Between Tides Thunder(31)

He nods quickly. “That’s true, yes. If one wielder channeled enough power into another, it would weaken him temporarily and strengthen the other.” He licks his lips, taking a deep breath. “But that’s not the only reason it’s forbidden.”

My brows furrow.

“It also acts as a strong … stimulant. For the wielder receiving the power.”

“Stimulant?”

He hesitates, raking his teeth over his lower lip.

“Aphrodisiac.” His lips press into a thin line. “If performed without consent … it makes it incredibly easy to take advantage of someone.”

Father’s angry outburst in the council meeting flits through my mind, painting his reprimand of Sorka in a different light.

“How do you know about this?”

A heartbeat.

“I’ve shared my power before.”

Oh.

“And you want to channel your power into me.”

He nods, carefully wiping the sweat from my brow. “Just a little. Enough to fight through the lingering iron so you can heal yourself. I’m—Skies, Mayah. I’m terrified.” His voice cracks. “We can keep going, but you’re getting worse. This would save you. But you need to know what will happen after.”

He’s right—we’re still too far from the Arbinji base to wait for medicinal herbs to help fight the infection.

A healer killed by a flesh wound.

A panicked laugh claws from my throat, and Zevayr’s brows draw together.

“Maybe—maybe it won’t have that effect on me. Maybe I can fight it off.”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. You’re strong, Mayah. You can do this. And even if you can’t, even if you start feeling … strange, it’ll just be my power flowing through you. I’ll know it’s not anything real.” His voice has gone oddly flat.

I trust him. It scares me, but I trust him.

“All right.”





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN




ZEVAYR SAGS WITH SO much relief, I worry he’ll sink into the earth and vanish.

“What do I do?” I ask softly.

“Nothing. Just sit back. I’ll do everything,” he says. Zevayr scoots closer until he’s almost straddling my thighs. His palms press against the sides of my neck, hands cool against my hot, sweaty skin.

At first, there’s nothing.

Just his large hands pressing into my neck, the firm weight of his thighs bracketing mine. I’m about to open my eyes and ask him if he’s doing it right when— Oh.

There it is.

A rush of power trickling into my veins, strange and unfamiliar. Not mine, but not unwelcome. It flows faster and stronger, the trickle surging into a heady rush and— Zevayr removes his hands.

“That should do it, I think.” He’s watching me intently, his eyes dark.

“I can feel it. Your power. It’s inside me. It’s—it’s mingling with my own.”

“Yeah. It’s only temporary, though. In another ten minutes, you should be able to heal yourself.”

“Will I be able to control lightning?”

He chuckles. “No. It’ll only strengthen your natural wielding affinity. Unless you’re secretly hiding stormwielding abilities.”

I snort. “I’d be the realm’s worst stormwielder. Cowering from a storm I summoned myself.” Zevayr breaks out into a wide grin, his first real smile since the arrow pierced my side.

It sends a rush of warmth through me.

Or is that his power?

We sit in silence, Zevayr’s fingers tracing gentle lines along the inside of my arm, occasionally checking my pulse with two fingers.

After ten minutes, I lift my tunic—the wound looks even worse.

I call to my power.

And Tides, does it respond.

My hands glow with bright, white light, brighter than I’ve ever summoned. I cover the wound with my palms, and in minutes, my body is free of infection, the skin mending itself until not even a scar remains.

Zevayr watches the wound close, then exhales a relieved sigh, sagging against me, as if the toll of the last three days is too heavy to bear for another moment. I set my palms against his neck and send a flowing rush of healing power through him as well.

“Stop. Conserve your energy,” he says, but I ignore him and keep healing, soothing every aching muscle.

I grin brightly at him, adrenaline surging through me.

I could do anything.

I could do everything.

I’m so strong.

“How much power did you give me?” I ask, standing up and stretching. Tides, it feels good to move.

“Very little. It’s almost like a high at first. It’ll wear off soon and then…” He trails off.

“We wait for me to try and ravish you?” I give him a mocking smile, brows raised.

“…Yes.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Let’s hope.”


My blood is boiling in my veins.

It’s incredibly hot. Maybe my fever is coming back. Did I miss healing some of the infection?

But I know that’s not the case.

Unbidden, my eyes find Zevayr where he’s removing the remains of our dinner from the spit over the fire. His dark hair curls at the nape of his neck. It’s grown out since we first met. It looks so soft. I want to tangle my hands in it and tug his face toward me.