“But Princess … they look to be commons.” The pompous waterwielder doesn’t say anything else, but I understand what he leaves unspoken.
Under Tundrayni law, wielders must receive preference in every instance.
“Nonwielders they may be, but they were gravely injured. Inbattle.”
The waterwielder just stares at me. Jennah clears her throat, casting me a meaningful look.
I grit my teeth and heal the idiots’ minor injuries.
After I finish, I head back toward the nonwielders, but Jennah stops me with a firm hand on my shoulder. “That’s enough, Princess. You need to rest. And to eat.”
“I can keep going,” I protest, lips twisting as I look at the remaining nonwielders. There are still so many of them.
They need my help.
“Don’t make me bother King Tormik. Pauli will be here soon. Go.” Her stern gaze brokers no argument. She isn’t bluffing about calling Father—she’s done it before. Reluctantly, I rinse my hands in a stone basin and step into the corridor.
Jennah’s voice chases me down the hall. “Eat something, Princess! I mean it!”
Fatigue weighs down my limbs as I trudge to my quarters as if trekking through knee-deep snow. The heavy door swings open.
My exhaustion melts away when I spot Daak waiting on the large sofa in the center of my chambers.
He appraises me, gaze lingering on my face, his lips pursed with disapproval. “You’ve worn yourself out,” he mutters, crossing the room and guiding me to sit. “Again.”
“I’m fine,” I reassure, but his brow remains creased with worry. “I wish I could do more. I wish I could save everyone.”
Daak is silent as he grabs a bowl of dried seal jerky from a small table and places it in my lap, waiting until I finish two entire strips before speaking.
“Mayah, what happened to Sura and Tumaas wasn’t your fault.”
Tears prick my eyes, ones I’d held back since first gazing at the injured nonwielders. I let myself melt into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around me in a familiar embrace.
It’s been years, but my grief hasn’t lessened.
“Sometimes, their faces are blurry when I try to picture them,” I admit quietly, the words muffled in his tunic.
“Tell me what you remember.” He rubs my back, his touch soothing the ache in my chest but not quite erasing it.
“Sura’s eyes were the brightest shade of blue, like clear ocean water dappled with sunlight. Her face was perfect, heart-shapedwith a dainty nose. Long, dark hair that she wore in twin braids. She never met a rule she didn’t want to break.”
Daak chuckles, and the sound sends a warm vibration through me. “You forgot her smile. Near permanent on her face. And lopsided, as if one side of her mouth couldn’t match the excitement of the other. What about Tumaas?”
“A giant polar bear of a man,” I laugh. “The same exact eyes as Sura, but somehow warmer? Less mischievous, for sure. Perpetually exasperated with his twin.”
Daak runs his large hand over my hair, smoothing the dark wisps that escaped my braid. “You know, I envied the three of you when I first arrived?” he murmurs. “You were so in tune, like extensions of the same person. And all determined to make my life miserable.”
“Well, we were intimidated by you. The much older—”
“Hey, I’m notmucholder—”
“—extremely powerful warrior come to train me. I know Sura didn’t make those early weeks easy on you.”
“She wanted you with Tumaas. I was competition.”
I poke his side. “She wasn’t wrong, was she?”
He puffs out his chest. “Not about me being extremely powerful. I’ve been likened to Faerataak the Mighty, I’ll have you know.”
