Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Possessing two wielding capabilities is rare.
Which is why when my waterwielding emerged as a teenager, Father kept it a closely guarded secret—not a soul alive knows save me, Father, and Daak.
I had already been training as a healer for a few years by then, so when Father assigned Daak as my “combat” instructor, no one at the palace suspected anything else.
That Father was honing a weapon.
Healing has always come easier to me than waterwielding, but under Daak’s guidance, I’ve grown into a formidable wielder.
It was difficult keeping my ability hidden these past few months.
It felt unnatural ignoring the water’s familiar call.
The last time I wielded was in the Tundrayni forest, when I split that tree down the middle.
It was an unbelievably stupid risk, but I couldn’t stand to let the Dark Commander manhandle me without suffering any consequences.
The Dark Commander. My lips turn down in a scowl. The frightening moniker doesn’t suit Zev at all.
Zev, with so much tenderness in his eyes.
Zev, who also lost his mother and friend.
Zev, who has shown me more kindness than I ever expected.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and blink away my traitorous tears.
Zev is miles away, and now I can finally find those tidescursed tunnels. He hadn’t been receptive to me sleeping in another bedroom, and with my every move under careful scrutiny, it’s been impossible to explore.
So far, the only hidden entrance I’ve found is in Zev’s—our—chambers. There are likely entrances in every set of royal quarters to make it easy to flee if the palace were ever under attack.
The tunnels may have served Arbinj well in the past.
But they won’t now.
After my shift in the infirmary, I return to our chambers. It’s just past sunset when I change into comfortable leggings and a tunic. Standing before the wall, I run my hands over the raised ledge I had discovered within days of marrying Zev—I knew what I was looking for, though.
A hard push, all my weight thrown behind it.
A soft click.
A portion of the wall sinks in, leaving just enough space for me to wedge through. I shift the hidden door back into place, though I doubt anyone will enter our chambers.
Zev will never forgive me.
I bat away the intrusive thought and press forward.
I came here with a mission.
I mean to fulfill it.
Behind the wall is a narrow, dark tunnel. I find a torch beside my feet and quickly light it. The air is thick with mildew and something older. The walls are crumbling stone. For a brief second, the image of them collapsing in a heap on me enters my mind.
That won’t happen. The tunnels have stood for centuries.
I close my eyes and cast out my senses.
The faint whisper of water beckons to me—I’ve ignored it for months, but it’s always been there, lingering just beneath the surface.
I follow its call.
My knuckles are white around the torch, eyes scanning every dark corner. There could be other entry points that lead into this very tunnel. Every faint sound has me jumping, ready to attack. My footsteps echo back to me, too loud, too alive.
But I remain alone.
I walk for another twenty minutes before the tunnel widens into a larger cavern. The walls are slick, glinting in the torchlight, with three arched openings carved into the stone. I close my eyes again, searching for water.
The entrance on the far right.
I disappear into darkness, but not for long.
The tunnel widens again into another cavern—this one larger, more purposeful.
Unlit torches line the walls, where precariously tall stacks of crates lean against the stone.
Another tunnel opens immediately to my left—this one with a stream of water flowing through a shallow valley carved at the bottom.
The indentation flows through the center of the room, disappearing into another tunnel on the opposite side.
I bite my lip, scanning the chambers.
How do I know this is the right one?
Find water. The tunnel will lead outside. Father’s voice echoes in my mind.
My eyes find the shallow stream. I send a large ripple through the water and watch as it grows smaller as it disappears into the darkness.
Five minutes later, I do it again.
Then, again.
And again.
The cold stone is hard against my back as I sit, knees to chest, against the wall. It’s been over an hour. Every few minutes, I send a strong wave of water cascading through the tunnel.
One more. One more, and then I’ll go. Tomorrow, I’ll try a different tunnel. I’ve said this to myself at least six times now, but I mean it this time.
One last ripple sent barreling down.
Minutes pass.
Nothing.
With a weary sigh, I rise, walking away. I’ve almost left the large chamber when I hear it. The rushing whoosh of a ripple.
The same sound I’ve heard repeatedly for the past hour.
Except this time, it’s coming toward me.
My feet slap against the stone floor as I rush back to the mouth of the tunnel in time to see a small wave crest and ebb away.
My legs almost give out.
It came back. It came back.
I stand there for minutes, waiting.
I wait for it to be a trick of echo or my imagination, but then the unmistakable drumbeat of boots splashing reaches my ears—and all the breath leaves my lungs.
A dark silhouette appears in the tunnel, broad shoulders and long, swinging braids. He catches sight of me and runs even faster, the distance vanishing between us like smoke in the air.
The man’s face is shadowed, but his gaze glimmers in the dark.
And I’d know those blue eyes anywhere.