Between Tides Thunder(22)

But the truth is, I don’t anymore. I see Zevayr, the man. I see his heart. He’s been hurt as much as I have. And that makes it difficult to keep hating him.

With a sigh, I gingerly stretch out my legs. I send a gentle wave of my power pulsing through my thighs and calves. A low hum of contentment escapes me as the day’s aches are erased.

When enough time has passed, I kick snow over the fire and head to the blanket where Zevayr sleeps. Careful not to rouse him, I gently peel back his heavy cloak. His arm is extended, as if waiting for me to rest my head on his bicep. I settle in beside him, letting his cloak fall over us.

I shift, my legs bumping against his lightly. My lips twist. His muscles must ache, too. He walks more than me, often doubling back to create new tracks, or scouting the path ahead, while I wait for his return.

Before I can change my mind, I rest my palms against the exposed skin of his neck. He doesn’t stir. Closing my eyes, I send a wave of power through him, soothing every aching muscle, every inflamed tendon.

When I pull my hands back, my heart feels lighter.


“What would you do if you weren’t a prince?” I ask as Zevayr studies the position of the sun, one hand angled against his forehead. Maybe I’m imagining it, but he moves easier today. He must’ve slept well after I healed him.

“I’d leave the realm.”

I stop in my tracks, but Zevayr keeps walking.

“Why?” I jog to catch up.

“To see the rest of the world,” he says with a shrug. “There has to be something better than this skiesforsaken continent.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Where would you go?”

“Volca, first. Then beyond.”

“And what would you do?”

He glances sideways. “That’s an awful lot of questions, Mayah.”

“Let me check our packed schedule.” I hold up an invisible sheet, scanning it with exaggerated seriousness. “Let’s see … walking. More walking. Oh, then after lunch—still more walking.”

He exhales hard, tilting his face to the sky as though summoning patience, but I catch the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I’d help people if I could,” he finally says. “To … try and make up for all the damage I’ve caused. Or just exist. Peacefully. No war. No responsibilities.”

I trip on an overgrown root, and his hand finds the small of my back, steadying me.

“What about you?” he asks.

I bite my lip, then admit, “I’ve always dreamed of ruling. Of making Tundrayn better. Safer. For all my people.” His eyes catch mine. He knows what I mean—nonwielders and wielders alike.

“And I’d still heal of course.”

Zevayr lets out a quiet laugh.

“What?”

“I’m just picturing the Queen of Tundrayn in a healer’s apron.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I’d make it work.”

“I have no doubt you would.”


That night, Zevayr portions twice as much snowshoe hare for me. I frown at his meager allotment. “I can’t eat this much. And you’re literally three times my size. You need it more.” I move to slide off some of the meat, but he stops me with a firm grip on my wrist. My breath catches, skin tingling beneath his touch.

“If you’re going to spend your nights healing us both, you need more food to replenish your reserves.”

I yank my hand back like he’s scorched me. Heat rushes to my cheeks.

“You were awake.” I can’t bring myself to look at him.

“I usually am. Men need less sleep than women.”

I gape at him. “Then why even pretend to let me take watch if you’re not going to sleep?”

He shrugs, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Because I know you wouldn’t tolerate anything less than being treated as my equal.”

My lips purse into a thin line, even as dangerous delight swirls in my belly at how well he already knows me. He’s completely right—if he’d offered to take watch every night and let me sleep, I’d have refused, hackles raised and teeth bared.

Begrudgingly, I return only half the extra portion and bite into a thick strip of meat.

“Are you upset?” I ask quietly, glancing at him through my lashes. “I used my power on you without permission. I should’ve asked first.”

He tears his eyes away, teeth raking over his lower lip. “No,” he finally says. “You were doing me a kindness.”

“If I had asked,” I add quickly, “you would’ve said, ‘No, Mayah. You’re just a Tundrayni baby. I’m a big, strong man. Save your reserves. I don’t need the element of surprise to overpower you because I’m a big, scary man.’”

He laughs—deep and unguarded—his gray eyes crinkling at the corners. The pure masculine sound sends warmth blooming across my chest.

“You don’t need to heal me every night,” he says, voice low, still amused. “I’m used to sore muscles. And you are a delicate baby.”

I glare at him, chomping into the next bite with more force than needed. “I’m not a baby.”

“You need more sleep, too,” he says, ignoring me.

“How do you know men need less sleep than women?”