A sense of numbness travels through my fingers, stretching through my limbs.
I wait, foolishly hoping some will rise again. That I didn’t murder an entire camp of people in cold blood.
But none do. Tides damn me into oblivion.
“We killed them,” I breathe. “I—”
A whisper of movement behind me.
A sharp crack.
A splitting pain in my skull.
The world goes black.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Adull,throbbingachepullsme from the depths of slumber. My eyes flutter open. Nausea churns in my gut. I’m moving—and my hands are bound. Sunlight glints sharply off the iron encasing my wrists and mocks me.
Tides drown me, how many times can I wake this way?
My other senses trickle in—the hard press of a firm chest against my back, muscled thighs bracketing my own, a thickly veined arm securing my waist. We’re on a horse.
Each hoofbeat drums through my tailbone and into my skull. My wrists sting beneath the iron. There’s an ache in my shoulders from being held upright.
A deep inhale—Tides freeze my veins—smoke and pine.
I whirl in the saddle and glare at Zev. His face is a mess of yellowing and purple bruises, but both his eyes are open.
“Oh, good,” he drawls. “You’re awake.”
“You hit me,” I accuse, baring my teeth. “Hard.”
“I did.” He smirks, cruel and sharp. “Want me to kiss the pain away?”
Well, he’s certainly feeling better.
Flooding water.
Rumbling thunder.
Blinding lightning.
I swallow thickly. “W-were all the men … dead?”
Zev’s gaze is sharper than his blade. “Yes.”
A hollow, broken laugh wrenches from my chest. I killed my own people.
“It was you or them,” Zev says, his voice rough. “And since when has killing bothered you? You were plotting to murder hundreds in Arbinj.”
Right.
He still hates me.
We may have massacred an entire Tundrayni camp together, but that apparently doesn’t change anything between us.
“Where are we going?” I huff, turning in the saddle. Blistering guilt sears my heart, bitter ash coating my tongue. My arms tremble, and I try to fold them over my chest before remembering my wrists are bound.
