Between Tides Thunder(124)

He shrugs. “Believe what you will. I’ve grown bored, Daughter. The warriors advised me not to come. That it was too dangerous—but I wanted to see for myself. See my sniveling traitor of an heir one last time. Goodbye, Mayah.”

Lightning cracks through the air.

Another blinding bolt. Then another. They flash violently through the night, one after the other.

My heart pummels my ribs.

My lungs feel tight. It was him. His storm that murdered Mama.

Mama—

No. No. I force myself to bear down on the panic threatening to suffocate me. Mama’s murderer stands before me.

Enough talking.

I summon water from the damp earth, converging it into a thin ribbon. My shoulder screams, every movement jostling the ice shard that’s slowly melting into a pink stream down my chest.

But I ignore it, forcing the water into my father’s nostrils. He coughs, easily wielding it out, but that was only a distraction.

I have an ice spear ready to impale him.

It hurtles through the air, straight toward his chest.

It stops, midair. Mere inches stand between me and my revenge.

The ice spear comes careening back.

I bend my knees. My arms rise in the air—one last push. I can do this. I’ll wield the spear in half, then send both shards hurtling back. He won’t expect it. Mama will finally know peace. And so will I.

Deep breath.

Closer.

Almost.

Just a few more—

A cold breeze reaches me first, like icy fingers sliding over my skin.

At the last second, the spear

veers

right.

I hear the sound before I understand it. A sickening thunk—a wet, horrible sound that doesn’t belong in this world.

And then I see him.

Zev.

The spear is lodged in his chest. Buried deep. Bright, arterial blood bubbles around the edges, slicking the translucent shard with crimson. His body jerks once, then sags.

My screams rip through the air, raw and feral, louder than the wind and the battle and the thunder.

Terror seizes me, clamping its serrated claws around my throat. My heart crashes against my ribs, my lungs shudder uselessly, my vision blurs. Fury boils my blood, rings in my ears, writhes in my belly.

But then—

Something breaks inside me.

Shatters.

Rage floods in to fill the cracks.

A heat like nothing I’ve ever felt blazes through my veins, igniting every inch of me.

He murdered my mother. I won’t let him take Zev from me, too.

The well of my power erupts. White-hot and furious, a blinding light in my mind’s eye. It sears through me, pulsing in waves that scream for destruction, for vengeance, for blood.

It’s not my reserves that fuel me. This is something else entirely. Like all my fury was set aflame, and now it scorches through every nerve. Unstoppable. Hungry.

The earth tilts around me.

I sense everything.

Invisible droplets of water, so small I’ve never even noticed them before, announce themselves, ready to do my bidding.

I flick my hand. Father’s body freezes mid-step, his limbs locking as if I’ve trapped him in ice.

His eyes widen in disbelief, veins pulsing at his temples, lips curling in a silent snarl of confusion and rage. “What—what are you doing?” His words are strangled, forced past teeth clenched with fear.

I can barely believe it myself.

I shouldn’t be able to do this.

Waterwielders can’t control blood—it’s too impure, too corrupted.

Blood is beyond us.

But I can feel it.

It flows beneath his skin, slick and sluggish, sloshing with his terror. It surges in his arteries, his heart hammering to pump it faster.

And I can stop it.

A snarl curves my lips, fueled by a lifetime of being too small, too weak, too afraid.

“I’ve never been enough for you,” I bite out. His body strains, but he can’t move. Can’t speak. “Always lacking. Always failing. Never anything but a tool that you molded into a weapon with your lies. I’m done, Father. I’m fucking done.”

The heat of my rage sharpens my control.

My hand squeezes into a fist.

Father gargles, a wet, choking sound, as his blood turns against him. I freeze it in his veins, forcing it into his heart. His limbs lock in agony, mouth wide in a scream that never makes it past his throat.

With a final pulse of power, he collapses.

The rage evaporates from me like mist burned away by sunlight.

All that remains is cold shock, thrumming inside my hollow chest.

I turn.

I run.

My feet slap against the wet ground as I sprint for Zev.

The ice spear juts from his chest, blood trickling in sluggish pink rivers as it melts. I skid to my knees, hands pressed to his skin, feeling for what I can’t bear to lose.

His heart flutters beneath my palm. Weak. Unsteady.

But alive.

Carefully, so very carefully, I melt the ice spear. The water spills from his body, drawn away from muscle and tissue, leaving behind a gaping hole the size of my palm. I guide the water away from his body, sinking it into the dirt. My hands glow weakly as I press them to his chest, stitching flesh and sealing vessels with trembling precision.

The exit wound is the worst. I work it closed, layer by layer.