Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
Idon’t sleep that night. After Vy drifts off on her narrow cot, I tiptoe quietly to the tent’s canvas flap. Peeking outside, my eyes find Zev’s silhouette.
The camp is deserted. Except for the two guards flanking Zev.
Tides damn them.
With a quick glance at Vy’s sleeping form, I cast out my power, sensing the water flowing through the earth.
A beat, then—
Twin cracks echo through the camp, the noise sounding from opposite directions. The guards startle and share a quick glance, then hurry off to investigate the disturbance.
They’ll find trees fissured in half, much like Zev did months ago.
Tides, let it be enough time.
The hood of my cloak is pulled low over my head, my steps silent as I cross the camp.
This is potentially the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
Zev is restrained right in the middle of camp. Anyone could peer out from their tent and see me—my father could see me.
It’s a risk I’m willing to take, apparently.
Under the silvery moonlight, his hair shines almost blue except where it’s matted with blood. Both eyes are closed, and there are fresh bruises marring his torso. Right before I reach the platform, his eye snaps open.
I freeze.
We stare at each other.
“Come to have a turn?” he rasps. His voice sounds like it’s been dragged over broken glass.
With slow, shaky steps, I climb onto the platform. My hands tremble as I reach for his ravaged chest. I swallow thickly, hovering for a second, unsure if touching him will unravel me.
When my palms finally rest against his chest, I gasp sharply.
So much pain.
I close my eyes, sensing his injuries.
Six of his ribs are broken, one of which has pierced his lung, and two others are cracked. There’s a slow bleed seeping into his stomach. Both of his kidneys are struggling to function—likely pummeled into oblivion. Four toes and his right ankle are broken.
Hot, anguished tears prick my eyes.
He was used as a punching bag while I slept for days.
His pain thrums beneath my palms, a damning echo I can’t escape.
I take another shaky breath, willing my healer’s training to steady my hand. Willing myself to see him as just another patient.
I can’t do anything about the external wounds—they’ll know someone healed him—but I can heal his internal injuries.
When I open my eyes, Zev’s squinted gaze is riveted to my necklace.
I take another shuddering breath, willing my heartbeat to slow. My palms alight, and I set to work on healing him.
“Why are you helping me?” he grits out, gray eyes almost silver in the moonlight. “To draw out my suffering?”
Tides, the sound of his splintered voice rents my heart in two.
So I pretend I don’t hear him.
I don’t have an answer I can give anyway. Instead, I focus on his ribs, slowly mending the fissures in the bones. Once those are healed, I work on his punctured lung.
“Why?” he presses. His voice sounds better, already stronger, and it’s a balm to my battered heart. With trembling fingers, I retrieve the bread hidden in my cloak. I tear off a chunk and hold it to his lips. The stubborn man turns his face away, much like I did at his camp when I was his prisoner.
“Zev,” I hiss, casting a quick glance around the clearing. “I don’t have much time. Eat.”
“Don’t call me Zev.”
I bare my teeth. “Fine. Eat, dumbass.”
His eyes brim with unfiltered suspicion.
“What’s your plan?”
“For Tides’ sake, I don’t have one.” I force two fingers into his mouth and pry it open, then shove the bread inside.
I half expect him to spit it out, but he swallows it down. When he’s eaten all the bread, I wield a thin stream of water from my canteen, flowing it into his mouth.
“Why didn’t you let me die?” I ask after he’s finished drinking. “When I was bleeding out.”
Zev doesn’t answer immediately. His chapped, bloodied lips press into a grim line. A muscle jumps in his jaw, as if the memory infuriates him. It probably does—I tricked him into sharing his power, weakening him. It’s why he’s strung up in a Tundrayni camp.
Yet another betrayal to add to my growing list.
“You’re mine to kill,” he finally says, his voice cold. “I’ll die before I let you leave this world of your own choice.”
My hands still, my gaze slowly meeting his.
“Why are you helping me?” he repeats. The labored wheeze from his pierced lung has vanished.
“You’ll die if I don’t. Father has plans for you.”
I heal his broken toes and ankle—hopefully no one notices the mended bones inside his boot.
When I’ve healed all that I can, I set to numbing his pain.
“Stop,” he snaps, his voice cutting through me like a blade.
“You’re in pain.”
“I said stop.” His eyes are hard. “The pain reminds me I’m still alive. And if I’m alive, I can still kill you.”
I turn away before he sees the tears slide down my cheeks.
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Father will kill him, and I don’t care.
We need him alive. That’s what I tell myself.
But I know that’s not why I came.
It’s the lies we tell ourselves that keep us moving forward.