Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
It should have taken a full day’s ride to reach the border. I couldn’t have been knocked out for more than a few hours. There’s no time to wonder, though, because the Dark Commander looms over me, one knee braced beside my thigh on the wooden bench.
He’s so close. His scent hits me first—smoke and pine and the ghost of safety—and my traitorous lungs inhale greedily. But the image of Daak’s body crumpled on the ground flits before my eyes, lifeless because of him.
He leans over me, and my body does the unthinkable—recognizes him.
I want to crawl out of my own skin.
I hate the way my body trembles. A flush creeps up my neck, traitorous and humiliating. Why does his proximity still sear me like a brand? His exhale ghosts over my lips, and my stomach lurches—because part of me still leans toward the heat.
Part of me still wants.
And all of me hates it.
Impatient hands uncuff one wrist. The skin where the iron rested is red. He stills, eyes riveted to my skin. His lips purse, but then he fishes out another iron bracelet. It snaps around my wrist with a soft click.
The iron bites into my skin, the ache already blooming. He repeats the process with my other wrist, but he doesn’t linger this time. A rough length of rope binds my hands together.
There’s iron on my wrists and hatred in my mouth.
He grips my arm roughly and drags me from the carriage.
Sunlight lashes my face like punishment. Tall trees frame the sky, an endless sea of green across every horizon.
I squint against the brightness.
“You said we’re going to the border,” I accuse, leveling him with a glare.
“So eager to meet your fate?”
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
He nods to the carriage driver—a lanky, disheveled man who doesn’t dare look at me. With a crack of his whip, the carriage rolls away, leaving me stranded.
With my husband.
Is he going to kill me here?
Will he bother to bury my body or leave me to rot beneath the sun?
When the driver has vanished from sight, the Dark Commander drags me through the woods like a sack of meat, my feet slipping on damp, rotting leaves. I’m off balance with my hands bound, and the insufferable man hauls me along like a doll.
“Where are we going?” I grit out, tripping over another gnarled root.
“Shut up.”
“I swear by the Tides, if you—”
He whirls, large hand coiled around my neck as he shoves me into the nearest tree. Rough bark scrapes my back as he presses me harder against it. Panic rears in my chest, sharp and hot. I crush it down before it reaches my eyes.
I won’t let him break me.
His molten gray gaze is alight with icy rage and—something else I can’t quite name.
“You’ll what?” he snarls, baring his teeth, his breath hot against my face. “I don’t think you realize what kind of trouble you’re in. If you test me, I’ll kill you. If you annoy me, I’ll kill you. If you breathe wrong—I’ll. Kill. You. Stop asking questions.”
I believe him—the thud of Daak’s body hitting the ground still echoes in my heart.
My chest heaves against his, a rough tide of anger coursing through my veins.
He’s right. I shouldn’t test him. I need to bide my time and figure out how to escape.
My power is suppressed, and even if it wasn’t, he’s stronger than I am.
For the briefest moment, his gaze drops to my lips before he steps back and continues dragging me through the woods.
Ten minutes later, we arrive at a small camp—three tents pitched around a crackling fire.
But it’s not the fire that holds my attention.
It’s the six men crowded around it, clad in dark leather and glinting armor.
Arbinji soldiers.
The hair on my arms stands on end.
I recognize one of the soldiers.
Sulon. Zev’s second in command.
My stomach knots when I spot him, that massive, unblinking brute.
And based on the pure hatred in his cold eyes, it seems like he hasn’t forgotten me either. Sulon doesn’t speak—just stares at my bound wrists and wipes his blade clean on a rag already stained with old blood.
I struggle, digging my feet into the ground, as the Dark Commander drags me forward.
But it’s useless. My heels leave a trail of flattened grass stretching from the edge of the clearing until the firepit.
“Sit.” When I don’t move, his large hands clamp around my shoulders and force me down. “Stay.”
I snarl at him. The soldiers chuckle, though some of them eye my bound wrists with confusion. They know I’m his wife. The Dark Commander gestures to Sulon, and the two of them step farther away, voices too low for me to make out. The other five men form a semi-circle around me.
Dread burns like acid in my veins.
I’ve never felt so vulnerable.
The Dark Commander and Sulon speak in hushed voices.
The second in command’s gaze rakes over me like a rusted knife.
He nods at whatever his commander says, and the two men return, settling across from me by the fire.
The other soldiers slowly disperse, doing whatever it is that soldiers do between killing and marching toward killing.
My husband doesn’t spare me a second glance. The other men give me a wide berth, avoiding even glancing in my direction.
All ignore me. Except Sulon.
