Chapter ONE YEAR LATER
ONE YEAR LATER
I must be dreaming.
Ice-white walls, heavy furs pulled to my waist, a feathered pillow beneath my head. And it’s skiesdamned freezing.
But the most beautiful goddess in existence gazes down at me, affection swirling in her blue gaze. Sunlight filters in through large windows, haloing her dark hair.
I blink. Once, twice.
Her pretty ocean eyes grow impossibly brighter, as though limned by the light of her love.
Her love for me.
My heart stutters.
A smile curves her lips as I blink away the haziness of sleep, her nails raking through the hair on my chest.
“You’re covered in goosebumps,” she whispers, smile growing wider. “I told you to put your shirt back on last night.”
I yank her down, and she laughs, the throaty sound vibrating against my skin.
“I didn’t need it then. Someone was keeping me warm.
This is better.” I maneuver her so she’s splayed across my chest, her warmth heating my cold skin.
My wife tucks her head under my chin, a contented sigh caressing my neck.
She shifts against me, palms rubbing the chilled skin of my shoulders and biceps. My hands find her hips, searching for the hem of her thick nightshirt. Mayah groans against my collarbones, then rises up onto her elbow. She presses an apologetic kiss to the tip of my nose.
“No time this morning, my love,” she murmurs.
“Don’t pout. I need to look at the new policies Sorka drafted.
I told him I’d be there first thing.” A gust of frigid air chills my skin as my wife rises from the bed, the furred blanket sliding off as she squirms free.
“And you need to discipline those wielders, remember? The brawl yesterday was out of control.”
“What I need,” I growl, “is for my wife to come back to bed.” Mayah laughs, bright and unguarded, affection threading every heart-stuttering sound.
“You’re insatiable,” she chides, snatching my shirt off the thick carpet and tossing it at me.
“I told you as much,” I grumble, bracing against the frigid air as I tug it over my head. “You knew what you agreed to.”
Her smile turns wistful, affection brightening her blue eyes. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
I leave my wife with Sorka in the council chambers. The older man waits patiently, eyes averted, as Mayah kisses me goodbye, promising to find me at lunchtime. He dips his chin toward me in a brief greeting before gesturing for Mayah to sit.
A twinge of guilt plucks at my heart as I head down the hallway. Sorka is a good man.
He has no idea I was the one that killed his son. And he never will. This fragile peace, Tundrayn’s reluctant acceptance of the bloody Dark Commander as their skiesdamed king, would crack like too-thin ice.
It’s a burden that Mayah and I share, though it weighs heavier on her.
I see it in the shadow that dims her eyes when Sorka runs an affectionate hand over her head and in the near-invisible quiver in her chin when she holds Daekah, Sorka and Vykiss’s infant daughter with the painfully familiar dark blue eyes.
“What’s on your mind?” Sura’s lilting voice pulls me from my thoughts. “You look guilty.”
She falls into step beside me, our boots thudding softly against the ice floor.
“Nothing.”
Sura shoots me a look that screams bullshit, but doesn’t press me on it. I’m certain that Mayah has told her the truth of that night in the tunnels, but if Sura’s content to leave the subject unbroached, then so am I.
Sunlight cascades into the hallway as two warriors open the main palace doors for us. “Who am I disciplining again?”
She tsks. “Getting forgetful in your old age? I told Mayah not to settle for a man a decade older than her.”
“I’m not a dec—”
“A waterwielder and earthwielder,” she cuts me off, her lopsided grin stretching wider. “Had some sort of argument yesterday. It escalated into a full-on brawl. Other warriors got involved. It was messy. This is their third infraction.”
“Do they have problems with anyone else? Or just each other?”
Her lips twist in contemplation. “Just each other.”
Interesting.
I arch a brow at her. “Do you want to discipline the waterwielder?”
“Nope. Nothing I tried the first two times has worked. C’mon, they’re sulking by the training grounds.”
My feet sink into ankle-deep snow as she leads me through the snowground to a small training area wedged between the palace and the warriors’ barracks. Frigid air gusts my face—one more month, and we’ll return to Arbinj’s milder climate.
In the center of the training grounds, a waterwielder and nonwielder practice sparring while the other warriors form a circle around them, cheering and heckling in equal measure.
