored riders. Zev straps on fresh armor, securing his weapons. When he’s done, he approaches me. “The capital is about a day’s ride away. I’m sure you want to rest, but we shouldn’t delay any longer. Not when the ceasefire is so precarious.”

I hadn’t wanted to stay anyway. The thought of spending the night in a camp filled with Arbinji soldiers fills me with dread.

“Zev,” I whisper, glancing nervously at the steeds. “I don’t know how to ride. We don’t have horses in Tundrayn.”

Zev eyes me for a beat, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “You can—”

“She can ride with me,” Sulon cuts in, his dark eyes practically caressing my face.

I flinch, my gaze snapping to the broad, muscled man. His stare crawls over me, heavy with a promise I don’t dare name—what he’d do if he caught me alone.

“No,” Zev says gruffly. “She’ll ride with me.”

“But, sire—”

“Are you questioning my orders?” His voice is tight with anger. A distant rumble of thunder sounds overhead.

“No, no,” Sulon stammers. “It’s just … you’ve been burdened with her for weeks. I only thought—”

“Don’t think.”

Sulon’s mouth tightens with displeasure, and I don’t miss the gleam of pure hatred in his eyes as he rakes his gaze over me.

Neither does Zev.

Like lightning, he clamps Sulon’s face in a punishing grip. “Something you’d like to say to your future queen?” he snarls.

“No, sire,” Sulon sputters, his face turning a splotchy red. The other soldiers watch closely, whispering amongst themselves.

“Bow to her.”

Sulon hesitates, eyes widening in shock.

The soldiers have gone silent.

Zev’s voice booms like thunder. “Now!”

With a loud thud, Sulon drops to his knees. He bows his head before me, muscles twitching. Zev watches him for what feels like ages, but Sulon doesn’t dare rise, not without Zev’s permission.

It never comes.

When he brushes past Sulon, the air around him crackles.

This is the Dark Commander.

And he’s terrifying.

I cast a glance at the soldiers. Their eyes are colder than the tundra.

Zev mounts his horse, then extends a hand, helping me up behind him. His smoke-and-pine scent surrounds me, and I resist the urge to melt into him.

He glares at Sulon, still on the floor. “Remain kneeling until we’re out of sight.”

Zev digs his heels into the horse’s flank, and the stallion lurches forward. I jerk back with a gasp, my grip tightening around Zev’s waist.

We set off.

My fate awaits me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

MY THIGHS ACHE. WE’VE been riding for hours at a breakneck pace. I’ve tried to maintain an appropriate distance between my chest and Zev’s back, especially with his soldiers surrounding us, but I gave up forty minutes ago when my fatigue outweighed propriety.

Now, I’m pressed flush against his muscular back, leaning against him for support. Irritation bubbles inside me, and I’ve been waiting to unleash my rage on him. It’s been too loud with the thundering of hooves for a proper conversation.

He raises an arm, signaling his men to stop.

Finally.

The horses slow, then halt. He dismounts easily before helping me down, large hands bracketing my waist.

The words spill from my lips. “You shouldn’t have made Sulon bow like that. The men will resent me for it. You’re not doing me any favors.”

His lips twitch, gray eyes scanning my face, lingering on the crease between my brows. “I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

His quick apology catches me off guard, and his earnest face cools my simmering rage. I wanted to argue with him more, but I’m forced to just nod stiffly.

“I need to sit with the men,” he murmurs, an apology in his eyes. “I’ve been gone for so long, it’s important to rebuild rapport. Do you feel comfortable sitting with us?”

I’m nervous around Arbinji soldiers. It’s strange, given how comfortable I am with the man who leads them. “I’ll come. But I won’t tolerate disrespect,” I warn.

His lips quirk into a half-smile. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”

I follow him to where the soldiers sit in a small circle. An earthwielder has grown stalks of corn, and the men roast them over the fire. What an amazing ability—to never be without food, never worry about depleted reserves. Never go hungry.

The soldiers grow quiet as we approach.

First, Zev asks each of the soldiers about themselves and their families. The soldiers keep their responses short—and clean—as their eyes flick to me.

