“What thefuckare you doing to my wife?!” Zev roars, emerging through the trees. His face is cut from stone, a wrathful god. Cold fury blazes in his eyes, his muscles tight with tension.
“I… sire, I—”
Zev raises a hand. All six men freeze, their bodies unnaturally still.
I hold my breath.
When I release it, the men begin to jerk, stiff and erratic. The stench of burning metal permeates my nostrils. Their screams cut off like a snapped wire—soundless and sudden.
Daak. The vision of his body writhing the same way batters my mind.
A chorus of heavy thuds echoes as the men drop to the ground one by one, but it’s muffled over the sound of my wails.
I’m sobbing, tears streaming down my face.
Grief and fear and relief and humiliation andfurytake turns raging inside me, fighting for dominance.
Zev falls to his knees. He reaches for me, and I recoil, nearly tumbling backward if not for the roots still holding me prisoner.
“Skies, Mayah,” he whispers, eyes brimming with remorse. With so much pain. And another emotion, one I know as well as my name—guilt.
He reaches out again slowly, like I’m a skittish animal, cradling my battered face. “What did they do to you?”
“Youdid this to me,” I hiss through tears, jerking away from him. “You left me with them. Did you know he’d try to—” My mouth moves, but nothing comes out.
Just a sob. Just shame.
“I swear I didn’t. He said he’d keep wat—”
“You left me here alone! Bound and helpless! A Tundrayni woman withsixArbinji soldiers!” I scream in his face. Fresh sobs tear out of me, and I curl in on myself, shoulders shaking.
“Fuck, Mayah. I—”
Zev unsheathes his dagger. His hands are gentle as he saws through the roots binding my wrists, then my ankles. I wince as the thorns are pulled from my skin, bright wounds weeping blood where they pierced my flesh. With a deft swipe, he slices through the rope that binds my hands.
My wrists are chafed beneath the iron bracelets still encasing them. My tears flow harder, violent shudders wracking my body.
Escape. I need to escape.
“Mayah…” He sounds uncertain, hand poised over my shoulder, seemingly unsure if he should touch me.
I snatch the dagger from his grip.
He lets me.
“Off, off, I want themoff,” I pant. “I can still feel his hands.” I wedge the sharp blade between my bruised skin and the iron cuff, digging in, trying to unlock it.
“Wait, I have the key—”
“Don’t touch me!” I shout, scrambling backwards. I work the blade harder into my flesh, gritting my teeth at the pain.
“Mayah,stop,let me—”
My hands are shaking.
My heart is racing.
One hard yank and—
