Between Tides Thunder(95)

She draws the blanket around my shoulders, then disappears through the flap.


It’s dark when I wake—Vy is asleep beside me.

I edge toward the tent flap, easing it open. The night sky is clear, stars twinkling overhead. It clashes with the turmoil in the chest, this gnawing ache that has only grown stronger with every passing day. With every new bruise on my husband’s body.

Zev’s slumped in his chains, asleep, chin tucked against his chest. My heart tightens with concern. Did Vy manage to distract the warriors lined up to use him as a punching bag?

I’ve nearly taken a step into the clearing when I freeze—Father stalks out of his tent, heading toward the wooden platform where Zev is bound. I quickly close the flap, peeking through the slivered opening.

Father’s knees crack as he climbs the platform. Zev doesn’t stir. Father regards him for a moment, then viciously kicks his boot. My husband startles awake, head snapping up. His eyes sharpen quickly, sleep blinked away, when he sees Father standing before him.

“You interrupted my dream, Tormik,” he wheezes. Shit. More broken ribs. “And it was delightful.”

For a beat, Father just stares at him.

“Did you touch my daughter?”

Zev breaks into a salacious grin. “Tormik, please. That’s between me and my wife.”

A sharp crack reverberates through me as Father backhands Zev.

“Answer me! Did. You. Hurt. Her.”

The mock playfulness vanishes from Zev’s face. “What did you think was going to happen to her?” he seethes, face twisted with rage even as his voice cracks with pain. “When you wrapped her in a bow and gifted her to your enemy? Where did this sudden concern come from, Tormik?”

“You despicable bastard,” Father hisses, knuckles white around his staff.

“You’re the one who sent your daughter to your enemy’s bed. Whatever she’s endured, it’s by your hand.”

The sky rumbles, low and ominous, then—

—a bolt of lightning strikes the ground a few feet behind the platform.

A startled gasp escapes me.

And my world burns to ash.





CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR




ASHRILL RINGING BLARES IN my ears, sharp and relentless.

The sky had been clear moments ago—inky black night stretching endlessly overhead. No clouds. No warning.

So where did the lightning come from?

The flash still burns behind my eyes, seared into my vision.

My gasp caught Father’s attention. His head snaps toward me, ice-blue eyes narrowing. Zev follows a beat later.

“Mayah…” Father starts.

Wind slams into me as I barrel out, the tent flap snapping like a whip behind me. My legs tremble as I approach him.

The lightning couldn’t have been Zev. He’s bound with iron.

A fractured sob escapes me, and I know.

I just know.

“It was you,” I whisper, edging closer.

“Mayah,” Father says again, and it’s his stern voice, the one he uses when I haven’t lived up to his standards. “You’re confused.”

I am livid, is what I am.

“The lightning. I saw it. It was you.”

Father descends from the platform and strides toward me. His hands rest on my shoulders, but I shove him away.

“All those nights I spent cowering in my bed,” I whisper. “Those storms. They were you. You’re a stormwielder.”

His lips twist with barely repressed rage. “Calm down. You’re drawing attention,” he hisses.

He’s right. Faces slowly peer through darkened tents, wide eyes watching us. Some of the warriors emerge, disheveled and groggy.

But I don’t care. For the first time in my life, I don’t care what my father has to say. My mind reels, struggling to process what I saw with my own eyes. Father has a second ability, like me.

He’s a tidesdamned stormwielder. But how?

Realization dawns on me, cold and swift.

“Turmah,” I whisper, eyes wide. “She was already with child when she returned.”

His mother’s name ignites Father’s fury.

“You know nothing of what you speak!” he shouts, his eyes wild. Just as quickly, he seems to remember an audience has gathered. His posture morphs, assuming the disguise of respected king once more. Everything about him is a lie.

Father’s gaze sweeps the camp. “Return to your tents,” he says evenly, waving his hand in dismissal. “Recent events have made my daughter … sensitive. Perhaps it was wrong of me to send her to Arbinj. She is upset. The Commander has harmed her.”

“He has not!” I shout. “You have!”

All eyes are on me, but I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.

Vicious power swirls inside me, fueled by my rage.

“Admit it,” I pant, shoulders heaving. “Say the words.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Liar. He’s a tidescursed liar.

He’s been lying to me my entire life.

“Mama. Who killed her?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, sidestepping me.

He’s walking away. He’s fucking walking away.

“It was you,” I seethe, whirling to look at him. Zev’s eyes burn into my back.