Chapter 63
Chapter Sixty-Three
“Vy,” I whisper, wide eyes studying her face—her perfectly blank face. “Sorry if I woke you. I went to relieve myself.”
I shuffle across the small space, sinking into the narrow cot beside hers, the thin mattress creaking beneath my weight.
I draw the blanket to my chin and lie stiffly on my side, my back facing her.
My heart thunders against my ribcage, each beat louder than the last. I can’t tell if my lie passed as truth.
My breath catches on the edge of each inhale, waiting.
“The Commander looked healthier today,” she muses, voice cutting through the dark. “I imagine he’ll be even better tomorrow.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The air thickens, and I struggle to breathe. The small tent seems to constrict around me. I slowly turn to face her, though I can’t make out her delicate features in the darkness.
“What do you want?” I ask woodenly.
She’s silent for so long, I foolishly wonder if she fell asleep, and I imagined the entire exchange.
“I’ll keep your secret, Princess,” she says at last, her voice steady in the dark. There’s no judgment in it—just quiet certainty, like a thread pulled taut. Her mattress squeaks as she shifts, turning on her side to face me.
“And what would you have in return?” I ask, my voice edged with steel. Caution frosts each syllable.
There’s a pause, then the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusts her blanket. “Nothing yet,” she says simply. “But you’ll owe me a favor.”
It’s not a threat. Not quite. But the implication coils between us, cold as ice. I stare at the ceiling, weighing her words.
But my silence is a pretense.
I already know my answer. And I think she does, too.
“Done,” I whisper.
The next morning, I emerge from my tent to find Father interrogating Zev. Somehow, he manages to look regal despite the dark blood splattered on his blue robes, burgundy flecks dotting his neatly combed beard.
“How many men are stationed at the border?”
“Fifteen, last I checked. Some might have died by now, though. We’re not suited for Tundrayn’s abysmal temperatures.”
Father grits his teeth. “Has Varad secured an alliance with Volca?”
“Maybe. Probably not. My brother’s an ass.” He grins, sharp and mocking. “Not half as charming as I am. You lucked out with me as a son-in-law.”
My heart thuds painfully in my chest, cold dread freezing my lungs. I recognize the tension in Father’s shoulders, the white-knuckled grip of one hand around the other, the tight lines around his mouth.
“I’m afraid you’re not taking me seriously,” Father murmurs, his voice a silken threat.
With a casual wave of his hand, Father summons a sloshing ball of water. It spirals through the air, swirling and compressing until the outline is a smooth sphere.
My breath stutters.
I know what comes next.
The translucent orb floats through the air—then submerges Zev’s head. My husband doesn’t move, doesn’t struggle. The only outward sign of its effect are the bulging tendons in his neck. Small bubbles escape from his mouth and float to the top as he slowly releases air.
I haven’t taken a breath myself.
Minutes pass.
His shoulders vibrate, veins cording in his arms. His eyes widen, neck bobbing futilely.
My hands clench into tight fists, nails digging so hard into my palms that I’m sure I’ve drawn blood. I could wield the water, make a small pocket of air, just enough so he can—
A soft hand on my shoulder startles me. “Come inside, Princess,” Vy murmurs. “You should not watch this.”
I shrug her hand off.
I have to watch. I did this.
I don’t know how long it’s been. Zev’s face is dark and splotchy inside the bubble of water.
He’s out of air. His lungs must be burning.
My husband had been right—death by lightning is nothing compared to this cruelty.
His head swings from side to side, thrashing in his restraints, trying to escape drowning on land.
But it’s no use.
A deafening crash, like angry waves battering an iceberg, rings in my ears, drowning out the jeers of the warriors. They watch him suffer like he’s a tidesdamned spectacle for their enjoyment.
An eternity later, Father lets the sphere drop.
Zev gasps for air, violently coughing up water. His hair is drenched, slicked against his forehead in dark swirls, his skin pale.
