Tundraynis.
Hatred twists their expressions as they launch ice spears at us. I barely manage to raise a wall of ice in time. Quickly, I melt the ice around our legs, dropping into a defensive stance.
“I don’t want to hurt you!” I shout, hands raised in surrender.
Another ice spear hurtles toward me, barely deflected in time.
“Traitor!” one of the waterwielders shouts back, launching another spear. “Arbinji whore!” shouts another.
The sky booms.
Zev raises a hand.
Lightning kills them both.
I flinch. My eyes find the third warrior. Her eyes are deep blue like Sura’s.
My hand hesitates. Just for a breath. But it’s enough time for guilt to wedge itself deep.
I kill her anyway.
Tundrayn is here, too.
And it’s not to rescue me.
Not too far from where we killed the waterwielders, the rebels have organized a makeshift command center, guarded by wielders and armed nonwielders—it’s where we find Tairna, standing before the assembled crowd. She appears relatively unharmed. Some of the tension melts from Zev’s shoulders.
Tairna’s voice is steady as she gives orders. One team is assigned to dig out survivors from leveled buildings and evacuate those in the ones still standing. Another team to man the east side of the camp, and a third defending the west side.
“One more team to patrol the perimeter,” Zev calls. Heads swivel in our direction. “I’ll lead.”
Tairna freezes, eyes wide. Then, she’s shouldering her way through the crowd, dark tunic fluttering. She knocks into Zev with the force of a maelstrom, twining her arms around him. For several heartbeats, she doesn’t move.
Then, she turns to me. I don’t know what I expect—a nod, maybe, or one of her warm smiles. But her arms wrap around me like I belong to her, too. My body is stiff for only a second before I melt into her embrace.
She cradles my face, eyes glistening with tears, before tugging Zev into the hug along with her. The sight of her tears, for me, elicits an unfamiliar warmth. One minute is all she allows us, one minute wrapped in each other’s arms. For that brief moment, I pretend this is real.
That we’re a family.
Then she lets go—draws back and steels herself, a commander in her own right.
“Send a missive to the Volcans and the other rebel camps. Tell them to send as many men as they can spare,” Zev says.
“I already did. I don’t know how long it will take, though. We need to hold them off until then.”
“We will.” Zev is sure. Solid. “I’ll round up the men for the perimeter.” He walks away. I follow him.
“Mayah”—Tairna grabs my hand—“we can’t risk anything happening to you. When the dust settles, you need to lead.”
I glance down at her hand, laced with mine. I squeeze it gently.
“I go with Zev.”
Tairna looks distressed. She turns to her son with anguished eyes. “Zev. She cannot go with you.”
Zev doesn’t answer immediately. Just studies my face. Then, he takes my hand from hers and laces his long fingers through mine. “There’s no stopping her, Mother. I’ll protect her. Or I’ll die.”
A shuddering sob wrenches from Tairna’s chest when Zev calls her mother. She embraces us once more. Then, without another word, she returns to the front of the room.
“I’ll have to summon lightning,” Zev says quietly as we exit the command center.
“I know. I’m ready.”
Zev rounds up his team, the largest of the four, men and women with solemn faces staring at him. Rain pelts our faces, turning the ground into muck beneath my bare feet.
“Many of you have faced me in battle,” Zev says, his voice hard. “Tonight, I fight beside you. If you can’t stomach that, then leave. Now.”
No one moves.
“Good. This woman”—he points to me—“is your future. Protecting her is everyone’s top priority. Understood?” I shoot him a scathing look but don’t say anything. Now’s not the time to undermine him.
The rebels all nod.
Zev raises a fist.
“Move out.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
THROUGH THE CHAOS, ORDER slowly takes shape. Zev, a storm in motion, barks out commands with practiced authority, dividing the rebels into groups of six. Four teams disperse in different directions, each assigned to sweep for intruders, secure fallen zones, or reinforce collapsing defenses.
We join the eastern patrol, skirting the outer edge of the camp. My eyes dart between trees, over rooftops, around crumbling barricades—searching for anything that doesn’t belong.
As we near the eastern wall, the sounds of battle sharpen—shouts, the clash of steel, the low groan of twisting roots. A group of earthwielders engages in brutal combat with a handful of rebels. Thick vines writhe from the soil, slamming into stone and limbs alike.
My heart skips when I spot a flash of Tumaas’s dark braids, whipping like cords as he ducks low, slicing through a vine with his blade. Beside him, Mona crouches behind the remains of a shattered wall, eyes narrowed in focus.
A sharp twang.
An arrow whistles through the air and strikes one of the earthwielders square in the chest. He topples backward with a grunt, his roots withering mid-attack.
Tides. Mona is a terrifyingly good shot.
Zev and I join them.
Tumaas reads the frantic question on my face. “Sura’s fine. Not a scratch on her. Sent us back out to be useful. She said she’d disown me if I ‘shame’ her.”
I loose a breath I’d been holding since the building fell on me.
An arrow whizzes between us, narrowly missing our faces.
“Enough chatter!” Zev snaps at us, his sword already embedded in the shooter’s chest.
We fall into formation.
Water arcs through the air. Freezing. Choking. Killing.
The clang of swords, the waning groans of the dying.
Some of our men die, too, but every time I cast out my panicked gaze, I find Zev, Tumaas, and Mona. Still standing. Still fighting.
At least twenty corpses litter the ground when we’re done.
My reserves are perilously low. Zev and I share another chunk of bread while Tumaas and Mona catch their breath.
“Here,” Zev says, tossing half a loaf at Tumaas. He scrambles to catch it in time, eyeing Zev with suspicion. Mona’s eyes are wide as she stares at the bread.
If I weren’t already hopelessly in love with Zev, I certainly am now.
“Ready?” Tumaas asks, brushing crumbs from his palms after they finish eating. “We should keep—”
Everything happens so fast.
The ground stretches open behind Tumaas, its maw wide, and a man leaps out, sword in hand and the promise of death in his eyes.
He hauls his arm back.
My mouth opens in a scream.
I summon water into the air, but he’s too fast.
His sword glints in the moonlight—
—and Zev shoves Tumaas to the ground. The sword slices through his side, bright blood weeping from the gash.
Zev’s arm draws back, sword glinting like lightning, and spears it through the earthwielder’s stomach. Blood splatters through the air, hot droplets spraying my face.
The sword withdraws with a sickening squelch. The man falls to the ground.
“Zev!” My feet slap against the muddy earth, hands already glowing.
“It’s just a scratch,” he grunts, clutching his side. “Save your—”
“Shut up,” I hiss. I force him to the ground, batting his hands away before pressing my palms against his bloody wound. It only takes a few minutes until his skin is seamless.
Not even a scar left behind. Not this time.
He doesn’t move, and I take advantage, sending a rushing pulse of power through the rest of him.
Zev catches on, grabbing my wrists and fixing me with a scathing glare. I can’t decipher the look on his face—does he want to pull me into his arms or push me away?
