The quiet rustling of branches, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot.
Zev tenses, one arm reaching back to wrap around my waist, his body a shield covering mine.
He raises a hand, and the sky darkens, a storm ready to do his bidding.
Then in a sudden, fierce wave, they emerge through the trees—over a dozen hooded men, dressed in dark leather and swishing cloaks.
Rebels.
“Leave now,” Zev declares. “And I’ll spare you.” Thunder rumbles ominously, as if agreeing with him.
I study the men closely—their hands grip their pommels, but none seem overly inclined to unsheathe them.
“Wait.” I shove past Zev, elbowing his side when he tries to haul me back.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, eyes lethal. “Stay behind me.”
But I’m done cowering. I’m done hiding.
Especially behind him.
“For someone who claims he doesn’t want me, you sure act like I’m yours.” I direct my attention to the rebels before he can respond. “What do you want? Why are you after us?” I call out to the hooded men.
“Mayah.” I think Zev’s teeth might crack. “You’ve made your point. I’m not actually letting you go with them.Get.Behind.Me.”
His hand closes around my upper arm like an iron cuff and yanks me back. I crash into his side, the air whooshing out of me as if I’ve slammed against a stone wall. My knees buckle from the impact, and I would’ve tumbled to the ground if not for Zev’s painful grip on my arm.
“That’s no way to treat your wife, Vayru.”
Zev goes stock still, his fingers digging into my skin.
Slowly, he turns his head.
The wall of leather-clad rebels parts, and a slim, hooded figure emerges from between them.
A woman.
He blinks once. Then again. His grip loosens on my arm, but he doesn’t completely let go.
She shakes off her hood, revealing dark, thickly braided hair, streaked with flashes of white. Her face is lined with age, full lips curled into a warm smile.
But it’s her eyes that steal my breath.
Bright. Warm.Maternal.
Chapter Seventy
“Impossible.He—hehadyoukilled.” Zev’s spine is rigid.
The woman’s dark eyes alight with remorse. Or perhaps guilt.
“I’m so sorry, Vayru. I left.” She takes a step toward us, and Zev’s fingers tighten around my arm again. His eyes are anguished, a deep crease etched between his brows—but it’s the harrowing look of utter betrayal on his face that guts me.
“Varad didn’t kill me,” she continues, stepping closer. “But he wasn’t kind to me, either. YouknowI suffered.Everynonwielder suffered. I couldn’t bear it anymore. So when I had the chance, I left.”
For a moment, Zev just stares at her, as if his mind doesn’t believe what his eyes are telling him.
Then—“You left me withthem,” he bites out. “Alone.” His voice breaks on the last word, like it’s been lodged in his throat for years. The bitterness in his tone scrapes against the jagged fissures in my heart. “He told me you went home. To Volca.” A shaky inhale. “He was lying.”
