Chapter 57
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Ishould leave.
I should leave Mayah with her friend and Tairna.
I know I should. This might be my only chance. I can make it to the coast, barter passage onto a Volcan merchant vessel and leave this skiesforsaken continent behind.
Tairna’s eyes burn into the side of my face, but I don’t look at her. Can’t bear to. She’s been alive this entire fucking time. Somehow ended up leading the skiesdamned Rebellion.
And now she wants to use Mayah for her means.
Mayah.
Mayah, who hasn’t let go of her friend’s hand.
Mayah, who glances at me sideways, a question in her gaze.
Mayah, who pretended to care for me while planning my death.
I want to hate her. I want to carve my heart from my chest and bury it. I don’t want to care whether she ends up in a ditch. Whether Tairna will keep her safe. Whether the Rebellion will be successful or if her father or my father will finally manage to obliterate them.
So I say, “I’ll come,” and damn myself.
Mayah’s shoulders sag. Tairna doesn’t bother to hide her relieved expression or the tears in her eyes.
Sura, though, eyes me with seething hatred.
“Wonderful,” Tairna murmurs. She offers me a watery smile that I ignore. One of her men unties our mare and leads the horse away.
Tairna clears her throat, then gestures to another one of the rebels. A burly man approaches us, iron cuffs glinting in his hands.
A snarl builds in my throat, sky darkening in response.
“A precaution,” Tairna says quickly. “Your reputation precedes you, Vayru. Just until the camp acclimates to your presence.”
Every muscle in my body locks tight, teeth clenching. But then I remember the wretched night that Lev died—when I obliterated an entire Tundrayni camp with my rage.
I present my wrists. Mayah watches with wide eyes, guilt flitting through her gaze, as the rebel locks the thick shackles around them. My power snuffs out like a flame.
But when he walks toward Mayah, I see red.
“Not her,” I growl.
Tairna looks apologetic but shakes her head. “No exceptions, Vayru. It’ll only be for a short while.”
The rebel approaches Mayah, a slimmer set of iron cuffs clutched in his hand. Three long strides, and I cut him off, angling my body in his path.
“Don’t fucking touch her.” My low snarl has him retreating a half-step.
“It’s all right,” Mayah says softly. Her hand wavers at her side, as though she wants to rest it on my shoulder. “I’ll wear them.” Her so-called friend says nothing, does nothing except glare at me with the heat of the sun.
Jaw clenched tight, I snatch the cuffs from the rebel’s meaty hands. Then, I turn to Mayah.
Please, merciful Skies, let this be the last time I ever shackle her.
My heart can’t bear it anymore.
The carriage ride to the rebel camp passes in stilted silence, broken only by Sura’s apologies about the iron shackles—apologies clearly meant only for Mayah judging by the venomous glares aimed at me.
Based on what I can observe from the smudged window, we’re heading northwest. I’m surprised they didn’t blindfold us. The carriage jostles, and Mayah bumps into my side, quickly scooting away.
“You’ve been well, Mayah?” Sura asks, hands clutching her knees. “And Daak? How is he?”
My spine goes rigid, knuckles blanching. The taste of ash blooms bitter on my tongue.
“Daak is dead,” Mayah whispers. Her voice splinters on the last word.
“Mayah,” Sura gasps, eyes wide. “Tides carry him to peaceful waters. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, you must have been—”
“Tell me about the Rebellion,” Mayah cuts in. The waver in her voice has me gritting my teeth. She can’t bear to talk about the dead captain.
Sura tells Mayah about her life in the camp, where she cares for the orphans and other children. She tells her about Tumaas, her brother, and his work in the forge.
Tumaas. I’d tried to kill him, too, that night. I’m not concerned about what contempt he holds for me, though. It’s what he might feel for Mayah that plagues me. Was he just a friend, or did Mayah harbor feelings for him, too? Will she find solace in his arms?
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
I do, and I despise myself for it.
The carriage jolts to a stop.
“We’re here!” Sura announces in a grating sing-song voice. “Don’t move.” She flounces from the carriage, leaving me alone with Mayah.
A beat of stretched silence.
Then—“You didn’t have to come with me. I would’ve been fine on my own.”
“I didn’t come for you,” I lie through my teeth. Though my next words ring with bitter truth. “I want to see Tairna’s work. What she chose over me.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. Her hand wavers on the bench between us. “But your mother is still alive, Zev. You can decide how your story ends. I’d give anything to be standing where you are.”
My head swivels at the pain in her voice, realizing for the first time how seeing my mother might have made her feel. Soft, comforting words rise on my tongue, quickly swallowed down when the carriage door opens.
