Chapter Seventy-Four
My boots thud against the floor as I careen around the narrow corner, torchlight flickering in my tailwind. The door announces my tardiness with a loud creak. Four pairs of eyes swing to me.
I’m late for another council meeting—except instead of ice walls and icy glares, I’m met with Tairna’s dimly lit office and her warm smile. Huddled around her large table are Zev and her advisers, Rycken and Lyzza.
“Mayah,” Tairna greets, her eyes crinkling. “Another late shift at the infirmary?”
“Yeah.” I force a laugh. “Tumaas needs to keep a better eye on wayward children in the forge.”
There are two open chairs: one by Rycken, a quiet but pleasant man in his forties, and one by Zev. I bite my lip and head toward the seat by Rycken, but Zev yanks out the one beside him with a low grunt.
My steps falter. Biting my lip, I change my trajectory midway and settle in beside my husband. He doesn’t spare me another glance.
“The Volcans arrive this week,” Tairna continues. “We need to be ready to attack.”
“We—Arbinj has a base near the coast,” Zev rumbles, pointing to the worn map unfurled across the desk. “There are at least a thousand men stationed. Will the Volcans have enough soldiers?”
Lantern light glints off his thick iron cuff, the metal scraping against the table.
I glance at my own wrists. Tairna removed my cuffs days ago, and I’ve been healing in the infirmary ever since, alternating shifts with one other healer and two nonwielding medics.
But despite being Tairna’s son, the Dark Commander wasn’t given the same grace.
I absently drag my thumb over my bare ring finger.
Since that night at the dance, I’ve spoken to Zev only a handful of times—always during meetings with Tairna.
The few times I’ve seen him outside of that, it’s somehow always when Tumaas has pulled me into a giant bearhug. Zev disappears quickly after that.
I sleep alone and wake alone—on the nights Zev does spend in our room, he folds himself onto the small sofa after I’ve already fallen asleep. I only know he’s been there by the neatly folded blanket and lingering smoke-and-pine scent.
Something sharp and desperate and anguished claws at my ribs, in the space where my heart used to be. But I have no one to blame but myself for this gaping hole in my chest.
“And this base?” Tairna asks, jolting me from my thoughts. She points to another spot on the map, further inland.
Zev scratches his stubbled jaw. “Five hundred men.” He frowns. “No. Less after the last Rebellion attack. Four hundred.”
Tairna stares at him, then glances at her advisers. Rycken shrugs one broad shoulder while Lyzza shakes her head, chocolate-brown curls fluttering.
“We didn’t attack that base,” Tairna says, a deep crease etched between her brows.
A beat passes in utter silence.
“That can’t be,” Zev says, scowling. “There were at least three attacks on Arbinji bases within the last month. Armored nonwielders. It looked like Rebellion…” He trails off, his sharp eyes cutting sideways to me.
My stomach drops.
His knuckles flare white. Tension brackets his jaw, and he turns away so quickly that his neck cracks.
Tairna doesn’t seem to understand my treachery as quickly.
I hesitate, licking my lips. “My father staged those attacks. To draw Zev away from the palace. So that I could…” I struggle to find the words, shrinking under Rycken and Lyzza’s shrewd appraisal.
Understanding slowly dawns on Tairna’s face. Zev must have told her everything.
What I did. What I was planning to do.
“That’s in the past,” she says, her voice firm. “We’re all on the same side now.” Her stern gaze travels around the table but settles longest on her son.
She rustles the map, clearing her throat loudly, but that doesn’t ease the heavy tension blanketing the room.
“Yes, the Volcans will have enough soldiers,” she continues, dark eyes leveled on Zev. “I’ll send a message to my men in both palaces. They’ll be ready.”
Zev doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move, doesn’t even take a breath. He just keeps staring at the map, eyes cold and blank.
“That’s all for today,” Tairna says softly, concerned gaze fixed on the stormy man beside me.
Everyone rises, chairs scraping against the quiet, but she rests her hand on Zev’s shoulder. “Stay a moment.”
I linger, weight shifting between my feet, hands wringing together as Rycken and Lyzza file out of the room with murmured goodbyes. Tairna gives me another warm smile, but this time, it’s a dismissal.
