Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
His gaze sears into my back, but I refuse to turn. My hands glow softly as I heal my current patient’s broken leg—but with the way the middle-aged man’s pulse is thundering, Zev might give him a heart attack.
A beat passes, then another.
Zev breaks the silence, his voice tight with anger. “Mayah.”
My hands freeze. He’s only said my name—two scant syllables—yet somehow managed to make it sound like a reprimand. Slowly, I face him, chin raised in defiance.
Let him be angry.
Let him yell.
But if he tries to send me back to those chambers, he’ll have to drag me there himself.
“Are my eyes deceiving me? Again?” I bite out. “Is my husband truly here?” I bare my teeth in a snarl. “He has meetings to attend. Princely duties. All manner of important things besides me.”
The room had already been quiet, but it’s as if I sucked all the air out.
No one moves. No one even breathes. Zev’s gray eyes are stormy, furious, and they darken further during my tirade.
I’ve seen him angry, but never at me, not like this.
With that wrathful expression, he looks so much like his father—my mother’s murderer—that I have to tear my gaze away.
I focus on my patient whose wide, fearful eyes are riveted to my husband.
“Is this your way of getting my attention?” Zev grits out from behind me. The air crackles around him.
“Not everything I do is about you,” I huff, not bothering to turn around.
“But maybe a little. If I knew this was all it took to summon you, I’d have barged in here days ago.
” My patient looks helplessly at the older medic.
The injured man clears his throat, but I set my glowing palms to his leg again, making sure it’s properly healed.
I shoot my husband a scathing look over my shoulder.
“This gives me purpose. I’m a healer, Zev.
I heal. Without it, I’m missing an integral part of myself.
” He opens his mouth, but I barrel on, finally facing him.
“I’m tired of being alone, trapped in our chambers.
I need more than just planning a party. You said you’d want your wife to be your equal.
I certainly don’t feel equal, Zev. I know you’re worried for my safety, but what about my sanity?
” My voice cracks, and Zev’s eyes lose a bit of their flint.
The man I just healed coughs awkwardly, and I gesture for him to stand. He rises smoothly, bearing weight on his newly healed leg, an awestruck smile brightening his face. It fades when he catches Zev’s thunderous expression. With a murmured thanks, the man shuffles away.
Zev scans the room—the two medics are clearly eavesdropping, but when his stony gaze finds them, they suddenly busy themselves with organizing cabinets.
My husband turns back to me. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and warring emotions clash in his eyes. Anger still reigns—but something softer is fighting to surface. He reaches for my face, and I flinch. His hand freezes midair—he looks gutted, and for a breath, I forget why I’m angry.
A deep sigh slips from him, his shoulders sagging. He reaches for me again, his palm cautiously cupping my cheek. The hesitation in his touch feels like a question, like he fears I’ll break if he presses too hard.
“You haven’t eaten.” His voice is gruff, but his fingers are gentle as he examines my face. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself.”
I give a small shrug, refusing to meet his gaze. “My husband forgot to bring me lunch.”
He sighs again, his face pained. “Look—we’ll talk about this later.” Reluctantly, he drops his hand and stalks toward the two men.
“Sauzon,” he snaps, and the two men startle. “Make sure my wife eats something after every second patient. If she doesn’t, I’ll bind you to the stockade. Ten lashes for every miss.” Sauzon’s wide eyes cut to me, before he turns back to Zev and nods stiffly.
“Graman.” The younger medic stands up taller. “Ensure my wife has everything she needs.” Without a backward glance at me, Zev strides from the room.
As soon as he leaves, both medics’ eyes flit to me. Graman seems ambivalent, but Sauzon’s dark gaze glitters with contempt.
I purse my lips. That could have gone better.
Zev’s certainly not winning me any friends.
I spend the next hour healing as many patients as I can, starting with those with the most severe injuries.
Internal wounds, broken bones, extreme pain with no obvious cause.
As I work my way through the patients, I marvel at Sauzon’s methods—slings and poultices and tonics and herbs.
I’ve always taken healing for granted, but the Arbinji people have harnessed a completely different approach to the human body.
Sauzon follows me diligently, ensuring I eat a few bites of roasted meat or tart berries after every second patient. At first, Graman also watches closely, his eyes bright with wonder at my glowing hands. Sauzon dismisses him soon after.
