Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The crack of bone isn’t as loud as I’d hoped.
His screams echo off the damp walls. Sharp, heaving pants, knuckles blanched white as he grips the sides of the rickety chair, writhing against the coils of rope binding his chest.
“Who sent you?” I ask again, my voice a deathly whisper.
Silence.
My fingers clamp around his bruised jaw, wrenching his head up. Flickering torchlight glints off his limp blond hair. One eye is swollen shut, the other still cracked open. I didn’t hit him hard enough, it seems.
“Vaimayr, was it?” My fingers dig into the oozing gash on his cheek. “Tell me who sent you.”
The silken threat in the words convinces him.
Or perhaps it’s his broken ribs. Or ankle. Or the dagger I’ve left embedded in his thigh.
“No one,” he rasps through bloodied lips.
Truth.
“Who helped you plan the attack?”
Silence. Then—a pained oompf as my fist connects with his unprotected abdomen.
“I don’t like repeating myself, Vaimayr. Tell me who helped you plan the attack.” Hot fury coils around my chest, ready to strike. He tried to kill my Mayah.
“N-no one.”
Sharp pinpricks jab the back of my neck.
The fury coils tighter. My boot connects with the seat of his chair, sending him tumbling backwards.
Vaimayr, to his credit, swallows his cry of pain as his head connects with the stone floor.
So I aim a sharp kick at the ribs I know to be broken.
He cries out, and grim satisfaction flickers at the fresh tears leaking from his swollen eyes.
“My—my friend. He loved my brother.”
Truth.
“Is anyone else planning to harm my wife?”
“No!” Truth. The heel of my boot rests on his neck. “No, I swear it by the Skies!”
I press my boot a fraction harder. “Where is your friend now?”
Vaimayr begins to weep in earnest. “Please. Please, it was my idea. Spare him.”
I bear my weight on my heel—seven seconds—until his face turns red. Sharp, panting gasps when I let up.
“It’s my wedding night, Vaimayr,” I purr, “and I’m spending it with you. I’m running out of patience.”
“He’s at his home on the east side of the city. Raivyn. Please, he has a daughter.”
Truth.
Behind me, I sense my father and Faramir’s energy signatures drawing closer. Better hurry this up.
“One last question, Vaimayr. Are you right-handed or left-handed?”
The bastard manages to crack open both eyes as he stares up at me, chin quivering with fear.
“L-left.”
My neck prickles.
He sobs as I yank his right arm out from the ropes binding him to the chair. One boot on his forearm, I arrange his hand flat on the floor. The hand that aimed a dagger at my wife.
The hand that might’ve succeeded if not for sheer luck.
Gritting my teeth, I stomp the heel of my boot again and again on his fingers. His wails fall on deaf ears as my heel grinds down his mangled hand.
The rage strangling me is partly aimed at myself—despite my promise, I didn’t protect her. I should’ve known this would happen, especially after the meeting with Jeyzar. It was foolish to leave her alone, even for a moment.
Satisfied Vaimayr will never use his hand again, not even to wipe his tears, I leave him whimpering on the dungeon floor. Faramir and my father wait outside the cell, wearing identical expressions of disdain.
“I’ve never known you to be so … heavyhanded, little brother,” Faramir drawls, peering into the cell through the small, barred window cut into the heavy door.
I ignore his jibe. “No one sent him,” I tell my father. “He was working with one other man. I’ll send a squad to retrieve him.” Perhaps the all-female squadron. They’ll need to find a new home for his daughter.
I brush past them toward the stairs. If I hurry, then—
“We need to talk about the girl.” The ice in my father’s voice rivals the tundra I crossed.
I stop, hand braced on the door frame. “Do you mean my wife?”
A heavy sigh drifts through the air, then a reluctant “Yes.”
“What about her?” I don’t bother facing him.
“She healed a common in full view of the entire court. It was an embarrassment. My advisers say the whispers are vicious. They’re saying—”
“I’ve never known you to concern yourself with petty rumors.” I pivot on my heel, arms crossed, leaning against the door frame. If he thinks I give a skiesdamn about rumors, he’s a bigger fool than I thought.
My father presses his lips together so tightly, they nearly disappear into his beard. “They’re saying your wife is a Rebellion sympathizer. Feels sorry for commons. Some have even gone as far to suggest she’s a spy, working for the Rebellion.”
Fuck. All this in a few hours?
“I’ll manage the situation.”
“You were supposed to manage her,” my father grits out. Faramir chuckles, hateful eyes glinting. “Heed my words, Zevayr. I only allowed you to marry the girl on the condition that you keep her in line. No more healing commons. No more missteps. No more skiesdamned rumors. Am I clear?”
Faramir’s smirk grows wider.
“Noted,” I mutter. “Anything else?”
“Don’t be late for breakfast tomorrow.”
Shit. I’d forgotten about that—the customary post-wedding family breakfast. A fucking joke. “Fine. But I expect my wife to be treated with respect. Kindness, even, if you can summon it from your cold hearts.”
