I’ve waited years for this moment. But now that it’s here, it tastes like ash in my mouth.

I shake the thoughts away and ground myself in the present—the cool stone beneath me, the faint trickle of water through the narrow tunnels … and the large hand resting on my lower back.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Daak sits beside me on the cavern floor, a map unfurled before us. He smooths the worn paper with one large hand, a flickering torch casting strange shadows across our plans.

“The Dark Commander just lets you take anything you want from the library?” Daak asks, a disdainful look on his face. “He’s a fool to think you’d ever accept a life here. With him.” He studies my face carefully.

Again, I’m overcome with the urge to defend Zev, but I shove the retort down my throat. A slow-burning anger crackles in my belly, one I can’t completely explain. Or admit. It’s been simmering since that first night when Daak implied my husband might’ve forced himself on me.

Instead, I gesture to the map, marking various backup entrances and exits in case things don’t go as planned at the festival.

Daak nods. “All right. I’ll let the others know. We’ll be ready.”

I move to stand, but he grabs my wrist. “Stay with me a bit longer, Mayah. I’ve missed you.” His voice is soft. The voice that whispered reassurances in my ear through countless thunderstorms. The voice that brought me back from the edge again and again after Sura and Tumaas’s deaths. He raises his arm, and ever so slowly, I lower myself back beside him.

“The palace is a hollow shell without you,” he murmurs, his nose grazing the shell of my ear. “No one to lecture me, drive me insane. No one to kick my ass.”

“I could never kick your ass.” A soft chuckle bursts free, surprising both of us.

“No,” he admits, his eyes brighter than they had been when he pulled me back down. “But it was fun to watch you try.”

Tides, I have missed him. I missed this easy back and forth. He’s the only person who knows all of me—the secret waterwielder, terrified of storms. Daughter to a dead mother and disdainful father. He’s been my best friend for years. My only comfort after Sura and Tumaas died.

I don’t want to hurt him.

But sitting beside him now, his arm slung casually over my shoulders, something is different. I am different. I don’t desire him in the same way. I still love him—I think I always will—but the burning passion is gone.

Melancholy weighs my heart like a rusted anchor.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Everything will change.

I swallow hard, pushing past the tightness in my throat.

“Did the second shipment of food stores arrive?” I ask.

Daak scrubs a hand behind his neck, grinning. “They have. And get this—Arbinj sent over three times the agreed amount. Meat, vegetables, grain. Either someone’s terrible at sums, or they’re bleeding coin and don’t know it.”

I frown. That’s not a small oversight. Still, if it means my people won’t go hungry, I won’t question it. After this is over, when Varad is dead, they’ll never be hungry again.

“How’s Father?” My voice drops. “He hasn’t responded to any of my letters.” Bitterness creeps into my words before I can rein it back.

Daak sighs, brushing a kiss to the top of my head. “He’s well. He worries for you. I tried to convince him to write back, but he didn’t see the point. Any letter would’ve been read several times over before you ever saw it.”

Didn’t see the point? He could’ve asked how I was doing without revealing our plan. If I was being treated well. If I was harmed. If I needed anything. My eyes burn.

“Hey,” Daak says softly. “Remember when I first came to the palace? What you and Sura did?”

I loose a watery laugh at the memory. I was fifteen and furious that Father had appointed a “combat” instructor without consulting me. I expected a grumpy battle-hardened man, not a handsome man of twenty.

Tumaas tried to talk us out of our plan, as he often did, but Sura could never be swayed once she made up her mind. So the two of us offered to give Daak a tour of the capital, trudging through snow and ice to reach the open sea. We took a canoe out to Tarka Island—and left Daak stranded and paddled back.

“Not our brightest idea,” I laugh, wiping my eyes. “Especially when you just froze the water and marched back, ready to drown us.”

Daak chuckles. “I was pretty pissed. I knew then that I’d have my hands full with you.” He cups my cheek, all traces of humor vanished from his face. “I know this has taken a toll on you. I can see it—you seem different. But it’s almost over, Mayah. All of it will have been worth it. Just bear it a little longer. For me.”

I can.

I can bear it.

It’s the lies we tell ourselves that keep us moving forward.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

GREGORAN AND FREYNK FLANK me as I head toward the infirmary. My footsteps are sluggish, shoulders slumped as if there’s a staggering musk-ox draped across them. I wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and smother myself in Zev’s lingering smoky scent, growing fainter each day. My nights are restless, constant tossing and turning. Agonizing. I wish I could’ve slept a bit longer this morning.

But princesses don’t get the luxury of sleeping in.

Or choices.

“Princess?” Gregoran says, clearing his throat. He looks at me expectantly as we turn a corner. Shit. I missed his question.

“Sorry, what was that?” I ask.

“I asked if you are all right?”

I bristle. What does he suspect? “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His face reddens, and he sneaks a glance above my head at Freynk.

“Apologies, Princess. We don’t wish to overstep. Prince Zevayr instructed us to keep a closer eye on you while he’s away. And you seem … sad.”

My lips purse, even as a fresh wave of guilt batters my heart like an unforgiving tide. Of course he asked my guards to make sure I’m happy. Of course he’s likely worrying about me right this second.

Even still, I’m not sad. I’m—I’m focused. And I need to sleep more.

“Thank you for your concern.”

I stifle a yawn as I step through the quiet infirmary, straightening pillows and smoothing sheets—Sauzon went home and the last patient left shortly thereafter.

My eyes drift to the cot where Zev spoon-fed me soup. Do other husbands fuss over their wives as much? Something tells me they don’t. His warm gray eyes flash through my mind, and another sobering wave of guilt crashes into me.

I can’t let Zev die.

I just can’t.

I won’t let him drink the wine.

He’ll forgive me for what I’ve done—and what I’ve yet to do. I’m certain of it. He hates his father and brother just as much, if not more, than me. I can convince him.

We could rule Arbinj and Tundrayn together.

But Father … could I convince him to let Zev live? To accept him as his son-in-law?

Father’s ice blue glare flits through my mind, and I physically flinch. I’ll paddle across that river when it’s raging before me.

For now, I need to focus on immediate concerns.

Keeping to the plan. And keeping Zev alive.

The cabinets click softly as I open and close them.

Where is it?

Multicolored vials, rolls of gauze, rows of sharp tools.

No, no, no.

A few jars over and—there.

Wormbark oil. An effective antidote for any poison.

If Zev does drink the zinfadelan, if I can’t explain myself in time, I’ll be ready. My fingers close around the cool glass bottle when—

A throat clears behind me.

My hands still. Shit. I’d been so focused, I hadn’t heard any footsteps.

Slowly, I turn, back braced against the counter.