My eyes flutter closed, reclining against him.

I want to savor this moment.

“If they breach the Arbinji defenses, we won’t be safe here either,” he adds quietly.

My eyes snap open. “You think they’ll come for the palace?”

“If I were leading them,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple, “I would.” With two fingers he scoops some of the suds, massaging the white foam into my collarbones. “I convinced my brother to come,” he adds. “We’ll keep him out of danger, but I said it would raise morale for the soldiers to see him.” What he really means is he doesn’t want his brother anywhere near me while he’s away. “My father will remain here, though. Try to avoid him.”

I nod. Thank the Tides that Faramir will be gone. I shudder just thinking of his cold eyes and slimy taunts.

Zev brushes a kiss to my temple. “When I return, let’s visit Tundrayn,” he murmurs in my ear.

Surprise flickers in my chest. “Really?”

I don’t know what to think.

“Yeah. I know you miss your father. And it’ll be nice to escape the palace for a while.”

“What about the Rebellion? Your father and brother?”

He shrugs. “They’ll figure it out. Or they won’t. If it becomes too pressing, I’ll head to the border from Tundrayn. But at least I’ll know you’ll be safe in your home.”

My heart swells with warmth. “I’d like that,” I say softly. I bring a wet hand out from the water to tangle in his hair, nuzzling the side of his face. “But aren’t you worried? You wouldn’t stay in the palace for more than an hour last time.”

“You’ll protect me, right?” he chuckles. “And I’m hoping your father and people will warm up to me once they see their princess is safe and well cared for.” He swallows. “And happy. That I make her happy.”

The silence between us thrums with a question.

The water laps at my skin as I twist in his arms, kneeling in the tub to face him. His beautiful gray eyes are so open, so vulnerable. I grab him by the collar and kiss him like I can burn the memory of it into his bones.

It’s the only way I can express my answer.

When we part for air, foreheads pressed together, I fear my heart might burst from the strong, all-consuming emotion coursing through it. I’m hesitant to give it a name.

“Tides protect you, Zev,” I whisper against his lips. “I’ll miss you.”

His steel gray eyes search mine, but I don’t know for what. His throat bobs as he swallows, his breath escaping in a shuddering exhale. One more deep, aching kiss is all he allows himself—one last taste of me—before leaving. He doesn’t say goodbye.

I stare at the closed door, a strange mix of emotions roiling in my chest like the angry, open sea. Zev barreled into my life mere months ago, and yet my soul burns for him, as if it forgot how to exist on its own.

There’s a cutting sense of loss, a bone-deep sadness—I want him by my side. There’s also fear and worry. He’s heading to the border, rife with danger, where anything could happen. I want him safe.

But beneath the uncertainty and longing and anxiety, there’s a whisper of freedom.

I’m alone.

For the first time in months, I’m truly alone.

I lose track of how long I float in the bath, waiting patiently, just in case Zev returns to steal another kiss. He left his scent on my skin and his promise in my chest. But his absence leaves space for something else to return—me.

The water turns lukewarm, then colder still, until goosebumps erupt across the surface of my pale skin.

When I can’t bear to wait any longer, I slowly sit up in the tub.

I raise my hand—

—and the water responds.

It rises out of the tub in thin streams, merging and diverging above my head in swirling patterns. Another swish of my hand, and the water melds together before flattening into a thin sheet. With a pinch of my fingers, the droplets separate again and freeze into sharp, serrated icicles.

A slow grin stretches across my lips.

Tides, I’ve missed waterwielding.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

POSSESSING TWO WIELDING CAPABILITIES is rare. Which is why when my waterwielding emerged as a teenager, Father kept it a closely guarded secret—not a soul alive knows save me, Father, and Daak. I had already been training as a healer for a few years by then, so when Father assigned Daak as my “combat” instructor, no one at the palace suspected anything else.

That Father was honing a weapon.

Healing has always come easier to me than waterwielding, but under Daak’s guidance, I’ve grown into a formidable wielder.

It was difficult keeping my ability hidden these past few months. It felt unnatural ignoring the water’s familiar call. The last time I wielded was in the Tundrayni forest, when I split that tree down the middle. It was an unbelievably stupid risk, but I couldn’t stand to let the Dark Commander manhandle me without suffering any consequences.

The Dark Commander. My lips turn down in a scowl. The frightening moniker doesn’t suit Zev at all.

Zev, with so much tenderness in his eyes.

Zev, who also lost his mother and friend.

Zev, who has shown me more kindness than I ever expected.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and blink away my traitorous tears.

Zev is miles away, and now I can finally find those tidescursed tunnels. He hadn’t been receptive to me sleeping in another bedroom, and with my every move under careful scrutiny, it’s been impossible to explore.

So far, the only hidden entrance I’ve found is in Zev’s—our—chambers. There are likely entrances in every set of royal quarters to make it easy to flee if the palace were ever under attack.

The tunnels may have served Arbinj well in the past.

But they won’t now.

After my shift in the infirmary, I return to our chambers. It’s just past sunset when I change into comfortable leggings and a tunic. Standing before the wall, I run my hands over the raised ledge I had discovered within days of marrying Zev—I knew what I was looking for, though.

A hard push, all my weight thrown behind it.

A soft click.

A portion of the wall sinks in, leaving just enough space for me to wedge through. I shift the hidden door back into place, though I doubt anyone will enter our chambers.

Zev will never forgive me.

I bat away the intrusive thought and press forward.

I came here with a mission.

I mean to fulfill it.

Behind the wall is a narrow, dark tunnel. I find a torch beside my feet and quickly light it. The air is thick with mildew and something older. The walls are crumbling stone. For a brief second, the image of them collapsing in a heap on me enters my mind.

That won’t happen. The tunnels have stood for centuries.

I close my eyes and cast out my senses.

The faint whisper of water beckons to me—I’ve ignored it for months, but it’s always been there, lingering just beneath the surface.

I follow its call.

My knuckles are white around the torch, eyes scanning every dark corner. There could be other entry points that lead into this very tunnel. Every faint sound has me jumping, ready to attack. My footsteps echo back to me, too loud, too alive.

But I remain alone.

I walk for another twenty minutes before the tunnel widens into a larger cavern. The walls are slick, glinting in the torchlight, with three arched openings carved into the stone. I close my eyes again, searching for water.

The entrance on the far right.

I disappear into darkness, but not for long. The tunnel widens again into another cavern—this one larger, more purposeful. Unlit torches line the walls, where precariously tall stacks of crates lean against the stone. Another tunnel opens immediately to my left—this one with a stream of water flowing through a shallow valley carved at the bottom. The indentation flows through the center of the room, disappearing into another tunnel on the opposite side.