Between Tides Thunder(94)

It’s not a threat. Not quite. But the implication coils between us, cold as ice. I stare at the ceiling, weighing her words.

But my silence is a pretense.

I already know my answer. And I think she does, too.

“Done,” I whisper.


The next morning, I emerge from my tent to find Father interrogating Zev. Somehow, he manages to look regal despite the dark blood splattered on his blue robes, burgundy flecks dotting his neatly combed beard.

“How many men are stationed at the border?”

“Fifteen, last I checked. Some might have died by now, though. We’re not suited for Tundrayn’s abysmal temperatures.”

Father grits his teeth. “Has Varad secured an alliance with Volca?”

“Maybe. Probably not. My brother’s an ass.” He grins, sharp and mocking. “Not half as charming as I am. You lucked out with me as a son-in-law.”

My heart thuds painfully in my chest, cold dread freezing my lungs. I recognize the tension in Father’s shoulders, the white-knuckled grip of one hand around the other, the tight lines around his mouth.

“I’m afraid you’re not taking me seriously,” Father murmurs, his voice a silken threat.

With a casual wave of his hand, Father summons a sloshing ball of water. It spirals through the air, swirling and compressing until the outline is a smooth sphere.

My breath stutters.

I know what comes next.

The translucent orb floats through the air—then submerges Zev’s head. My husband doesn’t move, doesn’t struggle. The only outward sign of its effect are the bulging tendons in his neck. Small bubbles escape from his mouth and float to the top as he slowly releases air.

I haven’t taken a breath myself.

Minutes pass.

His shoulders vibrate, veins cording in his arms. His eyes widen, neck bobbing futilely.

My hands clench into tight fists, nails digging so hard into my palms that I’m sure I’ve drawn blood. I could wield the water, make a small pocket of air, just enough so he can— A soft hand on my shoulder startles me. “Come inside, Princess,” Vy murmurs. “You should not watch this.”

I shrug her hand off.

I have to watch. I did this.

I don’t know how long it’s been. Zev’s face is dark and splotchy inside the bubble of water. He’s out of air. His lungs must be burning. My husband had been right—death by lightning is nothing compared to this cruelty. His head swings from side to side, thrashing in his restraints, trying to escape drowning on land.

But it’s no use.

A deafening crash, like angry waves battering an iceberg, rings in my ears, drowning out the jeers of the warriors. They watch him suffer like he’s a tidesdamned spectacle for their enjoyment.

An eternity later, Father lets the sphere drop.

Zev gasps for air, violently coughing up water. His hair is drenched, slicked against his forehead in dark swirls, his skin pale.

“Princess, please.” Vy is more insistent now, but I ignore her. My breath wrenches through my lungs, leaving behind a harrowing tightness.

“How many soldiers are stationed at the border?”

Zev hasn’t stopped coughing, but he still manages to be an idiot.

“Three”—cough—“but your pathetic warriors”—cough—“wouldn’t last ten minutes”—cough—“against them.”

Father submerges Zev’s head again.


The rest of the day passes in a blur of healing and shoveling food down my throat and willing it not to come back up. Father calls me into his tent to discuss strategies, though I barely hear a word. Muffled grunts and the agonizing sound of fists striking flesh bombard me.

The warriors are taking turns pummeling Zev again.

Bile rises in my throat, hot and punishing.

“…promise them a third of our food stores?” I catch the end of Father’s sentence. He’s talking about convincing Volca to ally with us. Or at least, that’s what I assume.

“We won’t survive. Our stores are lean enough as they are, and that’s including what Arbinj has sent us,” Sorka responds. “We won’t be getting the third shipment from them now.”

Muffled laughter.

A shrill blaring in my ears.

Five repeated thuds, and a mocking jeer.

The distinct sound of crunching bone.

I think my heart might give out, it’s racing so fast. Violent streams of acid climb up my throat.

I can’t contain it. My head swings to the side, and I retch all over the floor in great, heaving shudders.

“Princess!” Sorka darts over, sweeping my hair from my face and rubbing a large hand over my back. “Are you ill?”

I wipe my mouth.

Father hasn’t moved. He just regards me with his cold, unreadable stare.

“Are you with child?” Ice is warmer than Father’s voice.

“No.”

“Are you cert—”

“I’m a healer,” I snap. “I think I’d know.”

That’s his concern? Not if I were violated, but if I ended up with child?

Before he can react, I stumble from the tent, heading for the men loitering around Zev.

Vy intercepts me before I can reach them.

“Not here, Princess,” she whispers, pulling me into our tent. “Lay down. You don’t look well. I’ll handle those men.”