Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Leaving Mayah the next morning is torture.
My legs refuse to obey me, determined to remain tangled with hers.
With great effort, I gently separate our limbs.
We fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed, at least two feet of longing left between us, but during the night, I don’t know if she sought me out or if I dragged her against me.
Either way, I’m painfully fucking hard—Mayah wrapped in my arms, but still woefully out of my reach.
With a heavy sigh, I trudge to the shower and stand beneath the ice-cold spray.
“How is that we still have not learned the identity of the leader of this skiescursed Rebellion?” my father snaps. His eyes are shadowed, as though he hasn’t slept in days.
“Sire, we’ve only located some of their smaller camps so far We have some inclination as to where their leadership may be, but our men have been divided whilst fighting with Tundrayn.
We are remobilizing and broadening our search.
” He shifts on his feet. “And … I believe it was you who made the decision to leave their outposts near Tundrayn untouched.”
“I don’t need a lesson on what decisions I made!” he shouts, spittle flying through the air. Skies, he’s in a mood. Perhaps because Faramir is nowhere to be seen. Probably sleeping off a hangover.
“Any word from Tundrayn?” I ask before my father summons a storm and frightens my wife, though generally—I’m loathe to admit it—he has better control over his moods.
“Nothing, sire,” the lanky man stammers.
“That reminds me,” my father grumbles. “Draft a letter to Tormik. About our enduring alliance.” His sharp gaze cuts to me like a blade, lip curling with anger. “Ask for support against the Rebellion.”
The man nods before hurrying away.
That wasn’t too bad. Perhaps now I can leave and get back to Mayah.
Except fortune has never favored me.
And seems, it’s not about to begin now.
The door groans open, and an adviser enters, a thick stack of parchments in hand that he promptly deposits in front of me.
“Sire,” he pants as though he ran here. “I—I asked Prince Faramir to review these agreements. And he told me to come to you.” His face is pale—I know exactly how Faramir told him.
A deep sigh and weary nod are my response.
By the time I’ve finished reading and signing the tower of parchments, I’m alone in the council chambers. My stomach rumbles insistently. If I hurry, perhaps I can join Mayah for lunch.
My boots thud on the marble as I head toward our room. Gregoran had found me in the council chambers mid-morning, as I’d instructed, and informed me that all was well with Mayah—no disturbances. And no sly attempts from Faramir.
Still, my heart thrums with worry.
“Sire!”
I grit my teeth. Is everyone so horribly inept in this skiesforsaken palace?
The adviser approaches briskly, his energy signature mellow despite his panting breaths. “Sire, the ring. It’s ready.”
This—this I can make time for. “Where is it?”
“Er, with the jeweler. In the receiving room. Shall I bring him up here?”
“No.” That’ll take too long. “I’ll come with you.”
The jeweler awaits, draped in deep emerald robes. He jumps up when I enter, falling into a deep bow, glittering rings adorning every finger.
“Sire, it’s been an honor.”
“The ring?” I can’t contain the impatience thrumming in my voice.
He presents a velvet box with a flourish. I open it and swallow a curse.
The shape is right—teardrop to match her necklace, but a black diamond mocks me. And it’s far too small.
My face must reveal my displeasure because the jeweler’s eyes widen comically.
“I said white diamond,” I grit out, thrusting the box into his hands. “And bigger. Much bigger. Do you have the sketch?”
He nods quickly, searching his pockets. “Apologies for the oversight, sire. Black diamond is customary for royals, so I assumed…” He comes up empty-handed in his search. “Apologies, the sketch must be back at my shop. I’ll rectify this at once.”
With a tight nod, I sweep from the room.
Mayah must be done with lunch by now, but maybe we can sit in the gardens until—
“Sire!”
Lightning strike me.
By the time I make it back to my chambers, Mayah is fast asleep.
“Why so glum, little brother?” Faramir’s needling voice grates at my nerves. It’d been an effort to leave Mayah asleep in bed this morning. I’d debated waking her just to see her bleary blue eyes but decided against it.
She hasn’t slept in a bed in over a month—I won’t rob her of rest for my own selfish desires.
“Little brother,” Faramir croons, drawing out the words when I don’t answer. “What’s the matter? Marriage not all you’d hoped?”
“Shut up.”
The adviser droning on about city matters falters before realizing I’m not speaking to him. My father cuts us a warning glare like we’re misbehaving children.
My half-brother opens his mouth to spew more shit when Jeyzar enters. His face is grave, and even Faramir turns to listen.
“The Rebellion has attacked battalions stationed at the contested borders.”
“Ours?” Faramir asks, brow raised. “Or my sister-in-law’s?”
“Both. We’ve suffered significant casualties.”
“How?” my father demands. “They’re commons. How are they wreaking so much havoc?”
Jeyzar doesn’t flinch. “They have more wielders than we expected—waterwielders, earthwielders, healers. And, sire, they are skilled in other forms of warfare. Their sharpshooters make easy targets of our soldiers with iron-coated arrows.”
