Between Tides Thunder(10)

Zevayr studies me, eyes narrowed, but I refuse to flinch beneath his scrutiny. I brace for a boom of thunder to threaten me into obedience, but surprisingly, it never comes.

He finally nods, and we exit the hall, Zevayr and Daak flanking me, trailed by both Tundrayni and Arbinji guards. When we reach my chambers, Zevayr insists on inspecting my room before I’m permitted inside. Not to be outdone, Daak checks it again after him.

Both men wait outside my door while I change into warm leggings and a thick tunic suited for travel. My handmaids pack a few bags of my belongings, but just clothing for the journey. I won’t need my furs and wools in Arbinj’s warmer climate.

There’s only one thing I refuse to leave behind. From my dresser, I lift a silver chain, its teardrop pendant glimmering softly—the only piece of my mother I have left. After she died, Father burned all her belongings, too overcome with grief to bear the sight of them. The necklace survived only because it was in my pocket. Even now, he can’t stand to look at it, which is why I never wear it.

I clasp it around my neck with trembling fingers.

I’m dressed and ready, but I still don’t open the doors. Not yet. My footsteps stall, frozen to the floor. I cast another lingering glance around my chambers—I don’t know when I’ll return.

If ever.

Slow, unsteady steps carry me back to my dresser. Numbly, I slide open the top drawer and lift out a small wooden box. My fingers are reverent as I ease off the lid, revealing a stack of letters, their envelopes creased and worn. Mayah-bear is written across each one in a looping script I know as well as my own name. Gently, I trace the faded handwriting with the tip of my finger.

My throat is tight as I replace the box, then cast one final gaze around the room. My heart constricts painfully at the fate awaiting me in Arbinj.

In a new set of chambers. In a new bed.

But I knew this day would come. I expected it. I waited for it.

So I move.

I walk.

I obey.

When I open the doors, Zevayr and Daak are glaring at each other, likely seconds from unsheathing their weapons. I ignore the Dark Commander, addressing only Daak with a dip of my chin before gliding down the hall. The men trail behind me.

My heart beats in my throat as I cross the threshold of the palace’s towering doors. A host of nobles and advisers are lined up in neat rows in the snowground. Every balcony is filled—servants, guards, warriors, nobility. Everyone come to bid their princess farewell.

Perhaps, forever.

I nod at each of them but don’t let my gaze linger on any face for long. I’m afraid of what I’ll see.

Disdain? Pity? Approval?

Father waits at the end of the line. Behind him are four Arbinji carriages. Three are large and regal, crafted from gleaming polished wood. The carriage at the end of the procession is smaller, the wood faded and scarred. At least four dozen men on horseback flank the carriages—the soldiers wear dark leathers and armor, a stark contrast against the white snow, like soot stains on our pristine landscape.

Father envelops me in another stiff embrace while the servants load my bags into the largest carriage. I stand awkwardly in the circle of his arms, willing my body to relax. It refuses.

“Don’t disappoint me,” he murmurs in my ear. Sharp words whispered so softly. “I will see you at the Equinox Festival. Tides protect you.” I nod stiffly against his shoulder. When he pulls back, his gaze snags on my mother’s necklace. His lips tighten, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Father,” I whisper. “The feast tonight … divide the food amongst the people. All the people. Please.”

His eyes sharpen into a blade, cutting through me.

He doesn’t deign a response.

Daak stands beside him, mournful blue eyes fixed on me. I wish I could say goodbye to him properly. He bows his head, but his fierce gaze says so much more.

I’ll always love you. I’ll find you. Tides protect you.

With one last nod to Father, Zevayr helps me into the carriage.

I leave my home behind.





CHAPTER FIVE




THE CARRIAGE JOLTS TO a stop.

We’ve only been traveling for thirty minutes. In absolute silence. I throw a questioning glance at Zevayr that he ignores. Instead, he dismounts from the carriage, turning to extend his hand.

What is going on?

Still seated, I stare blankly at him. “Why did we stop?”

“A precautionary measure.” His deep voice rumbles over me, and somehow he makes those few words sound like a command.

I don’t move.

A beat of silence. Another staring match.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. The action irks me—what right does he have to be annoyed? I haven’t done anything.

“If we’re attacked,” he explains slowly, as if I’m incapable of intelligent thought, “they’d expect us to ride in one of the royal carriages. So we’ll ride in the smaller one.”

“Attacked by who?”

The Dark Commander doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring at me with his unyielding gray gaze.

“Why didn’t we just ride in the smaller one to begin with?”

Zevayr grinds his teeth. “I wanted to avoid explaining to Tormik why I was delivering his daughter in the … other carriage.” He jerks his hand, the sharp movement dripping with impatience. “Dismount. Please.” He grits out the last word like it pains him.