Jennah levels her sharp, disapproving gaze upon them. I’ve often cowed beneath it, but the arrogant men don’t even flinch. She asks, “How did you sustain the injuries?”
The waterwielder has the decency to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were sparring, and it became … heated.”
My lips press into a thin line as I eye his overflowing satchel again. A nonwielder child will sleep hungry tonight so these daft idiots can go on an expedition.
“These warriors just returned from the front lines,” I say woodenly, still focused on the pale nonwielder in the cot before me. “Their injuries are more severe. I’ll heal them first.”
A beat passes.
“But Princess … they look to be commons.” The pompous waterwielder doesn’t say anything else, but I understand what he leaves unspoken.
Under Tundrayni law, wielders must receive preference in every instance.
“Nonwielders they may be, but they were gravely injured. In battle.”
The waterwielder just stares at me. Jennah clears her throat, casting me a meaningful look.
I grit my teeth and heal the idiots’ minor injuries.
After I finish, I head back toward the nonwielders, but Jennah stops me with a firm hand on my shoulder. “That’s enough, Princess. You need to rest. And to eat.”
“I can keep going,” I protest, lips twisting as I look at the remaining nonwielders. There are still so many of them.
They need my help.
“Don’t make me bother King Tormik. Pauli will be here soon. Go.” Her stern gaze brokers no argument. She isn’t bluffing about calling Father—she’s done it before. Reluctantly, I rinse my hands in a stone basin and step into the corridor.
Jennah’s voice chases me down the hall. “Eat something, Princess! I mean it!”
Fatigue weighs down my limbs as I trudge to my quarters as if trekking through knee-deep snow. The heavy door swings open.
My exhaustion melts away when I spot Daak waiting on the large sofa in the center of my chambers.
He appraises me, gaze lingering on my face, his lips pursed with disapproval. “You’ve worn yourself out,” he mutters, crossing the room and guiding me to sit. “Again.”
“I’m fine,” I reassure, but his brow remains creased with worry. “I wish I could do more. I wish I could save everyone.”
Daak is silent as he grabs a bowl of dried seal jerky from a small table and places it in my lap, waiting until I finish two entire strips before speaking.
“Mayah, what happened to Sura and Tumaas wasn’t your fault.”
Tears prick my eyes, ones I’d held back since first gazing at the injured nonwielders. I let myself melt into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around me in a familiar embrace.
It’s been years, but my grief hasn’t lessened.
“Sometimes, their faces are blurry when I try to picture them,” I admit quietly, the words muffled in his tunic.
“Tell me what you remember.” He rubs my back, his touch soothing the ache in my chest but not quite erasing it.
“Sura’s eyes were the brightest shade of blue, like clear ocean water dappled with sunlight. Her face was perfect, heart-shaped with a dainty nose. Long, dark hair that she wore in twin braids. She never met a rule she didn’t want to break.”
Daak chuckles, and the sound sends a warm vibration through me. “You forgot her smile. Near permanent on her face. And lopsided, as if one side of her mouth couldn’t match the excitement of the other. What about Tumaas?”
“A giant polar bear of a man,” I laugh. “The same exact eyes as Sura, but somehow warmer? Less mischievous, for sure. Perpetually exasperated with his twin.”
Daak runs his large hand over my hair, smoothing the dark wisps that escaped my braid. “You know, I envied the three of you when I first arrived?” he murmurs. “You were so in tune, like extensions of the same person. And all determined to make my life miserable.”
“Well, we were intimidated by you. The much older—”
“Hey, I’m not much older—”
“—extremely powerful warrior come to train me. I know Sura didn’t make those early weeks easy on you.”
“She wanted you with Tumaas. I was competition.”
I poke his side. “She wasn’t wrong, was she?”
He puffs out his chest. “Not about me being extremely powerful. I’ve been likened to Faerataak the Mighty, I’ll have you know.”
“By who?” I snort. “I didn’t know you could wield blood.”
“I’ve never tried. It’s entirely possible I can.”
I chuckle. “I can’t wait to read the first children’s tale about you: Daak the Daring. Wielder of water, blood, and nonsense. Perpetually bested by Princess Mayah of Tundrayn.”
We share a quiet laugh. It tastes bittersweet in my mouth.
Daak has a way of making me feel seen. Accepted. Of making me forget. He’s been the only warmth in my life after Sura and Tumaas were sent to battle and never returned.
I snare his deep blue gaze with my own. He understands what I need because, ever so slowly, his full lips slant over mine.
He’s familiar. Comfortable.
But his kiss is soft. Too soft. And I don’t want gentle from him.
Not tonight.
I want to feel something—anything other than this yawning grief in my chest threatening to swallow me whole.
I straddle his lap, my hands skimming the shaved sides of his head before tangling in his braids. My lips crash against his with a desperation that numbs every gaping wound in my heart. His grip is tight around my hips, our mouths moving together in a passionate rhythm. I roll my hips against his, and a strangled groan rumbles through his chest.
I press closer, eager for more, and predictably, he pulls away.
He always pulls away.
“Mayah…” he whispers, voice laced with apology. “Your father will have me impaled.”
“He’d have you impaled just for kissing me,” I point out, scowling. “And I’d heal you.” But I know there’s no convincing him. I’ve been trying for years. So I crawl off his lap and plop down on the sofa, resting my head on his strong shoulder.
Daak looses a deep sigh. “Tundrayn’s future depends on you. You’ll be subjected to the purity test.”
Right. The purity test. An arcane practice observed by both Arbinj and Tundrayn to ensure princesses remain untouched before marriage.
And Father has just arranged my marriage to Faramir, the crown prince of Arbinj.
CHAPTER TWO
MY HEART BATTERS MY ribcage as I race through the frigid halls of the palace. It’s not the first time I’ve been immersed in the Healing Chambers and was late for a council meeting. Hiking up my thick gown, I dart through the halls. Skidding around a corner, the heel of my boot carves an arc into the packed snow floor. Oops. A palace waterwielder will need to smooth that over.
A loud thud, and the door swings open. Light streams in through large windows, illuminating each weathered face as it swivels toward me. At the head of the long table sits Father, his lips pressed into a line so thin it disappears into his white beard.
“Daughter,” he drawls, eyes flashing with disapproval. “Wonderful of you to join us.” Father waves his hand, and a whip of water shoots out from the carved fountain, pulling back the chair directly to his right. A snarling wolf’s head is carved into this particular fountain—I’ve always thought its cold, icy eyes resembled Father’s.
Daak stands behind Father’s chair, back straight and dressed in his white captain’s armor. His face remains stoic, but his eyes twinkle with mirth as I hurry to my chair.
I’m barely seated when Father resumes speaking.
“As I was saying”—he cuts me a sharp glare—“along with the ceasefire, Arbinj will send food stores—meats, grains, and vegetables—as part of the alliance.”
