Chapter 55
Chapter Fifty-Five
Eight times.
Eight times Mayah’s wary gaze has turned skyward. But the dark clouds don’t pass. They gather overhead, swollen with rain.
I douse the fire and pitch a small tent that I snagged from the camp. When I sit down across from her on the grass, her hands are trembling.
“I told you my plan,” I tell her. “What do you want?”
Hopefully, the conversation will serve as a distraction from the impending storm.
“Revenge.” She doesn’t hesitate. “I want to kill my father.”
My brows furrow. “You can barely cope with what happened at the camp.”
“That’s different. Those men were innocent. He murdered my mother. Tormented me with storms for twenty years. I was a tidesdamned child. And if that weren’t enough, he molded me into a weapon with his lies.”
A pang of something—pity, maybe—flickers inside me. I ignore it.
“Fine. And then?”
“I’ll rule Tundrayn.”
“You really believe your people will accept you as queen after you murder their king? After what we did to those warriors?”
She crosses her arms, teeth sinking into her lower lip. “They’ll have to. Who knows what else my father has done? What other atrocities he’s committed? I can’t leave him to rule.”
“And how will you go about this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe—maybe I’ll return to Arbinj. Make another deal with your father.”
I freeze. Of course, she has a plan. She always has a plan.
Perhaps she’ll marry Faramir after all.
“I won’t tell him about you,” she adds quickly. “I can say my father killed you. Or the rebels. Like you said.”
A bitter scoff tears free. “So clever. So cunning. I was a fool not to see it before.”
“You don’t have to trust me,” she snaps. The brisk wind whips through her loose hair, whistling through the trees, and she huddles tighter, knees clutched to her chest. “But stop pretending like I haven’t already proven I’m not your enemy.”
“What makes you think you have?” I growl.
“I healed you every night. I brought you food.” When I scoff, she adds, “I didn’t have to. I could’ve let you rot.”
It’s true. I still don’t understand why she did—it’s clear no one else knew about it.
“But I didn’t,” she presses. “Why do you think that is?”
“Because you’re a manipulative liar with your own agenda.” I rise to my feet. “Save your breath. I’ll never make the mistake of trusting you again.”
It begins to drizzle.
I gesture to the tent. “Get in.”
She stares at the too-small tent.
“I’m not sleeping in there with you,” she snaps.
“Why not? We’ve shared a bed before, wife.”
“That was different! I was—”
“Pretending? You’re good at it. One more night won’t kill you.”
I can’t look at her—can’t think about how close we’ll be. Turning on my heel, I duck into the tent. I’ve lost weight and muscle mass in my week of captivity, but even still, there’s hardly any space for her beside me.
I’m painfully aware of her every movement, her every breath as she lays down, her back brushing against mine. Skies have mercy. Her frost and winter rose scent coils around me, and for the briefest of moments, I close my eyes and pretend.
Pretend we’re in our bed at the palace.
Pretend there’s hope for a future together.
Pretend there’s love in her heart and truth on her tongue.
Raindrops pelt the thin canvas, steadily growing louder and faster. Thunder rumbles across the sky, and Mayah whimpers, the sound piercing through my heart.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. She’s going to have a full-blown panic attack. Her breath shudders, deep inhales and shaky exhales as she tries to steady herself.
Lightning illuminates the darkness for a fleeting second, and Mayah’s sharp gasp has my fists clenching.
I want to help her.
I want her to suffer.
I don’t want to fucking want anymore.
Another loud boom of thunder. Another anguished whimper. Her breathing is shallow and panicked, and I know she can’t think past her fear. Can’t force her lungs to breathe, can’t force her heart to slow.
Lightning flashes again, and her breathing grows more erratic. She’ll pass out soon if I don’t do something.
I should let her.
I shouldn’t turn around.
Shouldn’t touch her. Shouldn’t comfort her.
I—
“Lightning strike me into the fucking dirt,” I mutter, rolling over to face her. She’s curled in on herself, shoulders hunched inward, as though to convince the storm she isn’t here. My arm bands around her waist, and I pull her flush against my chest.
“Wh—what are you doing?” she rasps, sucking in her first full breath since it began raining.
“Distracting you.” My hand splays over her belly. “Lift your head.” I nestle my other arm beneath her neck, holding her tightly. A thunderclap rattles the tent. She jolts, and I tug her back harder against me.
Now it’s my heart that pummels my chest, my breath that stutters.