Tumaas oversees them, shouting instructions as the men circle one another, the nonwielder armed with two swords, the waterwielder brandishing a water whip.
He salutes us as we walk past. I dip my chin, while Sura sticks out her tongue.
Past the training grounds, we arrive at a small, fenced area.
Standing at opposite ends are the earthwielder and waterwielder.
Both their energy signatures jolt when they see it’s me come to dole out their punishment.
The earthwielder falls into a deep bow, her chin-length hair cascading around her face.
The waterwielder follows, though his bow is stiff and shallow.
“I’ll speak to them separately,” I murmur to Sura. She nods, leaning against the gate, arms crossed over her chest.
I approach the earthwielder first. She wrings her hands together and stammers, “Commander. I mean, Your Majesty, I—”
“What’s your name?”
“Lavinya.”
“Tell me what happened, Lavinya.”
She crosses her arms, fixing a heated glare at the waterwielder watching us with narrowed eyes.
“I volunteered for the wielder exchange. But it isn’t anything like I expected.
I hate working with him.” She jerks her chin toward the waterwielder.
“They’re not like us. And he’s the worst. Always goading me.
Instigating fights. He did again yesterday, and I lost my temper, and yes, I shouldn’t have, but Comm—sire, he’s insufferable.
They all are. I just … I just want to return home. ”
My neck prickles, but her words are a jumbled rush, and I can’t parse exactly where the lie is. Her energy signature thrums, cheeks flushed.
“Has he hurt you?” I ask quietly. “Alone?”
Her eyes widen, mouth gaping open. “No! No. Nothing like that. He’s a jackass, but he’s not a monster.”
Truth.
“Wait here.” I walk toward the waterwielder, whose spine somehow grows more rigid as I approach.
“Name?”
“Tarkin.” His voice is cold, icy eyes fixed on the woman behind me.
“What happened, Tarkin?”
When I say his name, his gaze cut toward me, assessing.
“I started the fight.” Pinpricks cascade down my spine. “She threw the first punch, but I provoked her.” Another lie.
Interesting.
“What about the last two altercations?”
“Can’t recall.” Lie.
“If you were me, what would you do?”
He blinks. “I’m not a king, sire. Surely, you can think of an appropriate punishment.”
“Do you find Lavinya difficult to work with? She volunteered for the wielder exchange, but if she’s not cooperating…”
Tarkin hesitates. “She’s stubborn and arrogant.” Truth. “I don’t know what her problem is.” Truth. “So yes, she’s extremely difficult to work with.”
“She’s asked to return to Arbinj.”
Tarkin works his jaw, energy signature pulsing rapidly. “Good. I’ll be glad to be rid of her.” Sharp pinpricks jab down my neck.
I’ve heard enough. With a jerk of my head, I gesture for Sura and Lavinya to come over.
“Fighting within the battalion, repeatedly, is a grave offense. And as such, your punishment will fit the nature of the grievance. You are both to depart for Tarka Island immediately, where you’ll remain for four weeks.”
A brief beat of silence, then all three of them speak at once.
“Sire, I—”
“Zev—”
“What—”
I silence them with a raised hand. “For those four weeks, Lavinya, you’ll be charged with growing food for merchant vessels to trade with Volca.”
Her green eyes flash with indignation. “I’m a combat wielder, not an agriculturist. I can barely grow—”
“So you’ll learn,” I interject sharply. “Combat wielders are not superior to other types of wielders. Are they, Lavinya?”
“No, sire.” She withers beneath my glare, and I don’t miss the way Tarkin grinds his teeth.
Lavinya takes a deep breath, her voice steady when says, “Sire, Tarka Island is a solid block of ice. It’ll be impossible to grow anything.”
“There’s earth beneath the ice. Which is why it’ll be Tarkin’s job to clear space for you to grow, then refreeze the ice when you’re finished for the day.”
She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut, clearly thinking better of whatever protest lingered on her tongue.
“You’re dismissed. Go pack and return here within the hour. Sura will set you up with supplies.”
Sura and I watch as they stride away, refusing to look at one another.
“They’re going to kill each other,” Sura says matter-of-factly.
“No. I don’t think they will.” She casts me a confused glance. I clap her on the shoulder. “Trust me on this one.”