“Any trouble with the Rebellion?” Zev asks, finishing off a stalk of corn and grabbing another.

“No, sire. They’ve been quiet since the attack on your party,” one of the men says. He laughs, adding, “Probably nursing their wounds after facing your wrath.”

The other men chuckle in agreement, the ones closest to Zev slapping him on the back. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Zev glances at me, as he has every few minutes, and I must not conceal my expression well enough because his lips curve into a soft smile, one brow arched in amusement.

My stomach flops, and I tear my gaze away, forcing myself to stare at my betrothal ring gleaming in the firelight.

“What about the palace?” Zev adds.

“Er, just a rumor, sire,” the same man continues. “But the Volcans might be sending an emissary. There’s been whispers about a battalion being sent to the coast to accompany them.”

The Volcans? Why would they send an emissary to Arbinj?

Whatever it is, it can’t be good for Tundrayn.

My pulse thunders in my ears as the capital of Arbinj rises before us—tall brick buildings, paved roads, green and brown banner flags flapping in the breeze.

We enter through the main road, wide enough for ten horsemen abreast. Citizens crowd the sides, pressed back by guards bearing the Arbinji crest.

Eyes track me from every direction—green, gray, brown—all as foreign as the cobblestones beneath our horse. Some glimmer with curiosity. Most brim with hatred.

None offer warmth.

As we ride farther into the city, I spot a middle-aged man elbowing his way to the front of the crowd. In his hand is something small and round. A fruit of some kind?

His eyes are hard.

Zev sees him, too. His grip tightens on the reins until his knuckles blanch. Above us, the sky darkens. Thunder rumbles.

“Zev,” I whisper in warning. This can’t be like Sulon all over again. I need these people to accept me. Not see me as their enemy.

“He means to throw it at you,” Zev growls. “He’ll die for it.” A bolt of lightning splits the clouds, bright and blinding.

“Please, Zev,” I implore, squeezing his hand.

Zev inhales deeply, then pins the man with a glare that could turn stone to ash. The color drains from the man’s face. He stashes the fruit behind his back.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Minutes drag by. My heart beats in my throat. Until finally—the palace looms ahead.

It’s a monstrosity. A fortress of gray stone and steel, with metal spires jutting from every tower. Tall wrought-metal gates surround the sprawling structure, and I catch a glimpse of greenery tucked behind its stark walls.

We ride into a vast courtyard. Where I might have expected a fountain, there stands a massive statue of King Varad—arms raised in triumph. Disgust coils in my gut at the sight of it, a monument to arrogance immortalized in stone.

Zev slows the horse to a stop and helps me dismount, handing the reins to a lanky blond stablehand. A cluster of servants scurries around us. None of them meets my eye.

I count the cobblestones beneath my boots, willing my hands not to tremble as we walk to the palace. I want to reach for Zev—but I don’t. I can’t. Not anymore.

I’m marching toward my future, but it doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

We cross the threshold, and another wave of servants descends, swarming like anxious birds. Zev waves them away with a flick of his hand. They scatter instantly. One hurries ahead to announce our arrival.

Grim-faced statues line the winding hallways as an equally grim-faced Zev leads me toward what I assume is the throne room. My steps are weighted, as if I’m wading through knee-deep snow instead of striding across gleaming marble.

My heart lurches as we halt before two towering doors, the Arbinji crest seared deep into the dark wood. Four guards flank the entrance, their silver armor polished to a bright shine. The sight makes me acutely aware of the grime clinging to my skin, the wild tangle of my hair, the dirt crusted beneath my nails. We’ve been trudging through wilderness for over a month. When the weather warmed, I stole moments to rinse in streams, but it’s been nearly three weeks since the last true wash.

“Hey,” Zev says softly. “You look perfect.”

I don’t, but I offer him a weak smile for his kindness. There’s a tangible sense of grief shadowing his eyes, though he tries to mask it with a smile of his own. It frightens me how well I’ve come to know him. How well I can read him.

And how well he can read me.

His hand hovers on the handle, face twisting into a pained grimace. His head swivels as he scans the hallway on either side, almost as if searching for an escape. His hand tightens. His shoulders drop. He must’ve realized what I already know in my heart—there is no escape. Not from this.