Lightning illuminates the tent for a heartbeat, and Skies damn me if she still doesn’t look like she belongs in my arms.
Like she belongs to me.
A panicked yelp bursts from her lips, followed by a muted sniffle.
My hand begins to move. Slowly inching higher as I count every rib. She doesn’t stop me, doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word.
She doesn’t whimper either.
I swallow hard, hand resting just below the curve of her breasts.
“Tell me to stop.” My voice is hoarse.
She doesn’t.
My hand skims higher, until I’m cupping her soft curves in my palm. She gasps, but not from fear this time.
“Tell me to stop, Mayah,” I beg, even as I squeeze gently, my harsh breaths fluttering through her loose hair.
She doesn’t. Low, needy moans fill the cramped air of the tent as she arches back harder into me. I skim my hand higher, over the bare skin of her neck, tracing her full, parted lips.
She’s going to be the death of me.
I’m painfully hard, and it’s a struggle to remain motionless, when all I want is to lay her on her back and finally claim her.
Soft, tentative touches back down over her chest. No sign that she wants me to do anything but keep going.
She’s so skiesdamned soft.
My fingers dip into the waistband of her leggings.
“Mayah.” Her name is a guttural groan, rumbled from deep within my chest. My hands tremble. “Mayah, tell me to stop.”
A keening whine is her response. When she grinds her ass against me, her answer is clear: don’t stop.
So I don’t.
We both moan together as my fingers swipe through slick heat. Skies, is this all for me?
I move my fingers, her body taut against me.
“Zev,” she whimpers sweetly, and I know she’s close.
Her breathing is ragged, her every soft moan driving me insane.
She’s nearly there, but she won’t fall over that edge.
And I can’t have that.
I work her faster, and I’m rewarded with a loud moan.
“Stop thinking, baby,” I whisper, nipping at her earlobe. “And come for me like a good girl.”
She careens over that precipice, shuddering in my arms.
She’s perfect, she’s fucking perfect, and she’s mine, and I would tell her if I weren’t desperately clutching her to my chest, peppering kisses against her neck.
When the throes of her pleasure recede, her body goes limp in my arms, a contented sigh escaping her.
My body goes rigid.
I’d heard that same soft sigh before—in our bed, with her taste on my tongue, her hands tangled in my hair.
It was the day I left the palace, when she’d kissed me so fiercely, as though she couldn’t bear to say goodbye, kissed me until hope and happiness bloomed in my chest, kissed me until I tasted love on her tongue.
And when I returned, she was kissing the captain.
Slowly, I remove my hand.
Mayah rolls over to face me, fingers reaching for my belt. I grab her wrist in an iron-tight grip.
“The storm’s died down. Go to sleep.”
Her brows draw together, pretty blue gaze sliding to mine.
A myriad of emotions cross her face: confusion, horror, then rage.
Small hands shove me flat onto my back. I don’t stop her when she straddles my waist and cups my face between her palms.
“Listen to me,” she bites out. “I know I’ve hurt you.
I—I never planned for any of this to happen.
I wanted revenge on your father, on Arbinj, for killing my mother.
But my purpose was driven by a lie.” Her voice cracks.
“Zev, everything between us—it was true. I swear by the Tides, it was real. The wormbark oil was for you. At the camp, I healed you every night because I couldn’t bear to see you hurt.
Not because I needed you for some agenda. Please, Zev. I care about you.”
I swallow hard. “And your captain? Did you care about him, too?”
“I—yes. I loved him. But never in the same way I feel about you. I know you’re hurt about what you saw … I don’t blame you. I don’t know how to make this right, Zev. I shouldn’t have let him touch me … I was trying to—” She huffs in frustration. “Zev, please. Give me another chance.”
Her face is so sincere, voice so anguished, Skies, I want to believe her. No prickles. Not a single one.
But there never have been with her.
And look where I am now.
My hands flex around her hips, and then I slowly sit up. Her chest brushes against mine with every expectant inhale. Closer. Mayah’s eyes flutter closed, lips parting.
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper.
Her eyes snap open. One heartbeat. One heartbeat where I force myself to memorize the pain on her face—the betrayal. A reminder of what will happen if I ever let myself forget again—if I ever succumb to my weakness.
And then I push her off my lap and lie back down, facing away.
“Why did you touch me, then?” My eyes clench shut at the hurt in her voice.
“I couldn’t sleep through your whimpering.”
