Now, I’m pressed flush against his muscular back, leaning against him for support. Irritation bubbles inside me, and I’ve been waiting to unleash my rage on him. It’s been too loud with the thundering of hooves for a proper conversation.
He raises an arm, signaling his men to stop.
Finally.
The horses slow, then halt. He dismounts easily before helping me down, large hands bracketing my waist.
The words spill from my lips. “You shouldn’t have made Sulon bow like that. The men will resent me for it. You’re not doing me any favors.”
His lips twitch, gray eyes scanning my face, lingering on the crease between my brows. “I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”
His quick apology catches me off guard, and his earnest face cools my simmering rage. I wanted to argue with him more, but I’m forced to just nod stiffly.
“I need to sit with the men,” he murmurs, an apology in his eyes. “I’ve been gone for so long, it’s important to rebuild rapport. Do you feel comfortable sitting with us?”
I’m nervous around Arbinji soldiers. It’s strange, given how comfortable I am with the man who leads them. “I’ll come. But I won’t tolerate disrespect,” I warn.
His lips quirk into a half-smile. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”
I follow him to where the soldiers sit in a small circle. An earthwielder has grown stalks of corn, and the men roast them over the fire. What an amazing ability—to never be without food, never worry about depleted reserves. Never go hungry.
The soldiers grow quiet as we approach.
First, Zev asks each of the soldiers about themselves and their families. The soldiers keep their responses short—and clean—as their eyes flick to me.
“Any trouble with the Rebellion?” Zev asks, finishing off a stalk of corn and grabbing another.
“No, sire. They’ve been quiet since the attack on your party,” one of the men says. He laughs, adding, “Probably nursing their wounds after facing your wrath.”
The other men chuckle in agreement, the ones closest to Zev slapping him on the back. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Zev glances at me, as he has every few minutes, and I must not conceal my expression well enough because his lips curve into a soft smile, one brow arched in amusement.
My stomach flops, and I tear my gaze away, forcing myself to stare at my betrothal ring gleaming in the firelight.
“What about the palace?” Zev adds.
“Er, just a rumor, sire,” the same man continues. “But the Volcans might be sending an emissary. There’s been whispers about a battalion being sent to the coast to accompany them.”
The Volcans? Why would they send an emissary to Arbinj?
Whatever it is, it can’t be good for Tundrayn.
My pulse thunders in my ears as the capital of Arbinj rises before us—tall brick buildings, paved roads, green and brown banner flags flapping in the breeze.
We enter through the main road, wide enough for ten horsemen abreast. Citizens crowd the sides, pressed back by guards bearing the Arbinji crest.
Eyes track me from every direction—green, gray, brown—all as foreign as the cobblestones beneath our horse. Some glimmer with curiosity. Most brim with hatred.
None offer warmth.
As we ride farther into the city, I spot a middle-aged man elbowing his way to the front of the crowd. In his hand is something small and round. A fruit of some kind?
His eyes are hard.
Zev sees him, too. His grip tightens on the reins until his knuckles blanch. Above us, the sky darkens. Thunder rumbles.
“Zev,” I whisper in warning. This can’t be like Sulon all over again. I need these people to accept me. Not see me as their enemy.
“He means to throw it at you,” Zev growls. “He’ll die for it.” A bolt of lightning splits the clouds, bright and blinding.