Without another word, I whirl and jog up the stairs. It doesn’t stop Faramir’s prattling voice from reaching me. “Enjoy your wedding night, baby brother! Happy to lend a hand if you don’t feel up to the task.”
My hands clench as I stride through the halls, the ghost of shattered bones still whispering against my skin. I take deep, steadying breaths, trying to rid myself of the foul taste in my mouth, the stench of rot still burning my nostrils.
It’s late—after the dungeon, I'd checked on the servant in the infirmary. Faramir’s parting words linger on my skin like grime, and I can’t wait to scrub them off.
Outside my chambers, I nod to the six guards stationed outside. The room is dark. Mayah is asleep, her energy signature pulsing softly.
A pang of disappointment shoots through my chest, mingled with a faint sense of relief. I’d scrubbed my face and hands before returning, but I’m sure there’s lingering blood somewhere on me.
I want her to see me as Zev, not the Dark Commander.
Especially not on our wedding night.
After a short bath, I pad back into the room.
For a moment, I just admire the sight before me—Mayah in my bed. I’ve fantasized about exactly this for weeks, never expecting it to actually happen.
Gingerly, I peel back the covers and settle in atop rose petals, leaving an arm’s length of space between us. It’s too dark to distinguish the finer details of her nightgown, but there’s enough bare skin to set my blood ablaze.
She shifts slightly, groaning in displeasure.
A quiet laugh escapes me as I watch her, a small smile curving my lips. “Sorry, baby,” I murmur. “Go back to sleep.”
Mayah shifts again, reaching out in the empty space between us.
My wife whimpers softly.
Me. She wants me.
A deep sigh escapes me—she’ll be angry in the morning about this. “You’ll be the death of me.” The mattress dips as I edge closer. “Come here.” I tuck her against my bare chest, stifling a groan at the softness of her skin against mine.
I brush a kiss to her forehead and try to stay awake as long as I can, savoring the contentment of having her in my arms.
There’s something nuzzling my chest.
Blearily, I blink away my disorientation as Mayah tries to hide her flushed face.
“Good morning, wife.” My voice is rough with sleep, and I don’t miss the way Mayah sucks in a deep breath at the gravelly sound. She glares at me, squirming out of my arms. Reluctantly, I let her go.
“You didn’t have to hold me in your arms like that.”
The corner of my mouth tips up.
Her glare burns hotter.
“No.” My smile stretches. “I didn’t have to.”
There’s a petulant curve to her mouth, and I want so badly to kiss her. My wife.
“What happened after I was sent to bed?”
My lips press into a thin line. “The guards interrogated the guests. It appears he was acting alone.”
“Who was he?” Mayah plucks a rose petal from the bed, absently rubbing it between her fingers. The blanket slips off, revealing her bare shoulder. My eyes track the movement, mouth suddenly dry.
“A nonwielder from a noble family. His brother was a moderately powerful stormwielder. He was killed in battle a few months ago. I’m sorry for what he said to you.”
There’s a rose petal nestled within her hair, and I reach out and pull it free. The sight of Mayah laying atop crimson petals, her creamy skin glowing in the sunlight, sends my blood rushing south. I’ll have to ask the handmaids to refresh them every day.
Slowly, I trace the petal along her shoulder, reveling in the way her breath hitches. A shiver cascades through her, and her skin pebbles beneath my touch.
She swallows hard, and I track the bob in her throat.
Her soft hand skims across my bruised knuckles. She summons her power and heals the abrasions, then quickly crosses her arms over her chest, as if to force herself to stop touching me.
“And the servant? Is he all right?” Her voice is soft, breathy.
“Who wouldn’t be all right after you healed them?” I murmur, tugging her hand away from her chest before skating my thumb over her knuckles. “I checked on him after I finished in the dungeon. He was already awake. You’re unparalleled.”
“What happened in the dungeon?”
I was dreading this.
“I questioned the man that attacked you.”
“Is he alive?”
“Barely.”
That’s the least of my worries. My father and Faramir’s reactions were far more concerning.
“What aren’t you telling me?” She squeezes my hand, my perceptive Mayah.
“My father and brother are … displeased that you healed a nonwielder in full view of the entire court. They suspect you might be a Rebellion-sympathizer. I should’ve known they’d twist it into something ugly. You saved a life—a nonwielder’s life—and that makes them uneasy.”
“But—but I have no ties to the rebels!” she exclaims, rising up onto her elbow. No prickles. There never are when I’m with her.
“I know,” I soothe. “We’ll figure this out, all right? I’ll protect you. From anything. From anyone.”
The crease between her brows eases slightly, and I’m tempted to kiss it.
Slow down, idiot. Give her time to fall in love with you.
With a heavy sigh and one more lingering glance, I flop onto my back. As much as I want to spend the entire morning wrapped up in her, I know that’s not feasible.
“We should get ready.”
Mayah arches a brow.
“We’re having breakfast with my father and Faramir.”