Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Ihear nothing but the harsh thud, thud, thud of my boots as I tear through the trees. In mere seconds, I reach the camp.
Vicious rage thunders in my ears like a war drum.
Mayah is on her knees, thick roots coiled around her ankles and wrists. Blood coats her tear-stained face, tracking dark paths down her nostrils and mouth. Gruesome bruises in the shape of a large hand line her pale throat.
The five soldiers form a circle around her, and Sulon—fucking Sulon—stands before her, pants bunched around his thighs, thick fingers prying her bloodied lips open.
He’s a fucking dead man. They all are.
The sky rumbles.
Sulon freezes, yanking his hand back and tugging up his pants.
But he’s too late. I’ve seen what he is.
What he was going to do.
“What the fuck are you doing to my wife?!” I hurtle toward them.
“I… sire, I—”
My hand flies into the air.
Every single man freezes, bodies still as death.
They begin to jerk, limbs stiff and erratic. The stench of burning metal permeates the air. Their mouths gape open as they scream, the sound cutting off like a severed cord.
One by one, the would-be rapists pitch forward and hit the ground.
Thunder still rumbles, but I can’t hear it over Mayah’s wails.
Mayah.
She’s sobbing, tears streaming down her battered face.
My heart beats in my throat. A soul-crushing panic batters my conscience.
My knees hit the ground, and I reach for her.
Mayah recoils from me, nearly tumbling backward, but the roots hold her in place, thorns digging even deeper into her skin.
“Skies, Mayah,” I whisper brokenly. Guilt ravages my every sense.
How did this happen? How did Sulon lie?
Lightning strike me, does my truthwielding not work on anyone?
I reach out slowly again, wary of spooking her, and cradle her face. “What did they do to you?”
“You did this to me,” she hisses, voice thick with tears. She jerks away from my touch. “You left me with them. Did you know he’d try to—”
A sob tears from her and pierces my chest.
“I swear I didn’t. He said he’d keep wat—”
“You left me here alone!” she screams. “Bound and helpless! A Tundrayni woman with six Arbinji soldiers!” Fresh sobs burst from her lips, and she curls inward, shoulders shaking.
Remorse strangles my lungs.
“Fuck, Mayah. I—”
I unsheathe my dagger and cut through the roots binding her wrists and ankles. She winces as the thorns are pulled from her skin, leaving behind bright red wounds that make me wish I’d killed the men slower. One more swipe of the dagger and the rope binding her hands falls to the ground.
She stares at her wrists, red and bruised beneath the iron bracelets still encasing them. Violent shudders rack her body as she cries harder. Skies, I want to wrap her in my arms and take away her fear and pain, fold it into myself so she might never experience it again.
“Mayah…” My hand hovers over her shoulder. I want to comfort her, but she’s in shock. I’m not certain she’ll welcome my touch.
When she snatches the dagger from my hand, I let her take it.
Anything to make her feel safe again after what nearly happened to her.
“Off, off, I want them off,” she pants. “I can still feel his hands.” She jams the sharp blade between her skin and the iron cuff.
“Wait, I have the key—”
“Don’t touch me!” she shouts, scrambling out of my reach. She works the blade deeper into her flesh, blood welling from the new wound.
“Mayah, stop, let me—”
Her hand shakes.
One hard yank and—
—the dagger opens a brutal gash down the length of her arm.
Panic flares within me, sharp and serrated.
Blood gushes from the wound, soaking her tunic, dripping down into the damp earth. I rush over to her, knocking the dagger away.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I hiss, examining her wrist. The blood flows faster. “You need to heal yourself.” I uncuff her quickly, the iron bracelets hitting the ground with a muted thud that I feel in my bones.
Her eyes flutter closed.
“Skies, Mayah—focus.” I shake her shoulders. “You’re bleeding too fast. Heal yourself. Now.”
She groans lightly. Bright blood drips onto the ground in a steady stream, her eyes staying closed for longer and longer with each blink.
“Mayah.” I shake her again, harder. Skies, she’s going to bleed out in my arms. “Heal yourself. Please.”
She closes her eyes, brows pinched together.
A soft, whimpering moan escapes her.
“What? There’s nothing in your bloodstream. The iron is gone. You should—” She slumps against me, and my voice splinters.
Shit. Shit. Shit. She hasn’t eaten anything. I didn’t let her eat anything. And the trauma of what Sulon did, maybe that’s—
“Fuck, Mayah. Just—Lightning strike me, just hold on.”
With steely resolve, I bracket her neck between my palms and channel my power into her. More than I did when she’d been struck with the arrow.
I cradle her face. “Try now,” I urge. “Quickly.”
She closes her eyes. When her hand glows with soft, white light, I nearly weep with relief. She sweeps it over the deep gash, and her skin slowly mends, the edges of the wound beginning to close.
A relieved sigh escapes me as I sit back on my heels, watching as the gash knits back together.
Until it doesn’t.
The light from her hand sputters, flickering softly at first.
Then it extinguishes completely.
She gasps—fresh blood oozes steadily from her half-healed wound. Slowly, our eyes meet. She’s pale, a faint sheen of sweat slicking her skin.
Wordlessly, I return my hands to her neck, channeling yet more of my power into her. I feel the drain, the heavy fatigue weighing down on my limbs. I’d give her all of it. Give her anything, do anything to save her.
Her hands glow again. This time, the light doesn’t waver. She finishes healing the gash running down the inside of her forearm, then her bloodied ankles and split lip.
I can only watch in silence as self-loathing and guilt batter my conscience harder and harder with each sealed wound.
When her body is whole, she meets my gaze with icy blue eyes.
I open my mouth, an apology poised on my tongue.
But I never get to utter it because—
—the waterwielder attacks.