My knuckles blanch white.
“They’ve also developed more advanced bombs, with wider blasting ranges.”
The room is silent with uneasy contemplation. Both Arbinj and Tundrayn’s war strategies center around wielders and their abilities. We’ve never bothered to train nonwielders beyond basic combat—they’ve been used as padding for the front lines, nothing more.
I’ve never agreed with the methods—but I never tried to change them either. Mayah’s earnest face flashes through my mind, the determined set of her jaw as she healed the dying boy in her lap. The tears dampening her cheeks as she spoke of her nonwielder friends.
A wave of guilt washes over my lungs at my inadequacy. At my apathy. I stopped caring about everything after Lev died.
No more.
I wish to be a man deserving of Mayah.
“Organize three battalions—wielders and nonwielders together.”
Wide, scandalized eyes stare back at me as though I suggested handing over our kingdom to the Rebellion on a silver platter.
“Our current strategy isn’t working. Perhaps it’s time for change. Start with three battalions—instruct Sulon to train them together. Find new strengths, different strategies.”
Faramir chuckles. “Mayah put you up to this, didn’t she? We’ve all seen she’s a bleeding heart for commons, but how did she convince you? Did she get on her knees—”
The words don’t leave his lips, not with my hand around his throat. He thrashes in my grip, fingers clawing at my forearm.
“You don’t learn, Faramir,” I growl, squeezing harder. No one in the room moves. Not the advisers, not my father, not the guards stationed by the door.
His pompous face turns red. Up here in the towering palace, there’s no earth for him to wield. He gasps for breath, eyes bulging as he slams his fists against me.
“Enough, Zevayr,” my father finally says, resigned. I don’t release my hold. “I said enough!”
I shove Faramir backwards. His chair flips over, and he lands hard on the ground, devolving into a fit of gasping coughs.
“Get out.” Cold fury coats my voice.
For once, he doesn’t have a sharp retort. Just looks incredulously at our father, face still red.
My father stares at him, eyes hard. “Return to your chambers. Get some rest.”
Faramir’s mouth falls open, then snaps shut. His hands shake violently at his sides as he rises and exits the room.
The door has barely closed when I motion over a servant. “Station four more guards outside my chambers.”
Silence echoes throughout the room, almost tangible in its heavy weight. Each gaze rests on me—some afraid, some resigned, some pitiful.
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to quell the rapid beat of my heart. Outside the windows, dark clouds conceal the sun. I take deep, steadying breaths until the sky clears.
Jeyzar clears his throat. “The combined battalions is a fine idea, sire. Perhaps…” He shifts on his feet, as if reluctant to voice his thought. “Perhaps, you might head to the border and oversee the training?”
A beat of stretched silence, every eye watching me.
“No.”
The remainder of the meeting passes without further incident.
Faramir doesn’t return.
It’s midday when a servant enters and presents me with a letter, sealed with a drop of unadorned green wax. Father is scrawled across the front in neat penmanship.
It’s the first time I’ve seen Mayah’s handwriting.
I take the parchment from the servant’s grasp, staring at the letter.
My father watches me closely, his eyes searing the side of my face. “You must read it, Zevayr. Or I will.”
Shame creeps up my spine, but I break the unmarked seal and read my wife’s letter to her father.
I imagine you must be shocked.
You need not worry for my safety.
Zevayr has treated me with kindness and respect.
Please accept my decision.
I haven’t seen the capital yet.
I am safe.
I can’t quite parse my convoluted feelings. Her words about me are formal and polite—not glowing praise or adoration, though I can hardly expect she’d declare her feelings in a letter to her father.
I’d hope she’d tell me first.
“It’s fine to send.” My voice is hoarse.
“Are you certain? No plotting, no—”
“I’m certain.”
My father purses his lips but doesn’t object when I tilt a candle over the parchment, letting the dark wax cool into a sigil-less circle.
“Give us the room.” The king’s eyes are fixed on me. With quiet murmurs, the advisers file out.
I brace for a verbal beating, a lecture about how Mayah is a weakness and that I’m a pathetic embarrassment and undeserving of my title.
But his words surprise me.
“Your brother grows worse,” he says, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “He’ll hold a grudge about … your wife for months.”
I snort. “More like years.”
“Do you think there’s hope for him? As king?”
I stare at my father in surprise. He’s never broached the subject about Faramir’s episodes, at least not with me. We’ve always contained his outbursts, then continued on as if nothing unusual occurred.
“If we can manage his moods. Control him at public events. Someone will have to assume responsibility for actually running the kingdom—and handling him.” I scrub a tired hand down my face, exhaling sharply. “I suppose it’ll be me.”
Silence envelops us until my father rises. “I have some matters to attend to. Oversee the rest of the meeting.” A beat. “Please.”
He leaves me in stunned silence.