Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
It’s mid-afternoon on the third day when it finally happens.
I can’t hold myself up anymore. My arms throb as I sag between the posts. Dried blood coats my face and my chest. Both eyes are swollen, my vision nearly nonexistent except for a blurry slit.
But it’s enough for me to see her when she finally emerges.
Her face is pale and gaunt, cheeks sunken, but it’s unmistakably her.
My shoulders loosen.
The daily beatings must’ve taken their toll on me, because when she sees me, the waterwielder looks overcome with a bone-deep horror.
Like she might fall to her knees and vomit all over the matted grass.
It must be my vision that shakes—it can’t be that her knees wobble as she takes a step toward me, then another and another, until she’s halfway to the platform.
“Princess!” The general’s gruff voice echoes through the camp, and the waterwielder freezes, turning as Sorka strides toward her. “Are you well? The effects wore off? You’ve eaten?”
She nods once, tucking her hands behind her back. For a moment, they appear to be glowing. I blink slowly, and they’ve returned to normal. A trick of the light.
“Good. Come with me.” My teeth clench, bruised jaw aching, as he rests a familiar hand on her lower back and leads her away.
She takes three shaky steps, then turns her head to stare at me.
Her pretty blue eyes shimmer in the sunlight.
She’s too far to discern the emotion in her watery gaze, but my idiot heart calls it devastation.
No.
I won’t let her fool me a third time.
Twenty-six punches and three zig-zagged cuts carved into my arm.
That’s how long it takes for the waterwielder and general to emerge from his tent. Both their eyes are bloodshot, and a heavy sense of loss slopes the general’s proud shoulders.
She must have told him of her lover’s fate.
His son.
I wait for the general to charge toward me, to exact his retribution with fists and ice and blade.
But he only takes the waterwielder’s elbow and gives her a tour of the camp. Her wary eyes find me again and again. Something tight pulls in my chest. Her teardrop necklace rests between her collarbones where it belongs.
I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
Still, a part of me feels relieved to see her reunited with the last piece she has of her mother.
The betrothal ring burns in my pocket.
The other woman is a healer, too. The waterwielder sat with her and healed the injured warriors for a time before the two of them disappeared into their tent.
It’s for the best since I can’t seem to focus on anything else. These past three days, I should’ve been plotting my escape. Instead, I couldn’t look past her tent, couldn’t think about anything besides when she’d wake.
For once, the warriors don’t appear to have the time to torment me. Sorka barks orders, a vein throbbing in his forehead. The men scurry around the camp, stacking crates, polishing weapons, cleaning up after the horses. It can only mean one thing.
Tormik must be coming to take his daughter home.
And figure out what to do with me.
It’s likely Tundrayn will hold me for ransom and send a list of demands. Food stores. Land. Skies knows what else.
Or Tormik might force my father to come retrieve me personally. They’d plotted to poison us all—that plan went up in flames. His next logical move would be to try to eliminate us in one fell swoop some other way.
If my father does come, they’ll be forced to unchain me.
And then I’ll make them wish they’d killed me where I stand.
The sky is dark when he arrives. His booming voice thunders through the camp. Every man stands at attention. The waterwielder emerges from her tent, eyes wide and hands trembling. She should look relieved—happy—to see her father after all these months. Instead, she looks terrified.
A strong desire to comfort her crackles through me, and I grit my teeth against it. I’m a fucking fool.
Tormik strides into view, wearing blue robes and the same air of regal arrogance my father has donned his entire life. I wait for him to seek out his daughter, but he doesn’t spare her a single glance.
I keep watching her face—I see the devastation when she realizes her father isn’t here for her. My hands clench into fists, though at least four of my fingers are broken.
Tormik ascends the platform, but I refuse to look at him.
He bristles. Even bound in iron, I’m certain his energy signature vibrates with rage.
A king never takes kindly to being ignored.
He follows my gaze to his daughter. He sees her, I know he does. Standing there, shaking and unsure. And still the wretched man doesn’t acknowledge her. Doesn’t utter a single word in greeting. After she spent months away from home. After all she might have endured.
Crack.
My head ricochets sideways as he backhands me.
Sharp pain lances through me, each breath a serrated gasp. Every inhale has been a struggle after a bulky warrior landed a bone-crunching blow to my ribs today.
“Hello, father-in-law,” I manage to rasp. Tormik sneers at me, his gnarled hand clamping around my swollen jaw.
“You will die in this camp, Arbinji filth. I swear it by the Tides.”
