Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The soft crunch of snow beneath boots is the only sound disturbing the silence of the forest. Arms folded tightly against the cold, I glance back again at the brooding stormcloud walking behind me.
“Are you normally this chivalrous?” I bite out through chattering teeth, stepping over a fallen branch. My soaked clothing clings to my body in an icy skintight layer. “Making me walk in front.”
“I won’t let the rebels hurt you.”
“It’s not them I’m worried about. I don’t like you behind me.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then—“I don’t need the element of surprise to overpower you. It would make no difference if I walked ahead.”
Arrogant ass.
I walk faster. Not that it matters. His long strides eat up my own.
“Wait,” he says. When I turn, he’s examining a small tree.
Or rather, what’s left of it.
A jagged break splits the trunk in half, its needled branches drooping on either side.
Zevayr levels an accusing glare at me.
“What?” Shivering, I cross my arms tighter, chin tilted up.
“Look.” He points to the center of the tree—where the bark splits, there’s a thick, twisted column of ice, as if water had shot up through the trunk and then frozen until it cracked in half.
Reluctantly, I meet his flinty eyes.
“A waterwielder did this,” he says casually.
I don’t respond.
“You don’t know of any waterwielders that might have followed us, do you? The captain of the Tundrayni royal guard, perhaps?” His smile is cruel and sharp and colder than the snow around us.
No. Daak wouldn’t have been so reckless.
“Not that I know of.”
He stares at me for several heartbeats, his expression unreadable. I try not to fidget beneath his stare, but Tides, it’s unnerving.
“Seriously?” I snap, arms crossed. “You think I sent Daak after you? Maybe I should’ve.”
He barely grunts in response, before striding away so fast I’m forced to jog to catch up.
Back at the clearing where the hulking brute pinned me to the ground, there are two satchels tucked against a tree. I didn’t notice them before—probably because I was preoccupied with escaping him. He plucks one off the ground and hands it to me.
It’s one of my bags. He must’ve retrieved it from the battle site before tying me up and lugging me through the forest. How considerate.
“Change out of your wet clothes before you freeze to death.”
The command in his tone grates at me, and I’m tempted to refuse out of sheer spite. But I’ve already been shivering for far too long as it is, and I don’t want to die out here.
With shaking fingers, I open the satchel—all my belongings are jumbled. Of course, the asshole rifled through them. A wave of fresh irritation wells inside me.
“You went through my things.”
Zevayr doesn’t flinch. “I had to.”
“And here I thought I had a shred of dignity left. Silly me.” I laugh, cold and bitter.
He lifts a brow, utterly unbothered. “Happy to strip that from you too, if you like.”
My fingers curl tighter around the bundle in my arms. Heat prickles beneath my skin. My handprint on his face has faded, and I’m tempted to slap him again and again until it’s permanently tattooed onto his skin.
He’s smug. He’s so tidesdamned smug. Like every violation is just another thing I’m supposed to thank him for. I square my shoulders and glare at him, fire rising in my chest despite the cold.
“I’m not changing with you here,” I grit out. My voice is low, dangerous. I clutch my clean clothing to my chest like armor, daring him to challenge me.
I wait for a smart retort, a cruel smile, but instead he sighs and makes a big show of turning around and taking a few steps away, as if that’s supposed to give me comfort.
With a muttered curse, I duck behind a tree and peel off my damp clothing.
The cold air hits my bare skin like a slap, and I rush to put on the dry wool leggings and thick tunic.
My boots are waterproof, so thankfully, my socks are still dry.
When I emerge, clothes dry and hackles raised, Zevayr’s back is still turned, but his arms are crossed, fingers drumming an impatient pattern on his bicep.
I hate him.
As if sensing my violent thoughts, he turns, raking his gaze over me.
I do the same: his clothes appear dry—leather pants and a black long-sleeved shirt beneath a thick vest, brimming with weapons.
I eye his cloak with envy—thick, soft fur on one side, supple leather on the other. He must be so warm.
“Are we going to be civil?” he asks, brow arched.
I nearly laugh. “Depends. Are you going to be an ass?” I hurl my wet bundled clothes at his feet. He rolls his eyes.
“What do we do now, oh great commander?” I snap.
He looks unimpressed. “All my men are dead. The rebels knew exactly where we were and how many soldiers I had.”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t still think I had something to do with that, do you?”
A beat.
“No. I believe you.”
“Finally. Some progress.” It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “We’re not too far from the palace. We can make it back within a day, regroup, get supplies—”
“We’re not going back to the palace.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“You expect me to walk into the Tundrayni capital with no soldiers? They’ll impale me with ice spears before I reach the gate.”
“You keep forgetting—there’s a ceasefire in place. That only—”
“—I have broken,” he interjects. A muscle feathers in his jaw. “So you’ve reminded me. Several times. The ceasefire is shaky enough as it is. The moment I show up alone, it’ll be forgotten.”
“Fine. Do what you want. I’ll go back myself.”
“And if the rebels catch you?”
“That’s not your problem.”
“You’re betrothed to my brother. You are my problem.”
“Oh, now you remember?” I shoot back, crossing my arms. “You seemed to forget that little fact when you tied me up and manhandled me.”
He flinches—just barely—but his gaze drops to my raw wrists.
“Look,” he says quietly. “It’s dangerous out there. I can’t let you go alone. Believe it or not, I don’t actually want you harmed.” I scoff. He presses on, “And if anything happens to you, your father could blame me and attack Arbinj.”
Ah, there it is. At least he’s honest about his real concern. Retaliation.
Frustration curls hot beneath my skin. “What do you propose, then? You won’t go with me. You won’t let me go alone. Should we just pitch a tent and freeze to death?”
“We travel to Arbinj together. Where you’ll marry my brother. As planned.”
I gape at him. He can’t be serious. “That’ll take weeks on foot! Over a month, even. We don’t have the supplies.” I can barely stand to be around him, and I’ve only known him for a few short hours—and I was unconscious through most of it.
“Definitely over a month,” he says. “You’ll slow us down.”
I want to argue with him. No, actually, I want to throttle him. Him and his stupid chiseled face.
“This is madness,” I grit out. “You’ll be safe in Tundrayn. You’re under my protection.”
The insufferable asshole smirks, as if it’s amusing that he’d ever need my protection. “I appreciate that, Mayah.” I flinch. “Truly. But the answer is no.”
By the Tides. When I awoke this morning for my betrothal ceremony, never in ten thousand years would I have guessed I’d be bickering with the infamous Dark Commander in the middle of the tidescursed forest.
I glance sideways at the dense, snow-covered trees.
“Don’t even think about it,” Zevayr rumbles. Two large strides erase the distance between us. “I’ll catch you in seconds and drag you back. We’ll have wasted even more precious time.”
Alarm bells gong violently in my mind at the thought of being alone with him for weeks in the wilderness.
But I don’t see what other choice I have.
“Fine,” I grit out. “What next?”
“We keep walking ‘til nightfall. Tomorrow, we’ll keep going. There’s an Arbinji base near the border.” He walks away, as if his word is law. “The rebels might still be close. Skies, you’ve been shouting enough to lead them straight to us.”
He doesn’t even look back, just expects me to follow.
I do. Begrudgingly.
“Maybe next time, don’t call down a storm just because you’re cranky,” I mutter. “Giant thunderclouds make it very obvious that there’s an insufferable stormwielder nearby.”
He doesn’t deign to respond.
I hate him.