He turns back to Zev.

Crack.

Father backhands him.

The loud slap shears through my heart, and I lose another piece of it.

Zev’s face twists to the side, a stark white mark blooming before it flares red and melds into the patchwork of his other bruises. There’s a shallow rasp in his breath as he says, “Hello, father-in-law.”

Father sneers at him, hand clamping around Zev’s jaw. “You will die in this camp, Arbinji filth. I swear it by the Tides.”

A broken excuse for a laugh bubbles from Zev’s chapped lips. “Lord over me later, Tormik. I’m not going anywhere. But at least pretend to be a good father and see your daughter first.”

All eyes swing to me.

My face burns.

Father grits his teeth before slapping Zev again. I stifle a gasp, biting my tongue until I taste copper. Vy’s gaze burns the side of my face, but I don’t dare move.

Father whirls, striding away. He doesn’t pay me a second glance.

I’m supposed to follow him. My legs obey, but my eyes refuse to listen.

They find Zev. He isn’t looking at me anymore, though. He stares at the ground, shoulders shuddering with labored breaths. Worry floods the chambers of my heart, drowning me even after I can’t see him anymore.

In Sorka’s tent, Father’s already seated, maps unfurled on the table before him. Sorka stands at attention behind him, jaw set and concern lighting his gaze as he assesses me. I fold myself into the rickety chair across from Father, and he finally, finally deigns to look at me.

“Mayah,” he says softly. His gaze drops to my mother’s necklace, and his lips turn down at the corners. “You are … well?”

That’s a strange way to ask if I’m all right after months of sleeping in his enemy’s bed while risking my life to organize a coup.

“I am. All things considered.” I can’t help the sharp bite that creeps into my voice, but Father doesn’t notice. Or he pretends not to.

“Did you send search parties? After the Rebellion attacked the carriages?” My hands clench into fists in my lap.

“No. Our scouts found your tracks. They surmised that you were heading toward Arbinj. I knew you could handle yourself.”

“What if he had hurt me?”

“Did he?”

“No.” My voice is sharp.

“Mayah—”

“Let me brief you on my mission.” His mouth tightens into a scowl, but he dips his chin.

I recount as much as I can. The mounting Rebellion attacks, Zev leaving for the border. My carefully laid plans for the Equinox.

Father nods, his gaze pensive, a gnarled hand stroking his neat, white beard. “All of the attacks were not Rebellion—we staged most of them.”

My brows knit together, and Father explains, “To lure the Dark Commander away. When you didn’t make contact with Daak, Sorka deduced that you were being closely monitored. Without the Commander hovering, we hoped it would give you more freedom to achieve your goals. How were you discovered?”

“Ze—he returned unexpectedly. Found me in the tunnels with Daak. With his guards,” I lie, glancing at Sorka whose spine goes rigid. “I tried to fight back, but he summoned a storm, and I fain—”

“Enough,” Father interjects sharply, his features severe. My weakness has always embarrassed him. I bow my head, throat tight. “Sorka informed me of the rest. Luckily for you, the tidesdamned idiot Commander stopped so close to the Tundrayni camp. I can’t imagine what horrors he had planned for you at the border.” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “I’m glad you are safe, Daughter.”

Tears prick my eyes, Zev’s bloodied face flitting through my mind.

“What is your command?” I ask woodenly, still looking at my lap. My gaze snags on the pale sliver of skin where my betrothal ring rested.

“Varad knows we have his son. If he wants him back, he’ll need to meet our terms.”

“And what are our terms?” I whisper.

“Expand our borders to include fertile land, for one. Anything else he’ll give me for his son. And Varad and his heir must come here to finalize the agreement and collect his Commander.” Varad would never agree to something so risky. Would he?

An icy smile frosts over Father’s face.

“Where we’ll kill them. Our revenge is near, Daughter. Your efforts will not be in vain.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

IDON’T SLEEP THAT NIGHT. After Vy drifts off on her narrow cot, I tiptoe quietly to the tent’s canvas flap. Peeking outside, my eyes find Zev’s silhouette.

The camp is deserted. Except for the two guards flanking Zev.

Tides damn them.

With a quick glance at Vy’s sleeping form, I cast out my power, sensing the water flowing through the earth.

A beat, then—

Twin cracks echo through the camp, the noise sounding from opposite directions. The guards startle and share a quick glance, then hurry off to investigate the disturbance.

They’ll find trees fissured in half, much like Zev did months ago.

Tides, let it be enough time.

The hood of my cloak is pulled low over my head, my steps silent as I cross the camp.

This is potentially the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Zev is restrained right in the middle of camp. Anyone could peer out from their tent and see me—my father could see me.

It’s a risk I’m willing to take, apparently.

Under the silvery moonlight, his hair shines almost blue except where it’s matted with blood. Both eyes are closed, and there are fresh bruises marring his torso. Right before I reach the platform, his eye snaps open.

I freeze.

We stare at each other.

“Come to have a turn?” he rasps. His voice sounds like it’s been dragged over broken glass.

With slow, shaky steps, I climb onto the platform. My hands tremble as I reach for his ravaged chest. I swallow thickly, hovering for a second, unsure if touching him will unravel me.

When my palms finally rest against his chest, I gasp sharply.

So much pain.

I close my eyes, sensing his injuries.

Six of his ribs are broken, one of which has pierced his lung, and two others are cracked. There’s a slow bleed seeping into his stomach. Both of his kidneys are struggling to function—likely pummeled into oblivion. Four toes and his right ankle are broken.

Hot, anguished tears prick my eyes.

He was used as a punching bag while I slept for days.

His pain thrums beneath my palms, a damning echo I can’t escape.

I take another shaky breath, willing my healer’s training to steady my hand. Willing myself to see him as just another patient.

I can’t do anything about the external wounds—they’ll know someone healed him—but I can heal his internal injuries.

When I open my eyes, Zev’s squinted gaze is riveted to my necklace.

I take another shuddering breath, willing my heartbeat to slow. My palms alight, and I set to work on healing him.

“Why are you helping me?” he grits out, gray eyes almost silver in the moonlight. “To draw out my suffering?”

Tides, the sound of his splintered voice rents my heart in two.

So I pretend I don’t hear him.

I don’t have an answer I can give anyway. Instead, I focus on his ribs, slowly mending the fissures in the bones. Once those are healed, I work on his punctured lung.

“Why?” he presses. His voice sounds better, already stronger, and it’s a balm to my battered heart. With trembling fingers, I retrieve the bread hidden in my cloak. I tear off a chunk and hold it to his lips. The stubborn man turns his face away, much like I did at his camp when I was his prisoner.

“Zev,” I hiss, casting a quick glance around the clearing. “I don’t have much time. Eat.”

“Don’t call me Zev.”

I bare my teeth. “Fine. Eat, dumbass.”