Zev opens the door, and we enter.

The floor is polished marble, veined with silver and charcoal like storm clouds frozen in stone. In the center of the room is a long, raised platform—dark and smooth. I do a double-take. From the center, two large, leafy trees erupt, reaching toward the vaulted ceiling.

Twin thrones are carved directly into the trunks. Burned into each side are jagged lightning bolts, scorched into the bark. One throne rises slightly higher than the other. In it sits King Varad—my mother’s murderer. Fractured light from the stained-glass windows glints off his dark hair, thick brows set over narrowed green eyes. His face is lined with age, yet traces of Zev’s striking features still break through.

My stomach curdles at the sight.

Standing beside Varad, one arm braced casually against his father’s throne—though nothing else about him is casual—is a tall, lean man. Long blond hair cascades over his shoulder, a large crown perched atop his head. He has his father’s green eyes, and his lips are curved in a cruel smile.

Crown Prince Faramir. My betrothed.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since we entered.

“Father,” Zev nods to Varad. He doesn’t bow. “Faramir.”

His brother doesn’t even get a nod.

“Zevayr,” his father drawls, mouth stretched into a tight smile. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am to see you home safely.” His lips turn down in a scowl. “The rebels grow too bold.”

Then, his sharp emerald gaze slices into me. “And Princess Mayah. What a relief to see you delivered safely. Your father will undoubtedly be pleased. Perhaps he’ll stop threatening to flood my kingdom.”

I hide my glare by dropping into a low curtsy.

Faramir snickers. “I’m surprised,” he sneers. “Who would have guessed they teach manners in that backwards wasteland?”

I stiffen, a frigid tide of anger rising in my chest.

Zev’s fists clench, knuckles whitening. There’s a distant rumble of thunder.

Faramir sighs dramatically, examining his nails. “So glad you’re home, brother. I’ve missed your moody little thunderstorms.”

“Faramir,” Zev growls, low and dangerous. “You’re being incredibly rude to … your betrothed.” Zev’s mouth twists like the word tastes vile in his mouth. “She’s traveled a great distance, at great risk, to come here. Find your manners before I rip them out of you myself.”

In one breath, the crown prince’s expression morphs from casual boredom to seething anger. His face reddens, lips bared in a snarl. His left eye twitches uncontrollably. “How dare—”

“Yes, about the betrothal…” Varad interjects, casting a hard glance at Faramir. “The plan has changed.” His tone is casual, dismissive. As if the bastard were discussing the weather.

“What do you mean?” The words tumble from my mouth, sharp and sudden, before I can stop them.

“When you and my son disappeared, I had to make other arrangements for Arbinj’s succession.” His voice is cold like steel, eyes glittering with malice. “Faramir will wed the Volcan princess—after we secure an alliance, of course.”

A beat passes.

“You will wed Zevayr.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

MY PULSE THUNDERS IN my ears.

“You will wed Zevayr.”

This was not the plan.

Something warm swirls inside me at the thought of marrying Zev, but I shove it down. I am not so easily fooled. This is a ploy—a way to entrap me. To humiliate me. He knows my father would never agree to wed his heir to a second-born son, commander or not.

To alter the agreement now when I’m at his mercy—

Anger rages inside me, a relentless tidal wave of fury, at this blatant insult to Tundrayn. “Was my father made aware of this ‘change in plan’?” I ask stiffly. I can’t help the ice that frosts my voice.

Zev’s gone stock still beside me.

“Not yet,” Varad says with a cold smirk, long fingers steepled beneath his chin. “We weren’t even sure you were still alive. We’ll dispatch a message posthaste with the good news. And your decision.” He arches a thick brow. “You’ll marry my second son, yes?”

His cruel eyes bore into me, daring me to say no.

The tidesdamned murdering, manipulative bastard.

I inhale shakily, steeling myself. “I—”

“I need to speak with Mayah.”

Zev’s hand closes around my wrist like a vise. Varad’s protests fall on deaf ears as he drags me from the throne room. In the hallway, he bursts through the first door we come across.