A pained scoff. Then—“You … you called me baby.” Her voice is thick with tears.
“My wrist was cramping. I needed you to finish quickly.”
Her energy signature thrums, a despondent staccato vibration.
She doesn’t say another word—just lies down as far away from me as she can manage in this skiesdamned excuse for a tent.
Only when her quiet, shuddering sobs taper off into the deep breaths of sleep do I bring my fingers to my mouth. I stifle a groan, but even her taste can’t erase the bitter coating of shame on my tongue.
Guilt wakes me the next morning, its acrid heat burning my throat.
Her sleeping form looks smaller in the faint light filtering in through the canvas, as though I’d stolen something from her last night and left her incomplete.
Despite all she’s done to me, Mayah didn’t deserve what I did—what I said.
I never should have touched her.
I’m incapable of being around her for any length of time. I’ll never convince my heart to stop wanting her, and this will happen again and again.
With a heavy sigh, I exit the tent and check on the mare, then eat a few more pieces of dried meat. My reserves still haven’t fully recovered, but after Mayah’s healing yesterday, I’m nearly there.
I’m cleaning around the campsite when Mayah thunders from the tent like a raging storm. She strides toward me, every muscle rigid, and jabs a finger into my chest.
“You will not touch me again,” she seethes. “If there’s another storm, I’ll stay outside so my pathetic ‘whimpering’ doesn’t disturb your beauty sleep.”
I dislodge her finger from my chest, ignoring the ache in my heart at the familiar memory. She shoves it back harder.
“And the first chance I get to go my own way, I’ll take it.”
I don’t trust myself to respond.
She grits her teeth. “Tides damn you to the ends of the eternal sea. If we come across ten rebels who decide they’re going to channel their power into me, all ten of them, you will not interfere.”
My anger rises at the thought. “Fine by me,” I growl. “Anything else?”
“And if I decide I want to marry one of those ten men, or all of them, ride off into the sunset and bear their children, you will annul our marriage. Actually, let’s annul it immediately.”
“Sure.” My voice is cold. I ignore the bile churning in my stomach at her words. I don’t give a shit what happens to her. “And if I forget any of that, wife, you’re always welcome to tell me to stop.”
Her face flushes at the reminder that she was a willing participant last night, to the intimacy anyway, if not to the cruelty that followed.
I swallow down my guilt.
“I mean it,” she hisses. “I’m not your responsibility anymore. You made that clear last night. Whatever this was, whatever we were—I’m done being your burden.”
“Finally,” I snarl. I don’t know why I’m so angry. I want to be rid of her. It shouldn’t upset me that she desires the same. “I’ll personally hand you over to the first rebels we see.”
She steps closer, studying me with narrowed eyes.
“You’re lying.”
My anger boils over. “Don’t you fucking talk to me about lying—”
I snap my jaw shut. By the Skies. Men heading our way, their energy signatures flickering to life as they draw nearer. My hand clamps over her mouth, a finger pressed over my lips in warning. Then I push her behind me, shielding her with my body.
“What—”
“Shh.” Her body tenses when I shush her, but for once, she listens.
The men draw closer. Over a dozen. I summon my power, and the sky darkens with my storm.
In a sudden wave, they emerge through the trees. At least sixteen hooded men, clad in dark leathers.
Rebels.
“Leave now,” I demand in my commander’s voice. “And I’ll spare you.” Thunder rumbles in warning.
“Wait,” Mayah says, coming out beside me. I grab her arm to pull her back, but she elbows me in the side. Hard.
“What are you doing?” I hiss. “Stay behind me.”
She raises her chin. “For someone who claims he doesn’t want me, you sure act like I’m yours.” Turning to the rebels, she says, “What do you want? Why are you after us?”
“Mayah.” Insufferable woman. “You’ve made your point. I’m not actually letting you go with them. Get. Behind. Me.”
I grab her arm again and yank her back. She crashes into my side, breath escaping her lungs with a whoosh. Her knees buckle, but my tight grip keeps her upright.
I’m so distracted by Mayah’s lack of self-preservation, I’m caught off-guard when a voice says, “That’s no way to treat your wife, Vayru.”
An achingly familiar voice.
Every muscle locks in place.
Slowly, I turn. I sense her energy signature before I see her—a soft, calming thrum.
It can’t be. She can’t be alive. It’s impossible.
But the rebels move aside, and a woman steps through. A hood conceals her face, but I don’t need to see her to know.
It’s my mother.