Between Tides Thunder(74)

Daak sighs, brushing a kiss to the top of my head. “He’s well. He worries for you. I tried to convince him to write back, but he didn’t see the point. Any letter would’ve been read several times over before you ever saw it.”

Didn’t see the point? He could’ve asked how I was doing without revealing our plan. If I was being treated well. If I was harmed. If I needed anything. My eyes burn.

“Hey,” Daak says softly. “Remember when I first came to the palace? What you and Sura did?”

I loose a watery laugh at the memory. I was fifteen and furious that Father had appointed a “combat” instructor without consulting me. I expected a grumpy battle-hardened man, not a handsome man of twenty.

Tumaas tried to talk us out of our plan, as he often did, but Sura could never be swayed once she made up her mind. So the two of us offered to give Daak a tour of the capital, trudging through snow and ice to reach the open sea. We took a canoe out to Tarka Island—and left Daak stranded and paddled back.

“Not our brightest idea,” I laugh, wiping my eyes. “Especially when you just froze the water and marched back, ready to drown us.”

Daak chuckles. “I was pretty pissed. I knew then that I’d have my hands full with you.” He cups my cheek, all traces of humor vanished from his face. “I know this has taken a toll on you. I can see it—you seem different. But it’s almost over, Mayah. All of it will have been worth it. Just bear it a little longer. For me.”

I can.

I can bear it.

It’s the lies we tell ourselves that keep us moving forward.





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE




GREGORAN AND FREYNK FLANK me as I head toward the infirmary. My footsteps are sluggish, shoulders slumped as if there’s a staggering musk-ox draped across them. I wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and smother myself in Zev’s lingering smoky scent, growing fainter each day. My nights are restless, constant tossing and turning. Agonizing. I wish I could’ve slept a bit longer this morning.

But princesses don’t get the luxury of sleeping in.

Or choices.

“Princess?” Gregoran says, clearing his throat. He looks at me expectantly as we turn a corner. Shit. I missed his question.

“Sorry, what was that?” I ask.

“I asked if you are all right?”

I bristle. What does he suspect? “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His face reddens, and he sneaks a glance above my head at Freynk.

“Apologies, Princess. We don’t wish to overstep. Prince Zevayr instructed us to keep a closer eye on you while he’s away. And you seem … sad.”

My lips purse, even as a fresh wave of guilt batters my heart like an unforgiving tide. Of course he asked my guards to make sure I’m happy. Of course he’s likely worrying about me right this second.

Even still, I’m not sad. I’m—I’m focused. And I need to sleep more.

“Thank you for your concern.”


I stifle a yawn as I step through the quiet infirmary, straightening pillows and smoothing sheets—Sauzon went home and the last patient left shortly thereafter.

My eyes drift to the cot where Zev spoon-fed me soup. Do other husbands fuss over their wives as much? Something tells me they don’t. His warm gray eyes flash through my mind, and another sobering wave of guilt crashes into me.

I can’t let Zev die.

I just can’t.

I won’t let him drink the wine.

He’ll forgive me for what I’ve done—and what I’ve yet to do. I’m certain of it. He hates his father and brother just as much, if not more, than me. I can convince him.

We could rule Arbinj and Tundrayn together.

But Father … could I convince him to let Zev live? To accept him as his son-in-law?

Father’s ice blue glare flits through my mind, and I physically flinch. I’ll paddle across that river when it’s raging before me.

For now, I need to focus on immediate concerns.

Keeping to the plan. And keeping Zev alive.

The cabinets click softly as I open and close them.

Where is it?

Multicolored vials, rolls of gauze, rows of sharp tools.

No, no, no.

A few jars over and—there.

Wormbark oil. An effective antidote for any poison.

If Zev does drink the zinfadelan, if I can’t explain myself in time, I’ll be ready. My fingers close around the cool glass bottle when— A throat clears behind me.

My hands still. Shit. I’d been so focused, I hadn’t heard any footsteps.

Slowly, I turn, back braced against the counter.

It’s King Varad.





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX




COOL GREEN EYES APPRAISE me, flicking to my betrothal ring. Did he see the wormbark oil before I shut the cabinet?

“Your Majesty.” I fall into a deep curtsy. Acid churns in my stomach. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I keep hearing about your efforts here,” he says, waving a casual hand around the stark space. “Sauzon is quite pleased with you.” He frowns, as if the thought of someone being pleased with me is abhorrent. “And he’s a difficult man to please.”

I don’t know what response he expects, so I remain silent, trying to look demure and delicate.