Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
In that moment when my life shattered around me, when my wife lay unconscious beside her lover’s corpse, when I was faced with the truth of her intentions—I had made a decision.
Except it wasn’t as much a decision as it was a realization. That as much as I hated her, as heartbroken, gutted, betrayed as I felt—
I’d never stop loving her.
No, she played her part too well. She burrowed into my heart and wove her lies into my very soul.
I couldn’t sentence her to a lifetime of pain and torture by handing her over to my father and brother.
There was only one foreseeable path—return her to her people.
Which is how I find myself now trudging through the forest, heading toward the Tundrayni camp that we’d allowed within our borders. My jaw clenches—these men were likely waiting for a signal from their princess, perfectly positioned to launch an attack on the palace.
Mud squelches beneath my boots, and I slow my steps. I’m making far too much noise. I just need to scope out the camp, gauge how many men are stationed here, and ensure it’s—my teeth might crack—safe for her. Then I’ll return tomorrow and deliver their princess to them.
After that, I’ll get Sky-shakingly drunk. Fling myself from the terrace, perhaps.
Wind whispers through the branches, carrying the sound of male voices and clanging metal—the camp must be nearby. Hidden within the shadows, I creep closer until I can make out the outskirts of the camp.
It’s smaller than I expected.
Warriors are scattered in the center, attending to various tasks. They’ve shed their blue-and-white furs for green-and-brown linen and leather vests. Three blue-eyed men warily approach a handful of braying horses tied to a cluster of trees.
A woman emerges from one of the tents, a stack of folded cloths cradled to her chest. A whisper of relief skates down my spine—the waterwielder won’t be the only woman here.
Her betrothal ring and necklace burn in my pocket. I still haven’t decided if I’ll return her mother’s necklace.
I watch the warriors mill about the camp for nearly an hour. They treat the woman with respect, offering polite nods and restrained smiles.
No ogling.
No disrespect.
Mayah—fuck, the waterwielder—should be safe. The thought doesn’t bring me any comfort as I head back.
A gaping pit of dread opens in the hollow of my chest, growing wider with each step until I fear I’ll plunge into it and never emerge.
I should feel relieved. Come tomorrow, she won’t be my problem anymore. I’ll never have to see her traitorous face again. Never have to hear another lie in her soft, melodious voice.
I can lie to myself, but my heart knows the truth.
It doesn’t matter. She’ll be gone tomorrow and—
The hair on the back of my neck rises.
Our camp is twenty feet away, hidden from view by dense tree trunks and drooping branches. I sense a grouping of energy signatures—five, maybe six people huddled together.
I walk faster, branches whipping my arms and face. The jumbled currents grow clearer as I draw closer. They’re still a tangle of bodies, but Mayah’s energy signature is clear in the center.
And it’s thrumming wildly, like nothing I’ve ever sensed before.
Not when I slid my brother’s ring onto her finger.
Not when I pinned her to the ground in the snow.
Not when her body trembled as a storm raged overhead.
Not when I murdered her lover before her eyes.
No—her energy signature throbs violently with terror, each charge thrumming with a desperation so hopeless, it chills my blood.
I bolt the rest of the way.