Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Mayah is still unconscious.
I lost track of how long I’ve knelt here. Weeping.
I’m pathetic—just like my father said.
No. Fucking. More.
My hand shoots out, grabbing her limp hand and yanking off the betrothal ring. Out of spite, I unclasp her necklace—with more care than she deserves—and shove both into my pockets.
I need to figure out what to do with her.
She’s a secret waterwielder. I’ve despised Tormik for sending his defenseless daughter into the arms of his enemy, but this was their plan all along. He sent a weapon, not a sacrifice. She was biding her time, waiting for me to leave. Waiting for her fucking lover to help her enact her schemes.
I could tell my father everything. Bind her in iron and imprison her in the dungeons. Use her as leverage against Tormik like my father had originally planned. She’d live out her life in the dark underbelly of the palace, never see daylight again.
And Faramir would undoubtedly find his way into her cell.
Bile churns in my gut, threatening to spill over.
No.
My gaze rakes over her pale face, long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. The perfect curve of her lips, the smattering of freckles across her nose.
My traitorous heart flips over in my chest.
I know what I must do.
The waterwielder’s head lolls against my chest as I storm back through the dark passageway, stagnant air suffocating me.
Or maybe it’s the grief coiled around my heart that won’t let me draw a full breath.
Her familiar frost and winter rose scent envelops my senses. For the past week, I wanted nothing more than to breathe it again.
Now, I hate it. I’m tempted to toss her to the ground, leave her trapped with her lover’s corpse until the end of her days.
Instead, I emerge with her into our—my—chambers.
I can’t actually bring myself to throw her onto the floor, so I set her down on the bed, again with more care than she deserves. Raking a violent hand through my hair, I stride to the door.
“Gregoran. Freynk,” I rasp. “Get in here.”
The two men follow me inside, eyes cutting to Mayah’s prone figure on the bed, then back to me, brows furrowed.
“There’s a corpse in the tunnels. Dispose of it.”
Gregoran’s eyes bulge. Freynk’s jaw drops.
“Sire—”
“Gather ten guards you trust and flush out the tunnels. Speak of this to no one. No. One. Do you understand?”
They nod, eyes again flicking to the treacherous woman on my bed.
The guards set to their tasks and I set to mine—scouring my chambers for anything else she might have hidden from me.
Thirty minutes yields nothing except for a large jar of wormbark oil. Poison, then. And she kept the wormbark oil for herself in case she was forced to consume whatever food or wine was meant for me.
Skies, she was plotting my murder. Why did she wait so long, though? She had ample opportunity. Strangely, it doesn’t cause me anymore pain. Perhaps my heart is broken beyond repair. My limbs, senses, emotions are all blanketed with numbness. It’s a small mercy.
I’ve just finished searching every inch of the room when the two guards emerge from the tunnel entrance. Again, they glance at the waterwielder’s prone form.
“Sire, we disposed of the body. We—”
“I don’t care what you did with it,” I snap. “What did your search of the tunnels yield?”
“Toxinnia,” Gregoran says gravely. “Barrels and barrels of it. Enough to take out the entire city, sire.”
My blood turns to ice.
The Equinox Festival. I underestimated her. She wasn’t planning to kill just me. Skies. She was planning to kill everyone. My gaze cuts to her pale face. Even now, she appears innocent. Pure and good. Tormik honed the perfect weapon.
And the waterwielder? She played her part beautifully.
Skies damn us both.
Her for her treachery, me for my blindness.
But there’s one thing I still can’t fathom: how did my truthwielding fail? How could my wife plan a massacre under my nose? Months and months of plotting, right from the start. Without even the faintest prickle to warn me.
She must be immune. That’s the only explanation. I cut my eyes to her still-unconscious figure, laying on my bed as though she belongs there.
She doesn’t.
She never did.
“Send a message to Sulon, then get rid of the toxinnia,” I instruct. “Be discreet. And prepare the prisoners’ carriage for travel.”
I carry Mayah to the carriage myself. I prop her limp body against the wooden bench myself. I shackle her wrists with iron chains myself.
Then I sit across from her.
And I wait.
Every minute I stare at her face, my anger slowly builds. Her tear-stained face flits through my mind, kneeling beside him, grief twisting her features. The rage in her eyes when she looked at me.
Her lover’s murderer.
The waterwielder remains unconscious for another two hours.
Embarrassing, really. Maybe I’ll tell her when she wakes. She’d always seemed to despise her weakness—unless that was an act, too.
A sharp gasp splinters the silence, and her eyes snap open, immediately rising skyward as if the storm that debilitated her still lurks overhead. Just as quickly, her eyes clench shut, and she braces.
The chains rattle as she shifts, a crease forming between her pretty brows.
Fuck. They aren’t pretty. Nothing about her is pretty.
It was all a lie.
The carriage lurches sharply, and her shoulder slams into the wall.
I flinch, despite myself.
The air crackles with my rage, still present, still simmering since my world shattered. The sight of his lips moving over hers haunts me every time I close my eyes.
