Between Tides Thunder(61)

“What is it?” His brows furrow.

I bite my lip. “Have there been any letters for me? From my father? Or anyone?”

His eyes shine with so much remorse, they give me my answer before he does.

I stiffen. “It’s a long distance from here to Tundrayn,” I mutter. I shouldn’t have to defend my father’s silence—there shouldn’t be a silence—yet the urge still clings to me all the same.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re just delayed.”

I appreciate the lie.

Sometimes, it’s the lies we choose to believe that let us keep moving forward.


The tile is cold beneath my bare feet as I emerge from a long, hot bath. I pad over to the sofa, eager to continue my latest book about medical practices in Arbinj. My legs ache from long hours standing in the infirmary, and I quickly send a wave of healing energy through my calves.

I’ve barely settled into the plush pillows when I hear it.

A loud rumble of thunder.

Too loud.

My mouth goes dry.

There’ve been several storms since I arrived in Arbinj, but they all were brief and tame—usually during the day, either when I was with Zev or buried in the infirmary, deep enough inside the palace that the thunder barely reached me.

Another startling boom, even louder than before.

A soft whimper pulls from my trembling lips.

Rain sluices the windows, insistent and unforgiving.

My breath escapes in sharp pants.

A bolt of lightning rips across the sky.

Book forgotten, I crawl beneath the covers, yanking them over my head.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

It’s just a storm.

The thunder rumbles louder. Closer.

It pounds in my ears, in my heart.

Mama? Where are you?

The rain slams harder against the windows, each drop threatening to crack the glass.

Loud steps thudding on stairs, and I know. I just know.

It’s not Mama.

It will never be Mama again.

I can’t breathe. Frantic, shaky, useless inhales. Not enough air. Is it possible to suffocate this way?

The storm doesn’t sound like a storm anymore.

It sounds like boots. Like shouting.

Like the night my life shattered.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the room even beneath the covers. I’m curled into a ball. An embarrassment. A sniveling excuse for a princess. My hands tremble where they’re locked around my knees.

My wooden reindeer’s antlers bite into my palm as I squeeze myself smaller.

The door flings open. Heavy boots thud through the room.

Me, they’re looking for me.

“Mayah,” they call, rough, foreign voices. “Princess Mayah, come out. We won’t hurt you.”

Lies, lies, lies.

The closet door barrels open. I’m blinded by light. Large hands grip my arms, yanking me out.

The mattress dips, covers pulled back. Calloused hands wrap around my arms. “Mayah, open your eyes.”

“No! No, no, no!” I struggle and writhe, trying to escape their hold. “NO! NO!”

“Mayah,” the voice calls again. Every syllable thrums with panic.

I know this voice.

I know it in my bones.

His breath catches on his next words. “Mayah, it’s me. You’re safe, baby. Open your eyes.”

I stop struggling. I know him. It’s him. I’m safe. I’m safe with him.

I open my eyes.

It’s Zev. And his face looks as broken as I feel.

I launch myself into his arms, losing myself in his familiar scent.

Sobs rack my body, but he holds me tight.

He doesn’t let go.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN




I’M SAFE.

In Zev’s arms, I’m safe.

He cradles me against the firm pillar of his chest, murmuring soothing words as the storm rages around us. His large hand rubs tender circles over my back, anchoring me against him.

Every crack of thunder echoes in my chest.

Zev wipes my tears with the pads of his thumbs, still whispering reassurances muffled by the ringing in my ears. But I feel them—like the steady beat of a drum calling me back from the dark.

Hours later, or maybe just minutes, the storm dies down, softening into a gentle drizzle. My body trembles in his arms. I’m wrung out—bone-deep tired, like my muscles remember the fear, even now. I pull back slightly, just slightly, and look at my husband’s face. His gray eyes brim with worry, a deep crease set between his strong brows.

I take a shaky breath. “Thank you,” I whisper, the words dry in my ravaged throat.

My eyes widen. Tides drown me. “The Volcan delegation. You were supposed to—”

“It’s all right,” he says gently, brushing back a damp lock of my hair. “My father and brother will take care of it. I need to take care of you.”

My heart stutters. I don’t know what to say, what I can say to him that would express the warm gratitude flowing through me like a gentle current.

I know what I want to say, but the raging storm within my chest terrifies me. I’m terrified of being hurt—and of hurting.

So I don’t say anything, just let myself melt into the strong circle of his arms.