Georgaina eyes him warily. “They stop by from time to time. Not friendly, but not hostile either. Sometimes they bring food.”
She says nothing more, but her silence speaks clearly.
The Rebellion isn’t their enemy.
Across the table, Zevayr catches my eye. His jaw is locked, lips pressed into a thin line.
Georgaina flicks her gaze between us, sharp eyes missing nothing. “Last I heard, Prince Zevayr was delivering the Tundrayni princess to Arbinj. But they were attacked. No one’s seen them since.”
My heart skips.
Zevayr’s hand moves—slowly, deliberately—to rest on the pommel of his sword. I plead silently with my eyes, hoping he’ll understand—hoping he’ll listen.
Please.Pleasedon’t.
His jaw tightens further. I might be healing stress fractures in his molars later.
His fingers tighten around his sword.
Please. I don’t dare breathe.
Then, his voice cuts through the thick silence. “We heard something similar,” he rumbles, gray eyes locked on mine. “Except he isn’tdeliveringher, like bartered goods to be traded. He’ssafeguardingher. Like a treasure.”
My breath catches. My lips part. Just for a heartbeat, something soft flickers across his face.
Then, it’s gone.
“We’ll be on our way,” he says, smoothly rising from the table. His hand doesn’t leave his sword.
I follow. “Georg will need a few days of rest when he wakes. Try to keep him indoors, if you can.” I squeeze Georgaina’s hand.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, pulling me into another embrace. “I wish I had something to offer you in return.”
“You do,” Zevayr says gruffly. “Forget you ever saw us.”
She nods solemnly. Georgaina tries to pack us food, but I shake my head. They have so little already.
Outside, the sky weeps—a gentle drizzle that hadn’t been there moments ago. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight, yet now the rain falls soft and steady.
Zevayr draws me to his side, sweeping his cloak over us like a canopy, and together, we walk on.
Chapter Fourteen
“Howfararewefrom Arbinj?” I ask, dry leaves crunching beneath my boots. It’s been hours since we left Georgaina’s cottage—the drizzle cleared after fifteen minutes of walking. “Well, uncontested Arbinj.”
We’ve avoided the rebels so far, but we’re deep in their territory now. I’m surprised we haven’t encountered any.
“About two weeks out from the army base. The men will recognize me—we’ll be safe.”
Safe. A big promise.
Will I ever truly be safe in Arbinj? A Tundrayni within their borders, my blue eyes a reminder of lost loved ones.
The thought plagues me more often as our journey nears its end. It’s a bittersweet feeling—I’m not ready for it to be over.
I don’t dwell on why.
“You summoned that rain. Back at the cottage,” I say instead, the words bubbling over. “Why?”
