Chapter Seventy-Eight
Through the chaos, order slowly takes shape. Zev, a storm in motion, barks out commands with practiced authority, dividing the rebels into groups of six. Four teams disperse in different directions, each assigned to sweep for intruders, secure fallen zones, or reinforce collapsing defenses.
We join the eastern patrol, skirting the outer edge of the camp. My eyes dart between trees, over rooftops, around crumbling barricades—searching for anything that doesn’t belong.
As we near the eastern wall, the sounds of battle sharpen—shouts, the clash of steel, the low groan of twisting roots. A group of earthwielders engages in brutal combat with a handful of rebels. Thick vines writhe from the soil, slamming into stone and limbs alike.
My heart skips when I spot a flash of Tumaas’s dark braids, whipping like cords as he ducks low, slicing through a vine with his blade. Beside him, Mona crouches behind the remains of a shattered wall, eyes narrowed in focus.
A sharp twang.
An arrow whistles through the air and strikes one of the earthwielders square in the chest. He topples backward with a grunt, his roots withering mid-attack.
Tides. Mona is a terrifyingly good shot.
Zev and I join them.
Tumaas reads the frantic question on my face. “Sura’s fine. Not a scratch on her. Sent us back out to be useful. She said she’d disown me if I ‘shame’ her.”
I loose a breath I’d been holding since the building fell on me.
An arrow whizzes between us, narrowly missing our faces.
“Enough chatter!” Zev snaps at us, his sword already embedded in the shooter’s chest.
We fall into formation.
Water arcs through the air. Freezing. Choking. Killing.
The clang of swords, the waning groans of the dying.
Some of our men die, too, but every time I cast out my panicked gaze, I find Zev, Tumaas, and Mona. Still standing. Still fighting.
At least twenty corpses litter the ground when we’re done.
My reserves are perilously low. Zev and I share another chunk of bread while Tumaas and Mona catch their breath.
“Here,” Zev says, tossing half a loaf at Tumaas. He scrambles to catch it in time, eyeing Zev with suspicion. Mona’s eyes are wide as she stares at the bread.
If I weren’t already hopelessly in love with Zev, I certainly am now.
“Ready?” Tumaas asks, brushing crumbs from his palms after they finish eating. “We should keep—”
Everything happens so fast.
The ground stretches open behind Tumaas, its maw wide, and a man leaps out, sword in hand and the promise of death in his eyes.
He hauls his arm back.
My mouth opens in a scream.
I summon water into the air, but he’s too fast.
His sword glints in the moonlight—
—and Zev shoves Tumaas to the ground. The sword slices through his side, bright blood weeping from the gash.
Zev’s arm draws back, sword glinting like lightning, and spears it through the earthwielder’s stomach. Blood splatters through the air, hot droplets spraying my face.
The sword withdraws with a sickening squelch. The man falls to the ground.
“Zev!” My feet slap against the muddy earth, hands already glowing.
“It’s just a scratch,” he grunts, clutching his side. “Save your—”
“Shut up,” I hiss. I force him to the ground, batting his hands away before pressing my palms against his bloody wound. It only takes a few minutes until his skin is seamless.
Not even a scar left behind. Not this time.
He doesn’t move, and I take advantage, sending a rushing pulse of power through the rest of him.
Zev catches on, grabbing my wrists and fixing me with a scathing glare. I can’t decipher the look on his face—does he want to pull me into his arms or push me away?
He does neither. Instead, he retrieves more bread from his cloak and presses a soggy chunk into my mouth. I chew mechanically, caught in the trance of his gaze. I don’t even remember to swallow until he taps my throat, his lips twitching.
Mona strides around the area, crossbow in hand, while Tumaas hovers over us, narrowed eyes leveled on Zev. He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut.
“You haven’t eaten,” I say to Zev. I ghost my fingers over his side, reassuring my racing heart that he’s not at risk of bleeding out.
“That was the last of the food,” he murmurs.
Tumaas’s face darkens. “Mona and I can double back to the kitchens,” he says quietly. “We’ll get more food and come back.”
Zev shakes his head. “Bring the food to Sura. The children must be hungry. We’ll head to the kitchens ourselves.”
Tumaas bristles, crossing his arms. “You better not be making excuses to get rid of us. We can hold our own. I could’ve handled that tidesdamned earthwielder.”
Zev rises to his feet, brushing off his trousers. “We’d all feel better knowing the children are well guarded. Not by you. Your technique needs work.” He jerks his head toward Mona. “By her. Now go.”
Tumaas looks ready to argue, face red, but Mona just nods and drags him away.
Zev and I walk side by side through the outskirts of the forest, our footsteps soft against the rain-dampened earth. The trees thin here, giving way to scorched patches of grass. The air smells of wet ash and mud.
I keep my gaze riveted to the trees, forcing myself not to look at the bodies scattered along our path—some half-buried in the earth, others with limbs twisted at unnatural angles. My stomach churns.
“You saved Tumaas.” I glance sideways at Zev. His jaw is tight. The silence between us stretches, taut as a pulled bowstring, until it feels like it might snap.
Finally, his voice cuts through the air, low and even. “We’re on the same side.” His hands clench into fists. “And he’s your—” Zev breaks off, exhaling through his nose. “I wasn’t going to let him die.”
I search his face for any indication of emotion—anger, jealousy, regret—but it’s a mask of stone. Only the rigid set of his shoulders gives him away. “Thank—”
The ground shudders.
A deep, guttural rumble tears through the earth.
The soil splits open. Dozens of roots—thick, twisted, alive—burst through the cracks, writhing like serpents.
Heading straight for me.