Chapter 62
Chapter Sixty-Two
It’s far too early for someone to be jabbing a finger into my chest.
I slept fitfully the night before—unused to the soft mattress and plagued by Mayah’s scent enveloping me.
Today, Tairna has me training the fighters. Of all the rotating tasks, I despise this one the most—instructing warriors who’ve faced me in battle, soldiers I’d once commanded, and nonwielders who see me as a monster skies-bent on eradicating them.
Which is why, when Sura storms into my path on my way toward the training grounds, jabs a finger into my chest and snarls, “You better not hurt her,” I am exceedingly irritated.
“I have no intention of hurting her,” I manage through clenched teeth. I try to step around her, but she matches my stride, blue eyes blazing with cold fury and something else. Resignation, maybe.
“I mean it,” she hisses. “I swear by the Tides, if you hurt her, in any way, I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. Brutally. And I’ll enjoy every second of it.
I’ll unleash the rage that’s been festering in my stomach since that skiescursed night.
I’ll avenge the hundreds of warriors you murdered in cold blood in the dark.
Every fucking Tundrayni you’ve murdered in this tidesforsaken war.
” Her voice cracks, tears lining her eyes. “I’ll avenge Daak.”
My throat constricts until I can’t draw in even half a breath.
She takes a step back, twin braids swaying. “Don’t hurt her anymore. You’ve hurt us enough.” Then she spins on her heel and strides away.
I don’t know how long I stand frozen after she leaves.
Hours later, sitting at the table in Tairna’s office, her words still rattle in my brain.
Don’t hurt her anymore.
Don’t hurt her anymore.
Don’t hurt her anymore.
The door groans open, and Mayah enters in a frenzied rush.
I do a double-take.
Instead of her usual tunic and leggings, she’s wearing fighting leathers. The style and cut is similar to the leathers the rebels wear, but instead of black or gray or brown, she’s clad in the palest shade of blue. The leather hugs her thighs and chest, a wide brown belt cinching her waist.
She looks like a warrior.
She looks perfect.
I tear my gaze away, mouth painfully dry, and catch Rycken staring at her, too, with an appreciative gleam in his eye. A low growl builds in my chest, and Lyzza wisely turns his face away, chuckling softly to herself.
Mayah takes her seat beside me, and my body thrums at her proximity.
“Shall we begin?” Tairna asks. I can hear the skiesdamned smile in her voice. I manage a grunt, and Rycken kicks off the meeting with his usual updates about supplies at the camp.
When he’s finished, Tairna unfurls her map across the table, pointing to a smudged spot along the northern coast. “The Volcan army has made land.”
Mayah leans across the table, and her elbow jostles mine.
“Sorry,” she mutters.
I don’t trust myself to respond.
Tairna’s lips turn down into a scowl at my silence, and with a whisper of a sigh, she explains their planned movements.
“Their forces will split into two and head here”—she traces a line cutting across the map to Arbinj—“and here”—another line to Tundrayn.
“Our men from these camps will join them. Together, that’ll be enough to take over both palaces.
” She glances around the table. “We execute the monarchs publicly. Then, we’ll need to move quickly to cement Mayah’s rule. ”
Mayah braces against the table, spine rigid. “You can’t kill my father.”
Tairna's expression turns apologetic. “Mayah, we’ve discussed this … if we want you to lead, then—”
Mayah waves an impatient hand.
I know what she wants. She told me in the woods, the night before Tairna and the rebels found us.
“That’s not what I mean. I want to kill him.”
Still, I can’t help but turn toward her. The utter hatred coating her words is so visceral, it claws at something in my chest.
Tairna nods slowly. “All right. We’ll capture him alive. Rycken, send a missive to the other camps about the movements. Lyzza, work with Tumaas to ensure we are well-armed.”
The meeting adjourns, and the advisers file out, Mayah behind them.
“Wait, Vayru,” Tairna says before I can rise. “Mayah. You stay, too.” When Mayah trudges back to sit beside me, Tairna opens a locked drawer and retrieves a key. Her eyes glisten as she says, “Give me your hands, Vayru.”