There’s some type of meeting taking place, stuffy-looking advisers seated around a round table. Silence descends as we enter, confused eyes landing on us.

“Out,” Zev snarls. “Now.”

The words have barely left his mouth when everyone rises, chairs scraping against the stone floor, and quickly exits, heads bowed lest they invite their prince’s wrath.

As soon as the door shuts, I whirl on him.

“Did you know?” I hiss, jabbing a finger into his chest.

His hands raise in surrender. “I swear I didn’t, Mayah. When I left Arbinj, it was to bring you here to marry my brother.”

I begin pacing the room.

“If your brother marries the Volcan princess, and I wed you, Arbinj will have ties to both Volca and Tundrayn. It’ll be stronger than ever.”

“Yes,” he says quietly, gray eyes flicking back and forth as he watches me pace.

“Faramir will be king of Arbinj and Volca. And when I become queen … you’ll be king of Tundrayn. Your father means to control my kingdom while giving nothing of his own power.”

“Yes,” Zev repeats, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

My feet lead me to the large window. I stare down at the capital, gears shifting in my head. “And if I refuse to marry you…” I muse quietly. “Your father could have me thrown into the dungeons. Killed. Or worse.” My eyes cut to Zev’s. “He won’t let me return home.”

Zev comes to stand beside me. “No. He won’t.”

I take a deep, shaky breath.

“Your father wants me to refuse. Wants me to give him a reason.”

Zev nods. I can’t read his expression—he’s completely stoic.

I’m silent for a long time, staring out at a city that hates me.

I can’t return home.

I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I won’t disappoint my people.

I came here for peace. For Tundrayn.

There is only one path forward.

“Yes.” My voice is quiet. Determined. Zev’s brow furrows, and I add, “I’ll marry you.”

He blinks. His mouth moves like he wants to argue.

“Mayah…” he says softly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“But I do. If I refuse, there will be no alliance. Your father will make me vanish. Or he could attack Tundrayn. That is, if my father doesn’t attack first. War will ravage the realm. I have to marry you.” A thought occurs to me, sudden and unwelcome. “Unless … unless there’s someone else.”

“No.” He shakes his head firmly, mouth contorting into a grimace. “There’s no one else. It’s just—” Anguish mars his handsome face. “It should be your choice.”

I place a hand on his arm. “This is my choice,” I whisper softly, gazing up at him. “I’m choosing to survive.”

His face looks pained, as if that wasn’t quite the answer he wanted.

I step closer until our boots are touching.

“Well?” My voice is a quiet murmur. “Will you marry me, Zev?”

So many emotions cross his face, I can’t read them all. But the last one is steely resolve, tempered by tenderness.

He cradles my face, calloused hands gentle on my skin. His forehead rests against mine.

Then—“Yes.” A breathless rasp. A hard swallow, his gray eyes brimming with affection. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The intensity in his eyes is so overpowering, I nearly tear my gaze away. He traces my cheek reverently with his thumb.

“I should have done this the night we danced beneath the stars,” he murmurs, his breath fanning my lips. “Know that it will always be my greatest regret.”

And then he kisses me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ZEV DOESN’T JUST KISS me—he devours me.

His lips move passionately against mine, deep and aching, fingers gripping my chin. With his other hand, he pulls me flush against him, chests pressed together, so close his every breath draws out my own. He coaxes my mouth open with his lips, tongue brushing mine in a soft stroke. A low moan slips free, and I melt into his chest.

He breaks away, trembling fingers finding my hand.

“Take off his ring,” he growls, tugging it from my finger. It clatters to the floor, forgotten. “I’ll get you another one.”

And then he’s kissing me again, slower this time, as if he wants to memorize the feel of my lips against his.

As if we have all the time in the world.

As if his brother and father aren’t plotting against me in the throne room.

None of that seems to matter to Zev. His entire focus narrows to me, and the thought sends a warm fluttering pulse of desire coiling through my veins. He kisses me until I’m dizzy, until his intoxicating smoke-and-pine scent dominates my senses, until my lips are swollen from his attentions.

He kisses me as if he’s been waiting for me his entire life.

