Shatters.

Rage floods in to fill the cracks.

A heat like nothing I’ve ever felt blazes through my veins, igniting every inch of me.

He murdered my mother. I won’t let him take Zev from me, too.

The well of my power erupts. White-hot and furious, a blinding light in my mind’s eye. It sears through me, pulsing in waves that scream for destruction, for vengeance, for blood.

It’s not my reserves that fuel me. This is something else entirely. Like all my fury was set aflame, and now it scorches through every nerve. Unstoppable. Hungry.

The earth tilts around me.

I sense everything.

Invisible droplets of water, so small I’ve never even noticed them before, announce themselves, ready to do my bidding.

I flick my hand. Father’s body freezes mid-step, his limbs locking as if I’ve trapped him in ice.

His eyes widen in disbelief, veins pulsing at his temples, lips curling in a silent snarl of confusion and rage. “What—what are you doing?” His words are strangled, forced past teeth clenched with fear.

I can barely believe it myself.

I shouldn’t be able to do this.

Waterwielders can’t control blood—it’s too impure, too corrupted.

Blood is beyond us.

But I can feel it.

It flows beneath his skin, slick and sluggish, sloshing with his terror. It surges in his arteries, his heart hammering to pump it faster.

And I can stop it.

A snarl curves my lips, fueled by a lifetime of being too small, too weak, too afraid.

“I’ve never been enough for you,” I bite out. His body strains, but he can’t move. Can’t speak. “Always lacking. Always failing. Never anything but a tool that you molded into a weapon with your lies. I’m done, Father. I’m fucking done.”

The heat of my rage sharpens my control.

My hand squeezes into a fist.

Father gargles, a wet, choking sound, as his blood turns against him. I freeze it in his veins, forcing it into his heart. His limbs lock in agony, mouth wide in a scream that never makes it past his throat.

With a final pulse of power, he collapses.

The rage evaporates from me like mist burned away by sunlight.

All that remains is cold shock, thrumming inside my hollow chest.

I turn.

I run.

My feet slap against the wet ground as I sprint for Zev.

The ice spear juts from his chest, blood trickling in sluggish pink rivers as it melts. I skid to my knees, hands pressed to his skin, feeling for what I can’t bear to lose.

His heart flutters beneath my palm. Weak. Unsteady.

But alive.

Carefully, so very carefully, I melt the ice spear. The water spills from his body, drawn away from muscle and tissue, leaving behind a gaping hole the size of my palm. I guide the water away from his body, sinking it into the dirt. My hands glow weakly as I press them to his chest, stitching flesh and sealing vessels with trembling precision.

The exit wound is the worst. I work it closed, layer by layer.

When I can no longer see the ground through his chest, I loose half a breath. But there’s no time for relief. I set to work on carefully mending the internal damage. Thank the Tides, the spear missed his heart.

Blood vessels knitted back together, nerve endings regrown, tissue repaired.

But then—

My light sputters.

Flickers.

Dies.

No. No, no, no, no.

I summon it again, but my power doesn’t answer. I’ve burned through my reserves—fighting, freezing, healing.

And we have no food.

Nothing left to replenish me.

Tears slide down my cheeks. I press my hands to his chest again, willing the glow to return, willing something—Tides, Skies, Flames—anything to answer.

Please. Please. Not like this.

Zev’s lashes flutter weakly. He’s pale. He’s so fucking pale.

His eyes crack open, barely a sliver, twin streams of red trickling from his nostrils. He stares at the half-healed hole in his chest, blinking slowly, like even that small act requires an enormous amount of precious energy.

“My reserves are empty,” I whisper. “Stay here. Don’t die. I’ll—I’ll find food—”

I start to rise, but his hand catches mine. It’s barely a touch. Slow. Shaky. Reaching into his cloak, he presses something small into my palm.

An apple.

The same apple I’d given him to eat hours ago, bruised yet untouched.

I choke on a sob as I take it from him.

I press my forehead to his, tears dripping onto his ashen cheeks.

With a shaky breath, I bite into the apple.

Tides, let it be enough.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

IT’S BEEN FIVE DAYS since the attack.

Five days since I killed my father.

Five days since I wielded blood.

The Volcans and the rebels from the other camps arrived the morning after, though we had regained control by then. Still, the extra hands were immediately put to use, helping clear rubble and dig out survivors.

And help bury the dead.

A handful of buildings remained standing, and the earthwielders also erected additional makeshift structures. Sura was unharmed. She’d planned to spend the night in the childcare tent. When the attack happened, she and the other caregiver shepherded the children into a hollowed-out safe room beneath the thick rug—thoughtfully carved out by an earthwielder early on.

Tairna dispatched missives to both Tundrayn and Arbinj, announcing the deaths of Tormik and Varad and Faramir—declaring me queen of both kingdoms.

We’ve yet to receive a response.

We suffered so many casualties. Even now, I don’t know how many lie dead beneath the fractured buildings. I spent the first two days in the makeshift infirmary, healing the endless line of rebels and sleeping on the floor—there were no empty cots.

And Zev … I only convinced him to remain in the infirmary for an hour, making sure he was completely healed from the ice spear that carved a gaping hole in his chest.

But once he saw the long line of injured people, he wouldn’t stay. I haven’t seen him since—Sura and Tumaas tell me he’s been helping dig through rubble.

So many people have been displaced, that many sleep in large, communal tents, or share rooms in the remaining buildings. Somehow, I was assigned my own room—with Zev, of course—in a nearby building. I suspect Tairna had something to do with that, though I’ve only gone there a handful of times to shower before returning to the infirmary.

With a sigh, I glance around the crowded space where cots are wedged so close together that there’s hardly space to walk between them. It’s late, and the patients are either sleeping or trying to sleep.

Soft footsteps announce a presence outside the door. It creaks open, and Tairna peers through. She manages a warm smile, but it can’t mask the tension etched on her face.

I meet her outside, softly shutting the infirmary door behind me.

“How are you doing, Mayah?” she asks. Her eyes are red, like she’s been crying. “Are you certain you don’t want me to find a heartwielder? If you’re struggling with what happened to Tormik…”

What happened was that I murdered him.

I swallow hard. It’s a strange sense of grief, a feeling of loss for something I never truly had. Not really.

“I’m all right.” My smile is tight. Practiced.

She smiles back, but her eyes tell me she doesn’t believe me. “Have you decided if you prefer to travel to Arbinj first or Tundrayn? We must move quickly to cement your rule.”

I hadn’t thought about it. With the endless line of patients, there hasn’t been any time. And it’s not only my decision.

“Let me talk to Zev first, see what he thinks.”

Tairna opens her mouth, then snaps it shut.

“What?” I ask, bristling.