She can’t possibly mean to—
A soft exhale. I reach my hands across the table, resting them on the scratched wood in front of her. Tairna gently unlocks one cuff with a soft click, then the other. The shackles fall to the table with a dull clank and—
My power rushes back into me with the force of a maelstrom.
The well of my reserves blares bright and potent and free.
Awareness dances along my skin, and I take deep, shuddering breaths to ease the frantic beat of my heart.
Mayah and Tairna’s energy signatures pulse, bright and sudden, as though a dark curtain had been ripped from a sunlit window.
“I thought,” I rasp. “I thought that—”
Tairna’s smile is watery. “She changed her mind. She told me this morning. As long as you can control your temper, Vayru, they’ll stay off.”
“Sura?” Mayah whispers, eyes wide.
Tairna nods. “She was the staunchest advocate for keeping Vayru suppressed. Which is understandable. I didn’t want her to feel unsafe. But she found me this morning and told me she was ready.”
My breath slips free in a soft rush—Sura? After her tirade this morning? I don’t understand why she’d let Tairna unshackle me.
A lone tear slips down Mayah’s cheek, and my fingers ache to brush it away.
I clench my hand into a fist instead.
“I’m glad for you,” Mayah says softly, nodding toward my reddened wrists. “I’m sure you’ve missed your powers.”
My heart beats in my throat. Her hands are glowing, and I don’t think she’s noticed.
“Thanks.” My voice is ragged.
Tairna’s knowing gaze flickers between the two of us. Mayah clears her throat. The glow fades from her palms. “I—I told Sura I’ll meet her for lunch. So I better, um—”
Still, she doesn’t rise, just keeps staring at me. There’s so much fucking hope in her eyes, it rents my heart in half.
“We’ll see you later, Mayah,” Tairna supplies softly. “I’m sure you and Sura have much to discuss.”
She nods softly. Her gaze drops to my chafed wrists once more, hands clenching in her lap before she leaves.
Don’t hurt her anymore. Don’t hurt her anymore. Don’t hurt her anymore.
When I glance at Tairna, she’s watching me carefully, eyes glassy, her lips offering a fraction of a smile.
My hands grip the armrests. “Tell me a lie.”
“Leading the Rebellion has been the joy of my life.”
My neck prickles, sharp pinpricks radiating down my spine. A ragged sigh escapes me, equal parts relief and pain.
“Vayru—”
“Swear to me you’ll do everything in your power to protect Mayah.”
Grief brims in her dark gaze. Her chin quivers, but she says, “I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to protect your wife.”
Truth.
“You’ll put her life above everyone else’s. Your own.”
“I swear it.”
Truth.
“When she’s queen, you’ll advise her justly. She won’t be a puppet monarch. You’ll let her make her own decisions.”
“I swear it.”
Truth.
“You’ll—you’ll do your best to ensure she’s happy.”
Tears fall freely down Tairna’s cheeks.
“I swear it.” It’s a broken whisper.
A sense of cold numbness envelops me, even as my heart pummels my chest in protest.
“The men are well-trained. You have more than enough supplies and weapons. The Volcans have made land. You don’t need me.”
Tairna sniffles, scrubbing a shaking hand across her face. “You’re right. I don’t need you to stay. But she does. I’ll do my best to protect her, but no one can protect her as well as you can.”
No one can hurt her like I can, either.
She leans across the table, cradling my face. “Stay, Vayru. Stay for her.”
“I can’t.” My voice cracks. “I can’t let myself be with her. I’ll keep pulling her close, then pushing her away. I’ll keep hurting her because I can’t fucking forget. I can never trust her again.”
“Vayru, please. Non-truthwielders manage to have happy, healthy relationships without knowing if their partner’s every word is true. Even when trust has been broken, they repair, they forgive, they—”
“I can’t,” I snap, jaw clenched. “I just … can’t.”
Tairna doesn’t stop me when I rise from the table. I stop at the door, hand gripping the handle so tight, my knuckles blanch.
I allow myself one more look at her painting—the one that tells me she’d held onto me as best she could all these years.
“I leave tomorrow.”