Between Tides Thunder(89)
My husband slumps forward in his chains, shoulders bearing the bulk of his weight.
My eyes burn.
Unbidden, my feet carry me across the campsite toward him. He watches me, his face stoic, though I’m not sure his battered visage can manage any other expression.
Ten more steps, and I’ll reach him. My palms glow at my sides.
I need to—
“Princess!”
Sorka’s voice stops me in my tracks. He rushes toward me, thick brows knit with concern.
“Are you well? The effects wore off? You’ve eaten?” he rushes out.
I give a single nod in answer to all his questions, shoving my hands behind my back to hide both their quiver and healing light.
“Good. Come with me.” He rests a hand on my back, guiding me away from the center of camp.
Away from Zev.
I crane my head to look back at him—he’s still watching me, hands chained but still clenched. The rise and fall of his chest looks dangerously shallow, and the faint, wheezing rasp of his breath whips my heart into a panicked rhythm.
Tides, fuck.
“Princess?” Sorka says, glancing down at me in concern. “Did you hear what I said?”
“No, sorry,” I stammer, tearing my gaze from my husband. “I’m still disoriented.”
Sorka lifts his tent flap. Vy is inside, clearing away empty dishes. She startles when we enter. The tray drops to the ground with a thud. Her eyes are wide, palms outstretched before her. A beat—then, recognition seemingly dawns, and the tension seeps from her shoulders.
“Apologies, Vykiss,” Sorka murmurs with a remorseful twist of his lips. “We didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That’s all right,” she whispers back, holding his gaze. The corners of her mouth tilt up just slightly. “I’m finished here. I’ll just, um—”
Sorka drops onto one knee, grabbing the tray off the ground and handing it back to her. She dips into a graceful curtsy, then sweeps from the tent, one final glance thrown back at us.
The general turns to me. “I was saying, Daak hasn’t reported for briefing in days. Do you know where he is?”
The air leaves my lungs.
My pulse stutters as the memories crash back.
Daak.
Sorka goes deathly still. He must read the harrowed anguish on my face. He swallows hard. “What happened?”
“He-he was caught in the tunnels,” I whisper. “The day Ze—the Commander discovered the plan and captured me.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you immediately. Just—the power sharing. I was running out of time. I’m so sorry, General Sorka.”
Sorka’s gaze drops to the table. His hands clench into tight fists, knuckles white as snow. The bereft father takes three shaky breaths, a glossy sheen covering his eyes.
“Who?” he asks hoarsely.
Zev’s battered face flashes through my mind, his wounds still oozing blood.
“It-it was a palace guard. I don’t know his name.”
Guilt coils around my heart, its barbed tendrils leaving jagged wounds, but I don’t say anything else.
“Tides carry him to peaceful waters.” His voice is a broken whisper. Sorka takes another deep breath. “He loved you, Mayah. He never said a word, but I could see it in his face. I knew it.” His splintered voice cleaves another fissure in my heart. “It always frightened me, knowing fate had written heartbreak for him.” His smile is watery. “Perhaps you’ll be his in another life.”
Twin tears slide down my cheeks, and a quiet sob bursts free. We sit in silence for a few minutes, grieving a man we both loved.
That’s all the time the general allows us.
He clears his throat again, scrubbing his eyes and straightening in his chair. He reaches into his cloak, then places a silver chain across his desk.
My mother’s necklace.
“It was in his pocket,” he explains. “I thought it might be yours.”
My fingers are reverent as I trace the teardrop pendant. “It was Mama’s,” I whisper. “Thank you.” I slowly meet his eyes. “Did—did he have anything else?”
Sorka shakes his head.
He must have had my ring melted down. Or thrown into the sea. Or stuffed in a messy drawer like an unimportant afterthought.
I don’t know which one is worse.
“We need a new plan,” Sorka says, pulling me from my tangled thoughts. “With the Dark Commander in our grasp, we have leverage over Arbinj.”
“What does Father plan to do now?” I ask. Cold dread slithers its icy tentacles up my spine. It coils around my throat, poised to choke.
“You can ask him yourself. He arrives tonight.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
SORKA DOESN’T LEAVE ME alone for the rest of the day. A dense haze clouds my mind, but I try to focus as he gives me a tour of the camp. In the center is, of course, my battered husband strung up on a wooden platform. Around the camp’s perimeter, tents are staked into the ground in a semi-circle. On one side, there’s an open space where warriors are training. Beside them, a handful of horses paw the ground, tied to trees. One of the warriors tends to them; his posture is tense, wary of the unfamiliar animals.