Sorka is her favor.

My hands tremble as I fight—strike, defend, strike, duck—each movement fueled by panic and fury.

The warriors advance.

“Zev,” I call behind me, chancing a glance back.

He doesn’t answer—he’s doubled over, hands braced on his knees.

A shard of ice skims my cheek, leaving behind a bright trail of pain.

“Shit!” I whirl around, raising another wave of water and catapulting it toward the encroaching men.

“Zev!” I call again, my voice rising higher.

“I’ve been strung up for a week,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Give me a fucking minute.”

The rhythmic splash of water and scraping of ice bombards my ears as I struggle to block their attacks. My breath cleaves my lungs as some of the warriors dart behind the platform, poised to attack from behind.

Tides. I have one shot at this.

A powerful thrust of my hands.

The crackling sound of water freezing into thick ice.

My breath shears my lungs. I did it. Tides, let it hold.

A dome of water encases the platform, several inches thick. Dull thuds echo inside the small orb as the warriors attack from the outside. I grit my teeth, struggling to keep the dome frozen while the other wielders try to force the water to melt.

Slowly, Zev straightens.

Even inside the dome, the threatening boom of thunder echoes.

“I’m ready.” His voice is still hoarse, his eyes are bloodshot, but thank the Tides, he’s standing.

Relief crashes into me like a tidal wave.

I drop the ice shield.

It’s raining, the sky a dark, ominous gray.

Raindrops freeze into sharp needles, sent careening into flesh. Zev drops his hand, and a bolt of lightning slams into two men.

But it’s not enough.

The warriors close in. My hands shake as I block their attacks.

“Can you electrocute them? Like you did with—”

“No,” he grits out. “Too weak.” His hands tremble as he summons another bolt of lightning, weaker this time, and kills one more Tundrayni. “Get behind me.”

“No. You get behind me.”

When he doesn’t move, I dart in front of him, taking an ice spear to the chest that I barely manage to blunt in time. I crash backwards into Zev, and we both almost go tumbling. His hands steady my hips.

“Summon a massive wave.” His voice is rough in my ear. “Flood the entire camp.”

I obey.

I call to the water, as much as I can summon. It flows close to the ground, weaving between boots, rising and rising until it’s ankle deep.

The air is charged.

Static crackles around me.

Zev raises a hand.

The sky splits open.

A bolt of lightning shoots down.

Electricity flows through the rushing water, into every man on the ground. Their bodies jerk, rigid limbs clawing the air. The stench of singed hair and burnt flesh assaults my nostrils.

It seems like it lasts hours, but it must only be minutes.

One by one, the warriors drop.

My lungs expel all my air.

A sense of numbness travels through my fingers, stretching through my limbs.

I wait, foolishly hoping some will rise again. That I didn’t murder an entire camp of people in cold blood.

But none do. Tides damn me into oblivion.

“We killed them,” I breathe. “I—”

A whisper of movement behind me.

A sharp crack.

A splitting pain in my skull.

The world goes black.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

ADULL, THROBBING ACHE PULLS me from the depths of slumber. My eyes flutter open. Nausea churns in my gut. I’m moving—and my hands are bound. Sunlight glints sharply off the iron encasing my wrists and mocks me.

Tides drown me, how many times can I wake this way?

My other senses trickle in—the hard press of a firm chest against my back, muscled thighs bracketing my own, a thickly veined arm securing my waist. We’re on a horse.

Each hoofbeat drums through my tailbone and into my skull. My wrists sting beneath the iron. There’s an ache in my shoulders from being held upright.

A deep inhale—Tides freeze my veins—smoke and pine.

I whirl in the saddle and glare at Zev. His face is a mess of yellowing and purple bruises, but both his eyes are open.

“Oh, good,” he drawls. “You’re awake.”

“You hit me,” I accuse, baring my teeth. “Hard.”

“I did.” He smirks, cruel and sharp. “Want me to kiss the pain away?”

Well, he’s certainly feeling better.

Flooding water.

Rumbling thunder.

Blinding lightning.

I swallow thickly. “W-were all the men … dead?”

Zev’s gaze is sharper than his blade. “Yes.”

A hollow, broken laugh wrenches from my chest. I killed my own people.

“It was you or them,” Zev says, his voice rough. “And since when has killing bothered you? You were plotting to murder hundreds in Arbinj.”

Right.

He still hates me.

We may have massacred an entire Tundrayni camp together, but that apparently doesn’t change anything between us.

“Where are we going?” I huff, turning in the saddle. Blistering guilt sears my heart, bitter ash coating my tongue. My arms tremble, and I try to fold them over my chest before remembering my wrists are bound.

Zev doesn’t respond.

“Were we followed?”

“No.” The word is forced through gritted teeth. “Everyone was dead, remember?”

Another excruciating pang of guilt.

“Where are we?”

When he doesn’t answer, I shift just enough to “accidentally” jab my elbow into his ribs. He sucks in a sharp breath, and I remember—some of them might still be broken. I only feel slightly bad about it.

“In Rebellion territory.” His teeth clack together violently.

“I’m hungry.”

“You’ll have to wait until we stop.”

“Tell me where we’re going.”

He doesn’t answer, like I’m not worth his breath.

“Did the Tides take your tongue, or have you taken a vow of silence?” I snap.

His grip around my waist becomes punishing, and my breath stutters. I hate the way my body responds to him, knows him, craves him. He struck me across the head, tied me up again, and is taking me Tides-knows-where. I should be quaking with fear, demanding he release me. Instead, the hair prickles along the back of my neck where his breath fans against my skin.

I have no idea where we stand—it was my father I was supposed to hate all along.

My heart twists painfully in my chest.

Father. It had been him.

And all those men I helped murder—they had been innocent.

And still, I killed them. We killed them.

My throat tightens, and I take a shaky, weak breath.

I don’t have the desire to annoy Zev anymore.

We ride in stiff, painful silence for nearly two hours before Zev brings the horse to a halt in a shady clearing, framed with tall, leafy trees. He dismounts, then hoists me off the mare before I can protest. I follow him wordlessly as he lowers himself to the ground and retrieves food from a satchel he likely stole from the camp.

With a sharp jerk of his chin, he gestures to the patch of grass beside him. It’s a practice in all my patience not to roll my eyes. At least his silence is an improvement over ordering me around like a dog.

I plop onto the ground and hold up my bound wrists. He stares at them, mouth twisted with displeasure. Then, with a heavy sigh, he slices the rope with his dagger.

He doesn’t remove the iron cuffs.

I eat in silence, barely tasting the food, intrusive thoughts crushing my lungs like a massive boulder. Breathing becomes a luxury.

I have no home.

No family.

No people.

My father lied. Manipulated. Murdered.