Between Tides Thunder(37)

There’s a vise squeezing my lungs.

“Did you kill them the way you did the rebels?” I whisper.

Did Sura and Tumaas suffer? Or were their lives snuffed out in seconds?

“Some,” he admits, his voice thick. “But I couldn’t summon that much power for everyone. I called down lightning.” His gaze cuts away. “I still dream of that night sometimes. The screams. The smell.”

I don’t know what to say to this remorseful man before me. I swallow thickly, tears pricking my eyes.

“Did you regret it?”

“A little. But not truly, not until you told me your friends had been there. Now, I wish with every fragment of my broken soul that I could go back and spare you the pain I caused.”

My throat is tight, face wet with tears. I hate that he looks so broken. So anguished. I try to summon loathing—but it doesn’t come. He burned through my hatred ages ago. Now, grief rages in the hollow he’s dug.

“I can’t—I can’t look at you right now,” I rasp. I rise on shaky feet and walk away.

Behind me, our bags rustle as he scoops them up. His footsteps fall a few paces back, leaving enough space between us for my grief.

I don’t turn around.


We pass the day in utter silence. Zev lets me work through my feelings about his revelation—that he murdered my best friends in a rage-induced attack.

At first, it’s fury. Cold and unrelenting. Their faces haunt my thoughts—Sura’s lopsided grin, Tumaas’s warm eyes—then I blink, and their skin is blistered, scorched. Lifeless.

And I see Zevayr looming over them. Not the man I know now, but the Dark Commander—jaw set, brutal lightning heeding his call.

But the cruelest thing?

As much as I try to hate him, my heart melts the anger away before it crystallizes. Because he knows what it’s like, too. He knows what it’s like to lose someone he loves. He’s not the monster I desperately want him to be. Need him to be. He’s just like me. That’s what makes it so hard to hate him.

Because I can’t.

I don’t.

Now, we sit across the fire, the sky inky above us. There’s a gaping, hollow void in my chest. An aching sadness seeps through my numb limbs, and I realize it’s for him. For his loss. For what he’s endured. Alone.

What is wrong with me?

But my heart protests the haunted look in his eyes, the tightness lining his mouth. I’m overcome by the urge to soothe.

I’ve lost too much. So has he.

“Zev,” I say softly, and his eyes find mine like they’ve been waiting. The stiff line of his shoulders eases ever so slightly “I should hate you.” The words rasp out of me. “Tides, I want to.”

He flinches.

“But I don’t,” I whisper. “I hate what this war has done to us. All of us. So much suffering. So much loss. It’s why—it’s why I have to do this. It’s why I need to marry your brother.”

It’s his turn to swallow hard, tension returning to his shoulders. He nods stiffly.

We sleep on separate sides of the blanket.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE




WE’RE HERE.

The Arbinji army base looms before us in the distance, large and imposing. Soldiers mill about, and rumbling voices float through the air, along with the occasional loud burst of laughter. Tents are pitched neatly in rows, and Zev tells me there are over six hundred men stationed here alone. In the center of the sprawling camp, there’s a large metal spire, reaching toward the skies.

Zev casts me an apologetic look. “The safest way to alert them of my return is to summon a storm.”

I nod stiffly, holding my breath and resisting the urge to cover my ears. I won’t cower, not in front of the enemy.

No.

Not my enemy. They’re my future people.

I need to remember that.

But it’s hard to look at a camp full of Arbinji soldiers and think of anything but death.

Zev scans my face for a beat, his hand twitching at his side, as if he wants to reach for me. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns back toward the camp. The sky darkens, large storm clouds gathering overhead.

My heart forgets to beat, and I force myself to take deep, even breaths. Zev’s eyes cut to me again. They burn into the side of my face, but I keep my gaze fixed ahead.

The din of chatter quiets. Some of the men stare at the sky.

Zev raises a hand.

Thunder rumbles.

The sky splits open, and a massive bolt of lightning hits the spire.

A panicked cry escapes my cowardly lips, and I’m relieved the thunder drowns it out. Zev’s fingers twitch again, and this time, he grabs my hand, squeezing tightly.

I squeeze back.

The rhythm of my sniveling heart slowly settles.

My attention returns to the camp. It’s gone eerily quiet, the men slack-jawed. Then, they all jump into action.

“The Commander has returned!” one man shouts. The soldiers line up in formation, neat rows stretching back endlessly.

Zev takes a deep breath. “Ready?”

I’m not, but I nod anyway.


We walk into the camp, side by side. The men cheer for their returned Commander, though their voices falter when they catch sight of me. I keep my chin high, shoulders square.