Still, a part of me feels relieved to see her reunited with the last piece she has of her mother.
The betrothal ring burns in my pocket.
The other woman is a healer, too. The waterwielder sat with her and healed the injured warriors for a time before the two of them disappeared into their tent.
It’s for the best since I can’t seem to focus on anything else. These past three days, I should’ve been plotting my escape. Instead, I couldn’t look past her tent, couldn’t think about anything besides when she’d wake.
For once, the warriors don’t appear to have the time to torment me. Sorka barks orders, a vein throbbing in his forehead. The men scurry around the camp, stacking crates, polishing weapons, cleaning up after the horses. It can only mean one thing.
Tormik must be coming to take his daughter home.
And figure out what to do with me.
It’s likely Tundrayn will hold me for ransom and send a list of demands. Food stores. Land. Skies knows what else.
Or Tormik might force my father to come retrieve me personally. They’d plotted to poison us all—that plan went up in flames. His next logical move would be to try to eliminate us in one fell swoop some other way.
If my fatherdoescome, they’ll be forced to unchain me.
And then I’ll make them wish they’d killed me where I stand.
The sky is dark when he arrives. His booming voice thunders through the camp. Every man stands at attention. The waterwielder emerges from her tent, eyes wide and hands trembling. She should look relieved—happy—to see her father after all these months. Instead, she looks terrified.
A strong desire to comfort her crackles through me, and I grit my teeth against it. I’m a fucking fool.
Tormik strides into view, wearing blue robes and the same air of regal arrogance my father has donned his entire life. I wait for him to seek out his daughter, but he doesn’t spare her a single glance.
I keep watching her face—I see the devastation when she realizes her father isn’t herefor her. My hands clench into fists, though at least four of my fingers are broken.
Tormik ascends the platform, but I refuse to look at him.
He bristles. Even bound in iron, I’m certain his energy signature vibrates with rage.
A king never takes kindly to being ignored.
He follows my gaze to his daughter. He sees her, Iknowhe does. Standing there, shaking and unsure. And still the wretched man doesn’t acknowledge her. Doesn’t utter a single word in greeting. After she spent months away from home. After all she might have endured.
Crack.
My head ricochets sideways as he backhands me.
Sharp pain lances through me, each breath a serrated gasp. Every inhale has been a struggle after a bulky warrior landed a bone-crunching blow to my ribs today.
“Hello, father-in-law,” I manage to rasp. Tormik sneers at me, his gnarled hand clamping around my swollen jaw.
“You will die in this camp, Arbinji filth. I swear it by the Tides.”
A broken laugh escapes me, and I relish the way his shoulders tighten.
“Lord over me later, Tormik. I’m not going anywhere. But at leastpretendto be a good father and see your daughter first.”
My words have their intended effect. He bristles before slapping me so hard, my teeth rattle in my skull. His robes swish as he strides down the steps, stalking toward Sorka’s tent. The waterwielder follows him, hands clasped in front of her like the dutiful daughter she is.
Crack!
Twin sounds splinter the silence—each coming from opposite sides of the camp—but I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. Fatigue weighs heavy on my limbs. Every breath is a monumental struggle.
Hushed whispers, and then the sound of scuffing boots as the two guards flanking me creep down the platform off to Skies know where.
