Chapter One
I’m so fucking tired.
I drag my hand through my hair, attempting to listen to the adviser droning on about the Tundrayni battalion stationed near the border. Scouts reported that more enemy warriors arrived under the cover of night, nearly doubling their numbers—the majority of them are waterwielders.
“See this, sire?” The adviser traces a line on the map with a meaty finger. He reeks of sweat, though I doubt I smell much better. “If they advance any farther, they’ll be well-positioned to attack our base here.”
With narrowed eyes, I study the map.
Skies, he’s right.
There’s a large lake by the base—the Tundraynis could easily flood the entire camp and drown all my soldiers.
Cold, stiff skin beneath my palms. A pained, garbled moan. Unseeing eyes, frosted over with ice. He can’t blink, can’t speak.
I’ll kill them all.
My hand rakes through my hair again, tugging at the strands until the pain grounds me.
“We attack,” I hear myself say, already rising and strapping on my chest plate.
“When, sire?”
“Now.”
The Tundraynis are unprepared.
The metallic stench of burning flesh permeates the air. It used to sicken me. Now, it’s a comfort. Every waterwielder I kill is one less that can harm my soldiers. One less that can force water into our bodies and freeze it.
Except my scouts were wrong.
There are only a handful of waterwielders stationed here.
I set my sights on them while my soldiers deal with the nonwielders.
An earthwielder summons thick roots from beneath the soil and skewers a man.
I suppress the wince that nearly shudders through me.
Nonwielders or not, they’re Tundrayni. And it’s our duty to protect Arbinj from them.
I turn away, setting my sights on the waterwielders.
My hand reaches for the sky.
Lightning answers.
An anguished scream erupts over the roar of battle.
A pained, garbled moan.
Open, unseeing eyes. Unspeakable pain.
I raise my hand again.
The water turns a murky red, sloshing against the sides of the rusted metal basin. My hands emerge free of blood and grime, but I’m not fooled into believing they’re clean. They will never be clean again.
I’ve made my peace with it, though.
A sudden, aching weariness creeps into my bones and coils around my ribs. Resignation weaves through my every muscle as I sit on the cot.
This is my life. I am Arbinj’s sword. All I want is to sleep.
Sleep, so the memories of battle don’t haunt me. The screams. The terror. The blood. All the lives I took in my father’s name.
In Lev’s name.
I’ve unstrapped my armor and boots, slumping onto my cot when I sense an energy signature—the unique flow of electric currents that surround every living creature—drawing closer to my tent.
I recognize the signature and manage to suppress a groan.
A muffled voice calls, “Sire?” through the tent flap.
Sulon. My second in command. I don’t hide my grimace—my thoughts about the burly man are muddled. He’s a skilled earthwielder—perhaps the best in the army—but dark rumors shadow him. Maliciousness, cruelty, violence.
Especially towards women.
But every time I’ve questioned him, he’s vehemently denied it. And my neck didn’t prickle—he wasn’t lying. Sulon has never lied to me—something I cannot say about most people. Which is why, despite the rumors, I continue to trust him.
Whether I tolerate him or not is another story.
“Enter.” If I’m lucky, he won’t prattle on, and I can sleep off the tightness in my chest.
The faded canvas rustles as it parts, and Sulon enters.
“Sire,” he greets, standing ramrod straight, muscular arms clasped behind his back. He’s built like a bull. “You were a force on the battlefield today.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My second is an incessant suck-up.
“Was there something you needed, Sulon?” I grit out.
He shifts on his feet, mouth opening and closing.
“Out with it,” I snap. The noose around my lungs pulls tighter, and Skies, I just want to sleep.
He produces a wrinkled parchment from his cloak. I snatch it from his hands.
“This just arrived, sire,” he says haltingly, gaze riveted to the ground. “We should have received it days ago, but the courier was delayed. It appears that, uh…”
The coward trails off, but the neatly inked words scream at me.
…alliance between Arbinj and Tundrayn…
…betrothal to Princess Mayah…
…immediate ceasefire.
I rake my hand through my hair, tugging sharply at the strands.
“Fuck.”