It’s not a threat. Not quite. But the implication coils between us, cold as ice. I stare at the ceiling, weighing her words.
But my silence is a pretense.
I already know my answer. And I think she does, too.
“Done,” I whisper.
The next morning, I emerge from my tent to find Father interrogating Zev. Somehow, he manages to look regal despite the dark blood splattered on his blue robes, burgundy flecks dotting his neatly combed beard.
“How many men are stationed at the border?”
“Fifteen, last I checked. Some might have died by now, though. We’re not suited for Tundrayn’s abysmal temperatures.”
Father grits his teeth. “Has Varad secured an alliance with Volca?”
“Maybe. Probably not. My brother’s an ass.” He grins, sharp and mocking. “Not half as charming as I am. You lucked out with me as a son-in-law.”
My heart thuds painfully in my chest, cold dread freezing my lungs. I recognize the tension in Father’s shoulders, the white-knuckled grip of one hand around the other, the tight lines around his mouth.
“I’m afraid you’re not taking me seriously,” Father murmurs, his voice a silken threat.
With a casual wave of his hand, Father summons a sloshing ball of water. It spirals through the air, swirling and compressing until the outline is a smooth sphere.
My breath stutters.
I know what comes next.
The translucent orb floats through the air—then submerges Zev’s head. My husband doesn’t move, doesn’t struggle. The only outward sign of its effect are the bulging tendons in his neck. Small bubbles escape from his mouth and float to the top as he slowly releases air.
I haven’t taken a breath myself.
Minutes pass.
His shoulders vibrate, veins cording in his arms. His eyes widen, neck bobbing futilely.
My hands clench into tight fists, nails digging so hard into my palms that I’m sure I’ve drawn blood. I could wield the water, make a small pocket of air, just enough so he can—
A soft hand on my shoulder startles me. “Come inside, Princess,” Vy murmurs. “You should not watch this.”
I shrug her hand off.
Ihaveto watch. I did this.
I don’t know how long it’s been. Zev’s face is dark and splotchy inside the bubble of water. He’s out of air. His lungs must be burning. My husband had been right—death by lightning isnothingcompared to this cruelty. His head swings from side to side, thrashing in his restraints, trying to escape drowning on land.
But it’s no use.
A deafening crash, like angry waves battering an iceberg, rings in my ears, drowning out the jeers of the warriors. They watch him suffer like he’s a tidesdamned spectacle for their enjoyment.
An eternity later, Father lets the sphere drop.
Zev gasps for air, violently coughing up water. His hair is drenched, slicked against his forehead in dark swirls, his skin pale.
“Princess, please.” Vy is more insistent now, but I ignore her. My breath wrenches through my lungs, leaving behind a harrowing tightness.
“How many soldiers are stationed at the border?”
Zev hasn’t stopped coughing, but he still manages to be an idiot.
