My fingers are reverent as I trace the teardrop pendant. “It was Mama’s,” I whisper. “Thank you.” I slowly meet his eyes. “Did—did he have anything else?”
Sorka shakes his head.
He must have had my ring melted down. Or thrown into the sea. Or stuffed in a messy drawer like an unimportant afterthought.
I don’t know which one is worse.
“We need a new plan,” Sorka says, pulling me from my tangled thoughts. “With the Dark Commander in our grasp, we have leverage over Arbinj.”
“What does Father plan to do now?” I ask. Cold dread slithers its icy tentacles up my spine. It coils around my throat, poised to choke.
“You can ask him yourself. He arrives tonight.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Sorkadoesn’tleavemealone for the rest of the day. A dense haze clouds my mind, but I try to focus as he gives me a tour of the camp. In the center is, of course, my battered husband strung up on a wooden platform. Around the camp’s perimeter, tents are staked into the ground in a semi-circle. On one side, there’s an open space where warriors are training. Beside them, a handful of horses paw the ground, tied to trees. One of the warriors tends to them; his posture is tense, wary of the unfamiliar animals.
Sorka introduces me to the men—there are a handful of waterwielders, though most are nonwielders. Vykiss is the only healer, and the only other woman, amongst them.
Sorka tells me that after the escalating Rebellion attacks, Arbinj had allowed Tundrayn to set up a few camps deeper within their borders. This camp is one of many smaller ones, though most of Tundrayn’s forces remain on our side of the border. A handful of warriors remain in hiding in the Arbinji capital, though without Daak to lead them, they’ll need to find their own way home.
As we walk through camp, warriors stop to greet us. I nod politely, but my eyes keep drifting to where Zev is tied up. A strange sense of disorientation clouds my senses, like my head is submerged in water. Shards of ice lodge in my throat, scratching each breath I take.
I can’t stop looking. I can’t stop caring.
Tides damn me.
I shouldn’t feel this way.
He hates me. He was planning to kill me.
Even still—he saved me from Sulon. And he killed all of his men.
Forme.
But he put me in that position.
After he learned of my betrayal. After he murdered Daak.
Tides, take me. My thoughts oscillate wildly like a broken compass.
I don’t hear a word Sorka says.
At night, I pace in my tent, wearing a worn path in the yellowing grass beneath my boots.
There’s a soft rustling as the tent flap opens. Vy enters, her eyes misty and red.
My steps falter, brows furrowing. “Are you all right?”
She clears her throat, nodding slightly, before settling onto her cot beside mine. Trembling hands skate over the sheets until there’s not a wrinkle left. Then her hands clench the fabric, knuckles white, before smoothing out the wrinkles again.
“The general’s son,” she finally murmurs, not quite meeting my eyes. “You knew him well?”
My throat tightens. “Yes. Daak. How did you know?”
She doesn’t respond, just watches me silently, but I can practically hear the words lingering on her tongue.
The general told me.
