Parku punches him in the face. Blood arcs through the air as Zev’s head is knocked backward. Still, the insufferable man smirks, his teeth gleaming red.
“One more, son of Tommak,” he rasps. “I’ll give you one more hit before I kill you.”
The warrior hauls back again, teeth bared in a snarl.
“Parku!” I shout before he can swing. “Come help me with these supplies.”
I wobble to my feet, heart hammering in my chest. Father’s gaze cuts me like a blade across my back. Parku throws one more venomous look at Zev before jogging over to me.
He staggers back as I shove my supply kit into his arms—valerian root, liniments, gauze, among other things—I’ve learned to manage my reserves and use natural remedies for minor injuries. Sauzon would be proud.
We walk to my tent. I applaud myself for not tripping the hulking warrior beside me.
I don’t turn to see if Father is still watching.
Zev’s chest is cold beneath my palms, his heartbeat erratic, as I heal him under the cover of night.
“You stopped that man from beating me.”
I glare at him. I’ve been eating more than my fair share to keep my reserves highandsquirreling away food for him. “You’re an idiot for provoking him. Making more work for me.”
“Why did you stop him?” His steely gaze is unyielding, and I resist the urge to flinch away from it.
The truth rises up my throat, and I don’t swallow it down fast enough. “I couldn’t bear to watch him hurt you. It hurtmeto watch.”
His gray eyes are molten as they study me.
“Such pretty lies,” he finally murmurs. “Even now.”
Let him think it’s a lie. I don’t know if I believe the truth, either.
I finish healing his injuries, then tiptoe back to my tent without another word.
I freeze in my tracks.
Vy’s sharp blue eyes stare back at me.
Chapter Sixty-Three
“Vy,”Iwhisper,wideeyes studying her face—her perfectly blank face. “Sorry if I woke you. I went to relieve myself.”
I shuffle across the small space, sinking into the narrow cot beside hers, the thin mattress creaking beneath my weight. I draw the blanket to my chin and lie stiffly on my side, my back facing her. My heart thunders against my ribcage, each beat louder than the last. I can’t tell if my lie passed as truth. My breath catches on the edge of each inhale, waiting.
“The Commander looked healthier today,” she muses, voice cutting through the dark. “I imagine he’ll be even better tomorrow.”
Shit. Shit, shit,shit.
The air thickens, and I struggle to breathe. The small tent seems to constrict around me. I slowly turn to face her, though I can’t make out her delicate features in the darkness.
“What do you want?” I ask woodenly.
She’s silent for so long, I foolishly wonder if she fell asleep, and I imagined the entire exchange.
“I’ll keep your secret, Princess,” she says at last, her voice steady in the dark. There’s no judgment in it—just quiet certainty, like a thread pulled taut. Her mattress squeaks as she shifts, turning on her side to face me.
“And what would you have in return?” I ask, my voice edged with steel. Caution frosts each syllable.
There’s a pause, then the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusts her blanket. “Nothing yet,” she says simply. “But you’ll owe me a favor.”