When he finally pulls away, his chest is heaving, hands lingering on my face. His eyes are dark with barely restrained desire, as if he wants nothing more than to keep kissing me senseless. My knees buckle, and he huffs a quiet laugh, holding me steady against him. We’re both panting, and there’s a smile on my lips that I can’t contain.

Zev’s expression mirrors my own. He brushes his lips across my brow. “Let’s go tell them.”

For the second time in less than an hour, Zev leads me back to the throne room, but this time, our hands are intertwined. Varad’s arms are crossed tightly, fingers drumming on his bicep. Faramir looks bored, cleaning his nails with a dagger. Both men straighten as we enter.

“I have thought long and hard on your proposal,” I announce, my voice loud and steady. “I would be honored to marry Prince Zevayr, Second Son of Arbinj, Commander of the Arbinji armies.”

Silence.

Varad frowns, his eyes dropping to our joined hands. His scowl deepens. “I would advise thinking on it harder, Princess. You are the heir to Tundrayn. Its future queen.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “If you refuse, you’d be welcome to return home, of course.”

Zev jerks beside me, his fingers tightening around mine in an iron-tight grip almost to the point of pain.

I cast him a concerned glance before turning back to Varad and adding, “That won’t be necessary. Please inform my father. I am certain in my decision. The Rebellion grows ever stronger—they were bold enough to attack our entourage. It’s time our people were joined as one.”

Faramir finally looks up, cold eyes sharpening with interest. His gaze, too, drops to our joined hands, and his lips curl into a cruel smile.

Varad is silent. Smoke practically wafts from his ears.

Good.

I’ve left him with no choice, and he knows it.

“Wonderful,” he says tightly. “The wedding will occur in a fortnight—”

“Tomorrow,” Zev cuts in. “The wedding will be tomorrow.”

“So eager for your nuptials, brother?” Faramir sneers, narrowed eyes still fixed on me.

Varad frowns. “That’s not enough time to plan a wedding. The nobles—”

“Tensions are high with Tundrayn. The Rebellion is growing stronger. We can’t afford delay. The sooner we stand united, the better. Keep the wedding simple.” Zev waves a dismissive hand. “You can spare the opulence for the second son.”

He’s interrupted the king twice now. My father would have reprimanded me thoroughly. Varad looks displeased but has said nothing.

“Tomorrow, then,” Varad acquiesces. My lips part in surprise. “I suppose we can find someone to perform the purity test tonight.”

The air leaves my lungs. I had forgotten about that impending indignity.

“There will be no purity test,” Zev declares, his face stony. His grip around my fingers turns to iron.

“Zevayr,” his father reprimands, leaning forward on the throne. “If you suspect the princess is impure, I cannot allow—”

“I took the liberty of … inspecting Mayah’s purity. During our journey.”

The silence that falls over the room is deafening.

Humiliating.

My stomach drops, hot embarrassment flushing my cheeks. I can’t decide if I want to kiss Zev or slap him.

Two sets of green eyes fix on me. Tides, I wish the earth would split open and swallow me whole.

“Took many liberties with my betrothed, did you?” Faramir croons menacingly. His eye twitches.

“A happy coincidence that Mayah is my betrothed now,” Zev shoots back. “No harm done.”

“She is now, but—”

“Enough.” Varad raises a silencing hand, and Faramir falls quiet, though I don’t miss the outrage flickering in his cold, green gaze. “Zevayr, get your betrothed settled, then return here. At once.”

Zev ushers me from the hall, his hand warm on my lower back. He calls over the nearest servant, giving her instructions about which rooms to prepare for me.

Then, he pulls six guards from their posts. “If so much as a gentle breeze dares to touch her, if even an invisible splinter pierces her skin, you will each suffer a slow and brutal death. Your screams will echo for weeks. Your families will have nothing to bury. Do. You. Understand?” he snarls, eyes blazing with violent promise.

The guards nod frantically, slack-jawed with equal parts shock and horror.

“I’ll keep you safe, Mayah,” Zev promises. One more squeeze to my hand, and then he disappears back into the throne room.

It’s the most distance we’ve had between us in over a month.

And even with six guards sworn to my protection, I’ve never felt more vulnerable.