“Princess, please.” Vy is more insistent now, but I ignore her. My breath wrenches through my lungs, leaving behind a harrowing tightness.
“How many soldiers are stationed at the border?”
Zev hasn’t stopped coughing, but he still manages to be an idiot.
“Three”—cough—“but your pathetic warriors”—cough—“wouldn’t last ten minutes”—cough—“against them.”
Father submerges Zev’s head again.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of healing and shoveling food down my throat and willing it not to come back up. Father calls me into his tent to discuss strategies, though I barely hear a word. Muffled grunts and the agonizing sound of fists striking flesh bombard me.
The warriors are taking turns pummeling Zev again.
Bile rises in my throat, hot and punishing.
“…promise them a third of our food stores?” I catch the end of Father’s sentence. He’s talking about convincing Volca to ally with us. Or at least, that’s what I assume.
“We won’t survive. Our stores are lean enough as they are, and that’s including what Arbinj has sent us,” Sorka responds. “We won’t be getting the third shipment from them now.”
Muffled laughter.
A shrill blaring in my ears.
Five repeated thuds, and a mocking jeer.
The distinct sound of crunching bone.
I think my heart might give out, it’s racing so fast. Violent streams of acid climb up my throat.
I can’t contain it. My head swings to the side, and I retch all over the floor in great, heaving shudders.
“Princess!” Sorka darts over, sweeping my hair from my face and rubbing a large hand over my back. “Are you ill?”
I wipe my mouth.
Father hasn’t moved. He just regards me with his cold, unreadable stare.
“Are you with child?” Ice is warmer than Father’s voice.
“No.”
“Are you cert—”
“I’m a healer,” I snap. “I think I’d know.”
That’s his concern? Not if I were violated, but if I ended up with child?
Before he can react, I stumble from the tent, heading for the men loitering around Zev.
Vy intercepts me before I can reach them.
“Not here, Princess,” she whispers, pulling me into our tent. “Lay down. You don’t look well. I’ll handle those men.”
She draws the blanket around my shoulders, then disappears through the flap.
It’s dark when I wake—Vy is asleep beside me.
I edge toward the tent flap, easing it open. The night sky is clear, stars twinkling overhead. It clashes with the turmoil in the chest, this gnawing ache that has only grown stronger with every passing day. With every new bruise on my husband’s body.
Zev’s slumped in his chains, asleep, chin tucked against his chest. My heart tightens with concern. Did Vy manage to distract the warriors lined up to use him as a punching bag?
I’ve nearly taken a step into the clearing when I freeze—Father stalks out of his tent, heading toward the wooden platform where Zev is bound. I quickly close the flap, peeking through the slivered opening.
Father’s knees crack as he climbs the platform. Zev doesn’t stir. Father regards him for a moment, then viciously kicks his boot. My husband startles awake, head snapping up. His eyes sharpen quickly, sleep blinked away, when he sees Father standing before him.
“You interrupted my dream, Tormik,” he wheezes. Shit. More broken ribs. “And it was delightful.”
For a beat, Father just stares at him.
“Did you touch my daughter?”
Zev breaks into a salacious grin. “Tormik, please. That’s between me and my wife.”
A sharp crack reverberates through me as Father backhands Zev.
“Answer me! Did. You. Hurt. Her.”
The mock playfulness vanishes from Zev’s face. “What did you think was going to happen to her?” he seethes, face twisted with rage even as his voice cracks with pain. “When you wrapped her in a bow and gifted her to your enemy? Where did this sudden concern come from, Tormik?”
“You despicable bastard,” Father hisses, knuckles white around his staff.
“You’re the one who sent your daughter to your enemy’s bed. Whatever she’s endured, it’s by your hand.”
The sky rumbles, low and ominous, then—
—a bolt of lightning strikes the ground a few feet behind the platform.
A startled gasp escapes me.
And my world burns to ash.