Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Ican breathe easier, and it fills me with rage.
The waterwielder sits beside the other healer in the camp, watching the warriors run maneuvers with the general, while Tormik observes with pursed lips. He seems like a man who is never pleased.
I know the type well.
The other woman tended to minor injuries the warriors sustained during training, but the waterwielder sits as though in a daze.
For what must be the fifth time in an hour, her eyes find mine.
They widen when a warrior breaks away from formation during a pause between maneuvers and stalks over toward me.
Time for my first beating of the day.
The warrior is tall and lean, a twisted black scar cutting across his clavicle—he’s faced an earthwielder.
“You murdered my father,” the man spits, ice-blue eyes frosted with malice. “His name was Tommak. Do you even remember him?”
I make a show of pretending to think about it. “I remember him. Tall grunting brute with a round belly? Squealed like a pig when I—”
The man hauls back and punches me in the abdomen, the blow cracking against my lower ribs. The air rushes out of me, but I still grin through the pain. “Your father’s corpse hit harder than you do.”
Blood flies through the air as he punches me in the face, its copper tang bitter in my mouth.
“One more, son of Tommak,” I rasp, still smirking. “I’ll give you one more hit before I kill you.”
The warrior hauls his arm back again. I brace for another blow—
“Parku!”
The warrior freezes. Behind him, the waterwielder rises from the grass, spine rigid and gaze narrowed. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides. “Come help me with these supplies.”
Parku glowers at me for good measure before jogging over to her. She shoves her supply kit into his arms, and they walk toward her tent, Tormik watching them closely.
Why did she stop him?
It was almost as though she cares for me.
I grit my teeth. I’m a foolish idiot, even now.
“You stopped that man from beating me.”
She’s back, healing me under the cover of night for reasons I can’t fathom.
“You’re an idiot for provoking him.” Her glare is icy. “Making more work for me.”
“Why did you stop him?”
She swallows hard. “I couldn’t bear to watch him hurt you. It hurt me to watch.”
I study her closely from the faint crease between her brow, down to the quiver of her chin.
“Such pretty lies,” I finally whisper. “Even now.”
She finishes healing what injuries she can in silence and creeps back to her tent.
I know I should think of a plan—a way to escape.
But I can’t muster the motivation.