“What a relief, wife.” Venom coats every word. “I was beginning to worry you’d never wake.”
She doesn’t look at me.
“A waterwielder,” I continue. “Right under my nose for months. In my skiesdamned bed.”
The waterwielder finally meets my gaze. At first her eyes are soft. Vulnerable. But in a blink, they harden, freezing into icy, blue chips.
She straightens her back as much as the chains will allow, casting her wary gaze around the carriage.
“Recognize it? It’s the same design as the prisoners' carriage we rode in when we left Tundrayn. Seemed only fitting we end our journey the way it began.”
She sucks in a shuddering breath before clenching her eyes shut, face pinched.
She’s trying to summon water.
My lips curl into a cold smile. “First time in iron chains?”
She glares at me. No hint of the warmth that used to temper even her coldest expressions.
“Why did you really come to Arbinj?” I demand.
“Untie me,” she hisses.
“Answer my question.”
“No.”
So much fucking defiance. The nerve of this woman.
Before she can take another breath, I lean forward and wrap my hand around her neck. I don’t squeeze, even though the temptation claws at me.
Her breath escapes in harsh pants as I loom closer. She recoils, pressing herself against the wooden wall, but there’s no escape.
She’s completely at my mercy.
And I have none for her.
“Is this where you tell me not to touch you? Because you’re the princess of Tundrayn?” My voice drops to a low whisper. “Tell me, was that the real you? Or just another mask?”
She swallows hard, throat bobbing beneath my palm. I grin at her, sharp and cruel. I trace a finger along the bare line of her collarbone, and she shivers beneath my touch.
It’s meant to be threatening. That’s the only reason I do it.
“Why did you come to Arbinj? Do not lie to me. I won’t ask again, wife.” My stomach stumbles as the mocking endearment passes my lips. I ignore it.
“To marry your brother!” she bites out. “We’ve had this conversation before, remember?”
A growl builds in my chest. My power responds.
The sky darkens, dimming the faint light inside the carriage.
At least one of my abilities works the way it should.
Thunder rumbles overhead.
The waterwielder’s eyes widen with terror.
I release my hold on her neck and sit back on the bench, knees spread wide.
“I’ll summon the storm inside the carriage, if that’s what you wish. But then you’d faint again like a sad, sniveling child, and I’d have to wait for you to wake up and start all over again. So make it easier for both of us and tell me. Why. Did. You. Come.”
Hurt flares within her gaze, her lower lip quivering.
Shit, she’s good.
Just as quickly, she clenches her jaw, tilting her chin defiantly.
All right, then. “You were going to poison everyone at the Equinox Festival.”
The waterwielder gapes at me. Skies, did no one train her for interrogation? Tormik just sent her to spread her legs and bide her time?
How willing she would have been for Faramir. Disgust needles beneath my ribs, acrid bile clawing up my throat.
“I had the tunnels flushed out. There were barrels of toxinnia ready.” I rest my chin on my hand, eyes never leaving her traitorous face. “And the wormbark oil in my chambers?”
She flinches.
“Who was it for? Your dead captain?”
Tears line her eyes, and she averts her gaze.
The sight of her grief for her lover fills me with fresh rage. “Who was it for?” I snarl, leaning forward.
Silence.
I summon lighting. “Who was it f—”
“For you!” Tears stream down her cheeks. “It was for you!”
I stare at her, unmoving.
She’s still playing her part. Even now.
No prickles. Their absence fuels my anger.
“Stop lying.” My voice is deathly calm even as violent rage surges through my veins.
“I swear by the Tides, it was for you!”
She’s barely finished speaking when I lunge across the carriage, palms braced against the wall, caging her head between them.
“STOP. LYING!”
Thunder rattles the carriage, lightning flashing violently.
Her wrists jerk in their chains, and she gags, cowering from me.
The bitter taste of self-loathing blooms hot on my tongue.
My breathing is heavy as I plant myself on the bench across from her, staring out of the small, smudged window, struggling to regain some semblance of control.
“You were going to poison everyone at the Festival. And then what? Rule Arbinj and Tundrayn with your captain by your side?” I tsk. “Shame he’s dead. You could’ve ruled together—how romantic.”
Her expression morphs into a snarl when I mention her dead lover.
“You seem more upset to have caught me with another man than you are about the fact that I plotted to murder your family and seize the throne,” she hisses, a mockery of a smile unfurling across her lips. “Poor baby commander. Can’t handle a little heartbreak?”
Her words, sharper than any blade, twist into my still-bleeding heart.
Another rumble of thunder sounds out, but she meets my gaze this time. I grit my teeth, hands clenching into tight, vibrating fists. I don’t trust myself to speak without shouting.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To the border,” I lie.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Maybe. I haven’t decided.”
She swallows hard.
“What did you do with his body?” she whispers. Vicious, seething rage billows up my throat until I’m overcome with the urge to throttle her.
I don’t know where the captain’s corpse ended up.
And neither will she.
The thought sends a wave of grim satisfaction through me.
Another cruel remark is poised on my tongue when the carriage jolts to a stop.