“We’re ready for you,” Sura declares, tugging Mayah from the carriage.
The Rebellion camp is as large as we’d come to suspect—and not far from where Jeyzar had surmised.
Tairna beams with pride when she tells us wielders comprise nearly a third of their population.
They lead us along dirt paths, and I make note of where sentries are positioned atop buildings and how many guards man each entrance.
I don’t miss the gleam of hatred in their eyes when they realize who I am.
They’re well-defended. It makes sense why so many of our search expeditions never returned.
A handful of earthwielders grow food in a square patch of dirt, harvest it, and then repeat the process. Mayah watches with an awestruck expression, and I’m tempted to snatch one of the carrots for her.
I don’t.
The tour continues—armory, infirmary, cafeteria, even a large canvas tent dedicated to the camp’s children where Sura works.
We pass a group of a waterwielders, one of them juggling glimmering water spheres to entertain a gaggle of children. The water drops to the ground with a splash when he catches sight of me. His face morphs into a snarl, the other wielders dropping into defensive positions.
Mayah stiffens, stepping closer to me. When the waterwielders see her, they freeze, confusion etched across their faces, then quickly drop into stilted bows. Sura salutes them with two fingers, a smirk playing on her lips.
Tairna hastens her pace.
“Are there any other stormwielders here?” I ask quietly. Tairna shakes her head, lips pursed as she scans each face we pass. I do the same.
Hostile eyes everywhere. And I’m fucking chained in iron. It brings me some comfort that the venomous looks are only aimed at me; the rebels eye Mayah with curiosity, some even with reverence.
“We’re almost to the forge,” Sura whispers loudly to Mayah, their arms intertwined.
When the stench of sweat and metal permeates the air, I know we’re close. Nearly every surface is littered with tools. Two men hammer glowing swords, whilst a third stands towards the back, coating arrowheads with melted iron.
A sharp exhale saws through my lungs.
Did this bastard coat the arrow that pierced through Mayah’s side?
He’s distinctly Tundrayni with blue eyes and dark braids, the sides of his head shaved down. A leather apron is tied loosely over his bare chest—not the sharpest sword in the armory, this one.
“Tumaas,” Sura calls in her annoying fucking voice.
“I don’t have any more coin for you, Sura,” the man responds without looking up. “Leave me be.”
I might warm up to him, actually.
“Tu-maaaaas,” she sings again, and I grit my teeth.
“Tides drown you, Sura,” the man mutters, shaking out a dripping arrowhead before finally glancing our way.
He stills.
The arrowhead falls to the ground, melted iron pooling into a shiny puddle by his feet.
“It’s Mayah-bear!” Sura squeals, but the man is already darting toward her. Mayah runs to meet him, and he lifts her into the air, twirling in a fast circle. A burst of happy laughter escapes her.
Fuck warming up. I’m going to kill him.
Mayah runs her palms across his cheeks—the gesture so fucking intimate, it burns a hole in my chest—and he throws his head back and laughs. She laughs along with him until tears well in her blue eyes.
My nails dig into my palms until I’m certain I’m drawing both blood and Tairna’s attention.
Tumaas sets her down and pulls her into a crushing embrace, pressing her face against his bare, sweaty chest.
If not for the iron cuffs, I’d have incinerated him already.
It’s probably a good idea Tairna insisted on them.
He cradles her face, and they murmur to each other like lost fucking lovers. Has he harbored feelings for Mayah all these years? Even while she was with the captain?
When he kisses her forehead, every muscle in my body goes taut. It’s an effort not to storm over and tear her from his arms.
Tairna’s concerned gaze flicks between me and Mayah, likely wondering what kind of husband I am, livid at his wife’s reunion with her best friends.
Sura pulls Mayah from her brother’s grasp, and I find myself begrudgingly grateful—until she says, “Tumaas, you better find somewhere else to sleep. Mayah’s going to take your bed.” She laces her arm with Mayah’s and drags her away.
A protest dies on my tongue before it even crystallizes.
Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.
She’s not mine.
And I don’t want her to be.
“Sura,” Tairna calls, dark gaze fixed on me. “That’s very kind of you. But surely Mayah would prefer accommodations with her husband.”
Mayah freezes. They turn around. Two sets of blue eyes regard me—one with cold contempt, the other with wariness.
I wait for Mayah’s refusal.
It never comes.
“Right. I guess that’s fine.” Sura glares at me, though I barely notice. Mayah commands my attention with her wide, uncertain eyes. “There’s an open bedroom on our floor that should work.”
Why didn’t she refuse?