A broken laugh escapes me, and I relish the way his shoulders tighten.
“Lord over me later, Tormik. I’m not going anywhere. But at least pretend to be a good father and see your daughter first.”
My words have their intended effect. He bristles before slapping me so hard, my teeth rattle in my skull. His robes swish as he strides down the steps, stalking toward Sorka’s tent. The waterwielder follows him, hands clasped in front of her like the dutiful daughter she is.
Crack!
Twin sounds splinter the silence—each coming from opposite sides of the camp—but I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. Fatigue weighs heavy on my limbs. Every breath is a monumental struggle.
Hushed whispers, and then the sound of scuffing boots as the two guards flanking me creep down the platform off to Skies know where.
The night is silent once more.
Sleeping upright comes easier and easier. It doesn’t bode well for my battered body, but I can’t help but feel grateful for this small mercy anyway. I’ve nearly dozed off when—
I sense her. Even with the thick iron suppressing my powers, I’d know her frost and winter rose scent anywhere.
My eyes snap open—well, one of them does.
She freezes on the platform steps, eyes wide like a frightened doe.
I nearly scoff. Even now, she plays her part.
“Come to have a turn?” I rasp. My voice sounds like it’s been gouged with broken glass. Foolishly, I hope the rough sound pierces her conscience.
With unsteady steps, she climbs onto the platform. For a beat, she just stares at me, anguished blue eyes roving over my battered face and ravaged body. I flinch when her hands touch me, soft and tentative, splaying over my chest.
I can sense it—her power flowing through me as she closes her eyes. Not healing, just assessing.
To what end?
Her chin quivers, and I force myself to stare at her teardrop pendant—a perfect mirror to the betrothal ring burning in my pocket. The ring that winked at me in the torchlight from where her hand clutched the captain’s shoulder while she was lost in his kiss.
The waterwielder channels her cool, healing power into me, and the pain in my chest eases with every passing second.
Tears glimmer in her eyes, her jaw set in determination.
Why? Skies damn her, why?
What is she planning now? And who are those tears for? Perhaps being near her lover’s murderer is a torment.
“Why are you helping me?” I grit out, each word a serrated cut to my lungs. “To draw out my suffering?”
She doesn’t respond.
Instead, she focuses on healing my internal injuries. The waterwielder ignores the bruises and cuts and gashes marring the surface of my skin—she must not want anyone to know she’s healed me.
“Why?” The word emerges painlessly this time.
I hate her for it.
Still no response.
Her dark cloak swishes as she retrieves half a loaf of bread from its inner pocket. Tearing off a chunk, she holds it to my lips.
Fuck. That.
I turn my face away.
“Zev,” she hisses, glancing around the camp. “I don’t have much time. Eat.”
“Don’t call me Zev,” I snap. The nerve of this lying woman.
She snarls. “Fine. Eat, dumbass.”
I don’t.
Would she heal me, just to turn around and poison me?
“What’s your plan?”
“For Tides’ sake,” she mutters. “I don’t have one.” The waterwielder pries my mouth open with two fingers, then shoves the bread inside.
I’m tempted to spit it out just to spite her, but I haven’t eaten a morsel in three days.
With the iron shackles, I can’t sense the well of my power in my chest, but I imagine it’s flickering weakly.
Begrudgingly, I eat the remaining pieces of bread she feeds me.
When I’ve finished, she wields a thin stream of water from her canteen and guides it into my mouth.
“Why didn’t you let me die?” she asks, brows drawn together. “When I was bleeding out.”
Because I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I ever will.
Rage and hatred swirl inside my chest, a storm threatening to burst, but I can’t discern if I’m angry at myself for my weakness or her for her betrayal.
“You’re mine to kill,” I force out. The coldness in my voice isn’t feigned. “I’ll die before I let you leave this world of your own choice.”
She slowly meets my gaze, her eyes hard.
“Why are you helping me?” I repeat.
“You’ll die if I don’t. Father has plans for you.”
The waterwielder heals my broken ankle and toes in silence—two warriors had taken turns stomping on them.
When she’s finished, she sets her palms to my chest again. A soothing numbness radiates through me.
She’s easing my pain.
“Stop,” I snap.
“You’re in pain.”
“I said stop.” I muster as much hatred into my glare as I can manage. With one eye still swollen shut, I doubt it’ll have much effect. “The pain reminds me I’m still alive. And if I’m alive, I can still kill you.”
She turns away quickly and storms off.
And I’m alone once more.