Whenever my gaze cuts to the hulking man, his eyes are already riveted to me, a vicious whirlpool of hunger and hate swirling within them.
I feel dirty just under his gaze. Whenever my husband’s back is turned, Sulon finds some way to touch me—fingers brushed over my hair as he walks past or the side of his leg knocking into mine.
Every time he’s near, the scent of rust and rancid oil curls in my nostrils.
I grit my teeth and watch him, rage simmering inside me, the iron cuffs chafing at my sore wrists.
I can’t remember the last time I drank anything. My mouth is painfully dry, like I’ve swallowed sand, but I’m too proud to ask for water. The sun slowly disappears beneath the horizon, the sky darkening to a deep purple. The men stop their tasks to eat.
I’m huddled by the fire, wrists burning, shoulders sore. My eyes fall to my bound hands—my finger is bare. The Dark Commander took his betrothal ring along with my necklace. I ignore the sting that pierces my heart.
That’s the least of my worries.
Because my husband stalks over, lowering himself beside me.
I hate the way my body still responds to his proximity—I catch myself leaning closer to him before I remember that I despise him. When I recoil, his scowl deepens. He tears off a strip of dried meat and holds it to my lips. Grimacing, I turn away.
“Eat,” he commands gruffly. The firelight casts dancing shadows across his face.
“Untie me. I’ll feed myself.”
“No.” He presses the meat to my mouth again, and I snarl, flinching away from his hands.
Zev eyes me for a beat, then shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
One of the soldiers, a tall, lean man with dark eyes says, “I can try to feed her, sire, if you’re worried about her reserves. A healer would be useful if one of us is injured.”
A beat.
My husband looks like he wants to murder him. “No,” he growls.
My stomach rumbles in protest.
“Wait,” I say to the soldier. “I’m very thirsty.”
The soldier hesitates for a second, then grabs a canteen, heading toward me.
He never makes it.
Like lightning, the Dark Commander storms over and snatches the canteen from his hand.
“Don’t go near her.” His voice is venomous, a muscle pulsing in his jaw.
The soldiers’ eyes are on me, even as they pretend not to watch.
With a long-suffering sigh, Zev strides back.
“Don’t try anything, waterwielder,” he hisses, face stony as he crouches to my level. I glare at him, holding up my iron-bound wrists. Idiot. Did he forget how iron works?
He tilts the canteen against my mouth, and I gulp down the water as quickly as I can manage before he changes his mind.
There’s a strange expression on his face as he watches me.
I wait for him to insult me, liken me to a fish or something equally stupid, but he doesn’t.
He lets me drink my fill in tense silence.
When I finish, he grabs me by the arm and hauls me up.
“What—”
I don’t get my question out. My husband drags me over to a tree and forces me to the ground, hands heavy on my shoulders.
Hot anger courses through my veins, and even still, a spark skitters across my skin where he touches me.
I hate myself. I hate him.
“I could run,” I snap, trying to burn him with my glare.
He smirks. “Try it. I’ll drag you back by your pretty hair.”
Before I can respond, he slams his jaw shut and storms back to the fire.
My faithless eyes linger on the stretch of his tunic across the breadth of his shoulders, even as scorching fury simmers in my belly.
I’m an embarrassment to Tundrayn.
With a huff, I lean back against the tree and observe.
Sulon and one other soldier are earthwielders—Sulon summoned roots from the ground to secure the tents while the other grew some type of root vegetable within minutes. Three, I suspect, are nonwielders. Their tasks seem more menial compared to the others—sharpening weapons and cleaning armor.
The men speak in low voices around the fire, and I strain to listen.
“…Tundrayni…” Sulon whispers, but I can’t make out the rest. Tides drown them.
“…camp?” Zev responds, his voice low. He glances at me, as if he can sense my eyes. The bastards lower their voices further, and then it’s impossible to hear anything at all.
I don’t know how long I rest against the tree, but fatigue eventually overtakes me. I fight off sleep for as long as I can—I’m bound and surrounded by enemies, for Tide’s sake—but eventually I succumb.
A rough hand glides across my ankle, shoving up my leggings to skate along my bare skin. Sweaty fingers stroking my neck, yanking down my collar.
“Zev?” I mumble, trying to move.
I can’t.
A dark chuckle scrapes against my nerves.
“Zev? That’s cute.”
The camp is quiet. Too quiet. No hushed murmurs, no thudding boots. Not even the crackling of the fire.
My eyes snap open.
Sulon is hunched over me, hateful eyes glittering in the dark, one hand wrapped around my bare ankle, the other shoved down the front of my tunic.