The Arbinji army base looms before us in the distance, large and imposing. Soldiers mill about, and rumbling voices float through the air, along with the occasional loud burst of laughter. Tents are pitched neatly in rows, and Zev tells me there are over six hundred men stationed here alone. In the center of the sprawling camp, there’s a large metal spire, reaching toward the skies.
Zev casts me an apologetic look. “The safest way to alert them of my return is to summon a storm.”
I nod stiffly, holding my breath and resisting the urge to cover my ears. I won’t cower, not in front of the enemy.
No.
Not my enemy. They’re my future people.
I need to remember that.
But it’s hard to look at a camp full of Arbinji soldiers and think of anything but death.
Zev scans my face for a beat, his hand twitching at his side, as if he wants to reach for me. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he turns back toward the camp. The sky darkens, large storm clouds gathering overhead.
My heart forgets to beat, and I force myself to take deep, even breaths. Zev’s eyes cut to me again. They burn into the side of my face, but I keep my gaze fixed ahead.
The din of chatter quiets. Some of the men stare at the sky.
Zev raises a hand.
Thunder rumbles.
The sky splits open, and a massive bolt of lightning hits the spire.
A panicked cry escapes my cowardly lips, and I’m relieved the thunder drowns it out. Zev’s fingers twitch again, and this time, he grabs my hand, squeezing tightly.
I squeeze back.
The rhythm of my sniveling heart slowly settles.
My attention returns to the camp. It’s gone eerily quiet, the men slack-jawed. Then, they all jump into action.
“The Commander has returned!” one man shouts. The soldiers line up in formation, neat rows stretching back endlessly.
Zev takes a deep breath. “Ready?”
I’m not, but I nod anyway.
We walk into the camp, side by side. The men cheer for their returned Commander, though their voices falter when they catch sight of me. I keep my chin high, shoulders square.
“Commander!” a burly, dark-haired man greets. “We had thought you dead. The attack—”
“We survived, Sulon. Clearly,” Zev interrupts. “Tell me the developments. Quickly.”
The hulking man’s narrowed gaze flicks to me, then back to Zev. “The Tundrayni forces found the attacked carriages. It was difficult to identify the bodies—it’s tense, sire. Tormik blames Arbinj, says we planned the attack to kill his daughter.” Another quick glance at me. I flinch at the casual use of Father’s name, the foregone honorific. “The only thing that prevented a retaliatory attack is the fact that you’ve been missing as well.”
“You didn’t send search parties for us?”
Sulon shakes his head. “Tormik wouldn’t allow more Arbinji soldiers on Tundrayni land. He said he sent his own search parties.”
Zevayr sighs, raking a hand through his dark hair. “We leave for the capital immediately. Ready a squad to accompany us.”
Within thirty minutes, I’m staring at two large stallions, flanked by ten armored riders. Zev straps on fresh armor, securing his weapons. When he’s done, he approaches me. “The capital is about a day’s ride away. I’m sure you want to rest, but we shouldn’t delay any longer. Not when the ceasefire is so precarious.”
I hadn’t wanted to stay anyway. The thought of spending the night in a camp filled with Arbinji soldiers fills me with dread.
