Between Tides Thunder(56)

“You’ve never had a healer in the palace before,” I say, turning to the scowling medic. “Of course, it’s unusual.” I gesture to the crowded room, nearly every cot occupied. “These patients need help. I healed my people in Tundrayn every day.”

“This isn’t Tundrayn. If word of this spreads…” The stubborn medic shakes his head. “Apologies, Princess. I cannot allow this.”

I bristle. “Allow? I don’t need your permission. How do you think my husband will react when he learns I was disrespected in his own palace?” Sauzon’s scowl deepens, but he doesn’t respond, uncertainty flashing through his dark eyes. “The infirmary would be reduced to ash,” I supply. “Perhaps, the medics, too.”

He holds my gaze a beat too long, jaw clenched tightly. But in the end, he gives a curt nod and storms off.

Without his watchful eye, the woman in the cot is quick to tell me of her severe stomach pain. I send a rippling wave through her body—a large ulcer, easily healed.

The two medics whisper amongst themselves. Sauzon regards me with hard, narrowed eyes, but the younger one seems more curious than anything else. I ignore them and focus solely on healing.

Thirty minutes and three patients later, the hair on the back of my neck prickles. The air shifts—charged, tight. My pulse quickens.

I don’t need to turn. I already know.

My husband is here.

And Tides, he is furious.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE




HIS GAZE SEARS INTO my back, but I refuse to turn. My hands glow softly as I heal my current patient’s broken leg—but with the way the middle-aged man’s pulse is thundering, Zev might give him a heart attack.

A beat passes, then another.

Zev breaks the silence, his voice tight with anger. “Mayah.”

My hands freeze. He’s only said my name—two scant syllables—yet somehow managed to make it sound like a reprimand. Slowly, I face him, chin raised in defiance.

Let him be angry.

Let him yell.

But if he tries to send me back to those chambers, he’ll have to drag me there himself.

“Are my eyes deceiving me? Again?” I bite out. “Is my husband truly here?” I bare my teeth in a snarl. “He has meetings to attend. Princely duties. All manner of important things besides me.”

The room had already been quiet, but it’s as if I sucked all the air out. No one moves. No one even breathes. Zev’s gray eyes are stormy, furious, and they darken further during my tirade. I’ve seen him angry, but never at me, not like this. With that wrathful expression, he looks so much like his father—my mother’s murderer—that I have to tear my gaze away.

I focus on my patient whose wide, fearful eyes are riveted to my husband.

“Is this your way of getting my attention?” Zev grits out from behind me. The air crackles around him.

“Not everything I do is about you,” I huff, not bothering to turn around. “But maybe a little. If I knew this was all it took to summon you, I’d have barged in here days ago.” My patient looks helplessly at the older medic. The injured man clears his throat, but I set my glowing palms to his leg again, making sure it’s properly healed.

I shoot my husband a scathing look over my shoulder. “This gives me purpose. I’m a healer, Zev. I heal. Without it, I’m missing an integral part of myself.” He opens his mouth, but I barrel on, finally facing him. “I’m tired of being alone, trapped in our chambers. I need more than just planning a party. You said you’d want your wife to be your equal. I certainly don’t feel equal, Zev. I know you’re worried for my safety, but what about my sanity?” My voice cracks, and Zev’s eyes lose a bit of their flint.

The man I just healed coughs awkwardly, and I gesture for him to stand. He rises smoothly, bearing weight on his newly healed leg, an awestruck smile brightening his face. It fades when he catches Zev’s thunderous expression. With a murmured thanks, the man shuffles away.

Zev scans the room—the two medics are clearly eavesdropping, but when his stony gaze finds them, they suddenly busy themselves with organizing cabinets.

My husband turns back to me. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and warring emotions clash in his eyes. Anger still reigns—but something softer is fighting to surface. He reaches for my face, and I flinch. His hand freezes midair—he looks gutted, and for a breath, I forget why I’m angry.

A deep sigh slips from him, his shoulders sagging. He reaches for me again, his palm cautiously cupping my cheek. The hesitation in his touch feels like a question, like he fears I’ll break if he presses too hard.

“You haven’t eaten.” His voice is gruff, but his fingers are gentle as he examines my face. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself.”

I give a small shrug, refusing to meet his gaze. “My husband forgot to bring me lunch.”

He sighs again, his face pained. “Look—we’ll talk about this later.” Reluctantly, he drops his hand and stalks toward the two men.

“Sauzon,” he snaps, and the two men startle. “Make sure my wife eats something after every second patient. If she doesn’t, I’ll bind you to the stockade. Ten lashes for every miss.” Sauzon’s wide eyes cut to me, before he turns back to Zev and nods stiffly.