Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
It’s been two days since I’ve seen Mayah—not counting watching her sleep in our bed after I trudge back mere hours before dawn.
Three attacks in three days. All on Arbinji bases.
No attacks on Tundrayn. At least not that we’ve heard. I’ve spent every waking moment in the council chambers strategizing, counting resources, trying to anticipate the Rebellion’s next move.
Trying to convince my father that Mayah isn’t involved.
I’m not certain about Tundrayn anymore, though.
Could Tormik truly have betrayed Arbinj while his daughter lives within our walls?
Perhaps he doesn’t care if Mayah is harmed in retaliation—he sent her here, after all, to marry Faramir.
Never comforted her during thunderstorms, even when she was a child.
And he hasn’t sent her a single letter. The disappointment on Mayah’s face every time she musters the courage to ask me fills me with more hatred for that man than I ever thought possible.
“I’ll return later,” I announce to the room. The door creaks its protest, but no one else voices dissent, though a few advisers share pointed glances. Faramir does nothing to conceal his massive eyeroll.
I don’t give a skiesdamn.
Ten minutes later, I’m striding into the infirmary.
Mayah freezes when she sees me, shoulders drawn tight, though I don’t miss the flicker of warmth—of hope—that passes through her gaze.
Her energy signature pulses faintly, the currents huddled around her. My wife is happy to see me, but she’s also nervous. My brows knit together. The last time we spoke—
Skies, it was after our kiss in the closet. She must think I’ve stayed away on purpose. That I’m upset with her.
I need to rectify this immediately.
Sauzon wisely disappears into the supply room.
“Hi,” she says tentatively, playing with the sleeve of her gown.
I don’t bother with words, just cross the room and pull her into my arms. She melts against me, nuzzling my chest, and I breathe in her frost and winter rose scent.
“I’ve missed you,” I murmur. “Do you have time for a walk?”
Adoration lights her eyes as she nods. A brief moment of hesitation, and then my wife rises up on her tiptoes, brushes a soft kiss against my jaw, and steals another piece of my heart.
I don’t trust myself with words—I can only watch as she removes her white apron and washes her hands in the steel basin in the corner of the room.
We walk in silence to the garden where we were wed, her fingers curled around my bicep. A sudden gust of brisk, autumnal wind has Mayah nestling closer into my side.
She’s waiting for me to speak, pretty blue eyes finding my face every few minutes. The words linger on my tongue, but I don’t want to voice them and ruin this rare moment of peace.
When her fingers tighten on my arm and she looses her third deep sigh, I break my silence. “The Rebellion has waged three attacks in three days,” I tell her, my hand clasped tightly around hers. “All on Arbinji bases.”
I say nothing else, but my clever wife hears what I leave unspoken.
“Do you think Tundrayn is involved?” A crease forms between her brows, and I want to smooth it away with my fingers.
“My father and brother do,” I admit. “I’m not sure. Your father would be a fool to attack Arbinj when we have his daughter.”
Mayah stiffens beside me, footsteps halting in the grass.
Lightning strike me. Poor choice of words.
I cradle her face. “Hey. You know I’d burn down all of skiesdamned Arbinj to protect you, right?” I press a soft kiss to her brow. “But your father doesn’t know that.”
My words don’t have the intended effect—if anything, the crease between her brows deepens.
“I don’t like being so far removed from what’s going on. I want to attend council meetings with you.”
I cast her an apologetic glance. “I swear by the Skies, Mayah, one day you’ll be beside me wherever I go.”
“But?” she snaps with a scowl. Her hand wriggles in mine as she tries to unlace our fingers, but I don’t let go.
“But my father and brother already suspect Tundrayn’s hand in these attacks. And if they continue—which I’m certain they will—they’ll see you as a spy, feeding them information.”
I don’t mention that they already suspect her.
“What about your brother’s marriage to the Volcan princess?”
“Still up in the air. The emissaries left weeks ago, but their queen still seems unwilling to ally with a kingdom plagued by Rebellion attacks.”
“I can’t blame them. Volca actually treats nonwielders fairly. Maybe if Arbinj and Tundrayn did the same, the Rebellion would leave us alone, too.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, gazing at her earnest face.
It strikes me again that Mayah is good. Selfless.
Guided by a strong moral compass, outraged against the injustice in this world.
She’s fought against her father for years for nonwielder rights, while I’ve done nothing. Nothing besides murdering her people.
I am utterly unworthy of her.
I cut my eyes away, fingers scraping against my palms as though that might erase the blood that tarnishes them. The blood of her people. The blood of her friends.
How can she stand to be around me? How can she look at me without hate clouding her gaze? I can’t speak past the heap of self-loathing in my throat.