The threadbare sheets scratch against my legs as I nestle beneath the covers. Sura helped me scrounge clothing from around the camp, including two indecently short nightgowns. And if I alternate wearing them every night in the hopes that Zev might see me, well, that’s no one’s business but my own.
It’s been fruitless so far—he hasn’t entered the room while I’ve been here. Not while I’m awake, anyway. Sometimes, I swear the ghost of his familiar footsteps echoes in the corridor, but there’s never anyone there when I check.
My eyes slowly flutter closed. After the council meeting, I helped Tumaas in the forge to pass the time, coating arrowheads with melted iron, the memory of Zev’s power coursing through me dominating my thoughts.
If Tumaas noticed I was distracted, that my mind was steeping in regret and longing, he didn’t comment on it.
Now, the muscles in my arms and shoulders ache with every movement.
My poor baby healer. Can’t handle a bit of soreness?
His deep voice echoes in my heart for only seconds, but it’s enough for bitter grief to constrict my throat.
I picture his stony face when he was reminded of my betrayal in the council meeting today—he couldn’t even bear to look at me.
Hot tears slip down my cheeks. I let them.
I did this. I deserve this. Eyes clenched shut, still weeping softly, I pray for sleep to find me, even though I know his handsome, wrathful face will haunt my dreams.
The sky rumbles outside.
My eyes snap open.
Thunder echoes again, and my heartbeat ratchets up.
It must be a natural storm—Zev still wears his iron cuffs, and there are no other stormwielders in this camp.
A heavy weight bears down on my lungs. The room shrinks around me. I yank the covers over my head as the thunder grows louder. Angrier.
Like it’s here for me.
One more room-shaking thunderclap, and I bolt from the bed.
Zev.
He’s my first thought, the first comfort I seek, even now. Even if he hates me. I fling open the door, stumbling into the hallway.
Sura stands in her open doorway, already waiting for me. I hesitate for only a second before darting inside, scurrying to her bed. The mattress dips, and she settles beside me, her soft hand rubbing my back. A flash of lightning illuminates the concern in her bright blue eyes.
“You’re safe,” she whispers. “Mayah, you’re safe.
The storm can’t harm you in here. Neither can your father.
” Her forehead is cool when she presses it against mine, and it almost makes me forget the thunder raging on the other side of the wall.
I’d told her what my father did on my second night here—the truth about my mother’s murder. Her fury had rivaled my own.
Another bright flash of lightning, and I clench my eyes shut, trying to block out the suffocating terror clawing at my lungs. My hand finds Sura’s beneath the covers, squeezing until I’m certain I’m hurting her, but she doesn’t complain.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
A loud pounding on the door has us both jumping.
“Are you expecting someone?” I whisper.
She shakes her head. Her dark silhouette crosses the room and opens the door.
She freezes.
“Here to finish the job?” Sura snarls.
A beat.
Then, “Is Mayah with you?” a deep, gravelly voice asks.
The voice I hear in my dreams. His voice.
Sura leans against the door frame, blocking the view inside. She’s silent, casually examining her nails for what feels like minutes.
“Yes,” she says at last. Her voice is clipped, cold. “Anything else?”
He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t leave either.
“You can go now,” Sura hisses. “Terrorize someone else.”
The mattress squeaks as I rise, the floor cool beneath my feet. “It’s all right, Sura,” I murmur, placing a hand on her shoulder. She casts an icy glare at Zev before shoving off the door frame and stomping inside.
Zev’s jaw is clenched tight, but I don’t miss the way his attention lingers on the bare skin of my thighs, even as anger dances in his molten gaze.
He doesn’t ask. I’m not sure why I’m compelled to explain.
“I came here because of the storm. I didn’t think you’d notice.” Or care. I can’t help the bitterness that seeps into my voice.
His lips press into a grim line. “It’s just the two of you?”
I debate saying no to torture him.
Make him wonder.
Make him ache the way I’ve been aching.
But I can’t think past the smoldering heat in his eyes. “Yes.”
He grunts, then strides down the corridor without another word, disappearing into our room.
The door slams shut louder than I intend. Sura is already tucked into bed. I join her beneath the covers, and for a while, neither of us says a word. We just exist in familiar silence, as the storm rages around us, her comforting hand never straying from my back.
It’s only when the thunder dies down that she speaks.
Her words shred another piece of my soul.