Between Tides Thunder(12)

A muttered shit is all I hear through the pounding in my skull.

“Stay here,” he commands, his face barely an inch from my own. And then his weight on me is gone. I watch, still gasping for breath as he punches the carriage door open and climbs out. It slams shut behind him, muffling the mayhem outside.

The panicked shouts of soldiers, the frantic whinnying of horses, the dull clanging of steel. The carriage is dark and cramped, and the walls close in, a heavy weight pressing over my lungs.

I can’t stay in here.

Another explosion rings out, so powerful that my teeth clatter in my skull. More screaming, but fainter this time. I can’t tell if it’s because men have died in the second blast or because the shrill ringing in my ears drowns everything out.

But the next sound is bone-jarringly clear.

The deafening crash of thunder.

It’s so loud, so close, as if a storm cloud hovers directly above the carriage. Another boom rattles the air, and any thoughts of leaving the carriage vanish. My heart thrashes, desperate to tear free from my chest, while my breath stumbles in short, useless gasps.

Rain pelts the carriage, sudden and angry, its harsh staccato mocking me. I’m frozen in place, back pressed against the side.

Tides take me, I’m useless.

It’s just a storm. It’s just a storm. It’s just a—

The carriage jolts upwards before landing back down with a heavy crash, and my head knocks against the wall a second time. The world spins, and I swallow back the bile rising in my throat.

My power thrums inside me, familiar and welcome, surfacing unbidden to my palms. Before I can soothe the throbbing in my skull, sharp thuds echo across the exterior of the carriage, each one cracking higher.

As if someone is climbing it.

The door is flung open, letting in light and rain and something else, before it swings back shut with a slam. A soft sizzling echoes from somewhere near my head. Outside, another explosion tears through the chaos.

By the Tides.

The hissing sizzle grows louder, and with sudden clarity, I realize what the something else is.

Forcing the door open, I all but hurl myself out. I’m immediately soaked in the downpour, barely able to see through sheets of freezing rain. Soldiers swarm around me, slipping on ice and water. I do, too, landing hard on my knees.

A blade nearly nicks me as I crawl away from the carriage with a bomb inside it. My hands glow, shaky but ready. I scan the clearing, ready to heal or hide, but I can’t make sense through the chaos. All of the men are clad in dark leathers.

Which ones are Zevayr’s men?

It must be the Rebellion that attacked us.

I squint, trying to make out the Arbinji crest, but there’s too much movement, too much rain.

“There’s a bomb!” I shout, but the storm swallows my warning.

The stench of smoke and burning flesh fills my nostrils.

The sounds of battle are deafening in my ears.

The clang of metal.

Shouted orders.

The final groans of the dying.

But loudest of all—thunder.

In the midst of the chaos, I see him.

He’s a blur of dark leather and steel, his sword flashing around him like lightning itself. He impales one man, his sword pushing clean through the rebel’s abdomen.

He lifts his other hand skyward.

Lightning answers.

The sky splits open, and a massive, blinding bolt shoots down before my eyes and incinerates three men headed for him. Even after the bolt vanishes, the terrifying shape of the lightning flickers before my eyes, like a haunting, violent phantom.

My heart pounds in my ears. My lungs can’t get enough air, useless pants sawing through my chest.

Father was wrong. I am a sniveling child.

Don’t come out, Mayah. No matter what you hear.

Another bolt crashes down, closer to me this time, and a strangled yelp tears loose.

Loud footsteps sound on wooden stairs.

Me. They want me.

My hands claw at the frozen ground, knuckles whiter than the snow. A fierce clap of thunder jolts my bones. The snow is cold and wet beneath my knees.

My face is wet with tears. Or is it rain? It can’t be rain. I’m in my closet. Where is Mama?

The carriage I escaped explodes into millions of tiny pieces, wood chips spraying out in a shower of jagged edges.

That gets Zevayr’s attention.

His head snaps toward the sound, then swivels frantically until his gaze lands on me. His brows furrow. Concern? Anger? Another bolt of lightning crashes down, barely a foot to my left, and I scream and scream and scream. A body collapses beside me.

I’m not a betrothed princess anymore. I’m six years old again.

The door is opening.

The thunder is angry.

The world is burning. And





I


can’t

breathe.

The thud of boots grows louder. Lightning flashes, silhouetting the shadows of their feet. Where is Mama?

“It’s the princess!” a voice calls out. “Don’t hurt her!”

That’s the last thing I hear before the world snuffs out.





CHAPTER SIX




COLD. THAT’S MY FIRST thought as consciousness trickles back into me. I’m freezing, teeth chattering, damp clothes sticking to my chilled skin like a death sentence.