The older medic doesn’t say a word to me, standing stiffly, though as the infirmary cots empty and patients return home, the contempt slowly seeps from his gaze.
I lose myself in my passion, in my patients.
Their pain is real.
Their suffering is real.
And for the first time in days, I am real.
Every time my power stitches flesh, the throbbing ache in my chest eases slightly. This is who I am. Not a princess in a gilded cage, but a healer, elbow-deep in the work of soothing pain and saving lives.
After another hour, only a handful of patients remain, all with minor flesh wounds. I wish I could heal them, too, but tell-tale fatigue weights my limbs, even after eating. I need to rest—if my reserves fall too low, Sauzon will pay the price.
I take a deep breath and turn to him.
The older man reluctantly meets my gaze.
“I want to apologize,” I start. His mouth drops open. “I didn’t mean for you to get caught in the middle of my … disagreement with Zev.
“I’m trying to find my place here. Healing others has always brought me peace. It’s a responsibility and privilege I don’t take for granted. I’d love to return tomorrow and continue.” I inhale deeply, squaring my shoulders. “But I won’t come back unless you wish it.”
Sauzon stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.
I gesture around the stark white room. “This is your infirmary. I don’t want to overstep. I can find my place somewhere else. Truly.”
He eyes me warily, unsure if I speak the truth. I don’t blame him. The older medic casts his gaze around the room. Nearly all of the cots lay empty.
“You are welcome to return,” he says stiffly. “If you wish.”
“Perhaps, you can teach me about your methods,” I offer as we head toward the door.
He scoffs. “What good would that do? You can work magic with your hands. My methods are nothing compared to that.”
“That’s not true,” I say slowly. “My power is great, yes. But you’ve saved countless lives without ‘magic.’ What you do, that’s truly miraculous.
And I’m only one healer—if my reserves are low or I’m injured, I can’t heal.
It’s your methods that can be taught. Passed down.
I can only teach another healer, but you can teach anyone.
I’d be honored to learn from you. Maybe we could even combine our approaches.
” I offer him a small smile. “I know trust isn’t built in a day.
But I hope to earn yours. Not as your princess, but as someone who wants to help people. Just like you.”
He blinks, mouth parted. Sauzon regards me carefully, then nods.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Princess.”
The door flings open with a bang, and I yelp, snapping the book closed.
Zev enters. His eyes flick to Faerahzar the Great in my hands, and a strange look passes through his eyes, there and gone before I can decipher it. For a moment, we just stare at each other.
Then, five long strides, and he’s towering above me.
“Are you still upset?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. My pulse thunders in my ears.
His lips press into a thin line. “With myself. Not with you.” He offers me his hand, and I tentatively clasp it in a loose grip. “Come on.” With a firm tug, Zev pulls me from the sofa.
“Where are we going?” I ask, hitching up my gown to match his long strides. His eyes dip to my feet, and his pace slows.
“It’s a surprise.”
We wind through torchlit corridors, past narrow, open-air bridges, and up a spiraling staircase that seems to go on forever. My calves ache by the time we emerge onto a secluded terrace tucked between the towering walls of the palace.
Stone arches frame the inky night sky, dotted with a thousand twinkling stars. Candles line the floor, casting a soft glow over the terrace. In the center, a large blanket has been spread out, its corners weighted with smooth stones.
I arch a brow at him. “Another picnic? This is your grand apology?”
His smile is remorseful. He clasps my hands in his larger ones. “Forgive me, Mayah.” With slow footsteps, he leads me to the edge of the terrace, where the city stretches before us. “This is what I wanted to show you on our wedding night. Before the evening … took a turn.”
I snort. “That’s one way to describe an assassination attempt.”
He chuckles, holding me close to him. My back meets his chest. Zev presses closer, the heat of him wrapping around me in a familiar cocoon. Warm breath fans my ear when he says, “This was my favorite view in all of Arbinj.”
“Was?” I whisper, breathing in his smoky scent.
He hums but doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “I used to come here as a boy when I wanted to be alone—which was often.”
“I’m not surprised you were grumpy and brooding even back then.” His fingers trail over my belly, and my breath stutters. I want to stay mad at him, I really do, but Tides, I’ve missed him.
“All that brooding paid off,” he murmurs in my ear. “Since you love my fierce scowl.”
“I didn’t say I love it,” I breathe. “Only that I liked it.” My pulse quickens, and he presses a chaste kiss over it.