Zev doesn’t respond.
“Were we followed?”
“No.” The word is forced through gritted teeth. “Everyone was dead, remember?”
Another excruciating pang of guilt.
“Where are we?”
When he doesn’t answer, I shift just enough to “accidentally” jab my elbow into his ribs. He sucks in a sharp breath, and I remember—some of them might still be broken. I only feel slightly bad about it.
“In Rebellion territory.” His teeth clack together violently.
“I’m hungry.”
“You’ll have to wait until we stop.”
“Tell me where we’re going.”
He doesn’t answer, like I’m not worth his breath.
“Did the Tides take your tongue, or have you taken a vow of silence?” I snap.
His grip around my waist becomes punishing, and my breath stutters. I hate the way my body responds to him, knows him,craveshim. He struck me across the head, tied me upagain, and is taking me Tides-knows-where. I should be quaking with fear, demanding he release me. Instead, the hair prickles along the back of my neck where his breath fans against my skin.
I have no idea where we stand—it was my father I was supposed to hate all along.
My heart twists painfully in my chest.
Father. It had beenhim.
And all those men I helped murder—they had been innocent.
And still, I killed them.Wekilled them.
My throat tightens, and I take a shaky, weak breath.
I don’t have the desire to annoy Zev anymore.
We ride in stiff, painful silence for nearly two hours before Zev brings the horse to a halt in a shady clearing, framed with tall, leafy trees. He dismounts, then hoists me off the mare before I can protest. I follow him wordlessly as he lowers himself to the ground and retrieves food from a satchel he likely stole from the camp.
With a sharp jerk of his chin, he gestures to the patch of grass beside him. It’s a practice in all my patience not to roll my eyes. At least his silence is an improvement over ordering me around like a dog.
I plop onto the ground and hold up my bound wrists. He stares at them, mouth twisted with displeasure. Then, with a heavy sigh, he slices the rope with his dagger.
He doesn’t remove the iron cuffs.
I eat in silence, barely tasting the food, intrusive thoughts crushing my lungs like a massive boulder. Breathing becomes a luxury.
I have no home.
No family.
No people.
My father lied. Manipulated. Murdered.
I did the same.
