The night is silent once more.
Sleeping upright comes easier and easier. It doesn’t bode well for my battered body, but I can’t help but feel grateful for this small mercy anyway. I’ve nearly dozed off when—
I senseher. Even with the thick iron suppressing my powers, I’d know her frost and winter rose scent anywhere.
My eyes snap open—well, one of them does.
She freezes on the platform steps, eyes wide like a frightened doe.
I nearly scoff. Even now, she plays her part.
“Come to have a turn?” I rasp. My voice sounds like it’s been gouged with broken glass. Foolishly, I hope the rough sound pierces her conscience.
With unsteady steps, she climbs onto the platform. For a beat, she just stares at me, anguished blue eyes roving over my battered face and ravaged body. I flinch when her hands touch me, soft and tentative, splaying over my chest.
I can sense it—her power flowing through me as she closes her eyes. Not healing, just assessing.
To what end?
Her chin quivers, and I force myself to stare at her teardrop pendant—a perfect mirror to the betrothal ring burning in my pocket. The ring that winked at me in the torchlight from where her hand clutched the captain’s shoulder while she was lost in his kiss.
The waterwielder channels her cool, healing power into me, and the pain in my chest eases with every passing second.
Tears glimmer in her eyes, her jaw set in determination.
Why? Skies damn her,why?
What is she planning now? And who are those tears for? Perhaps being near her lover’s murderer is a torment.
“Why are you helping me?” I grit out, each word a serrated cut to my lungs. “To draw out my suffering?”
She doesn’t respond.
Instead, she focuses on healing my internal injuries. The waterwielder ignores the bruises and cuts and gashes marring the surface of my skin—she must not want anyone to know she’s healed me.
“Why?” The word emerges painlessly this time.
I hate her for it.
Still no response.
Her dark cloak swishes as she retrieves half a loaf of bread from its inner pocket. Tearing off a chunk, she holds it to my lips.
Fuck.That.
I turn my face away.
“Zev,” she hisses, glancing around the camp. “I don’t have much time.Eat.”
“Don’t call me Zev,” I snap. The nerve of this lying woman.
She snarls. “Fine. Eat,dumbass.”
I don’t.
Would she heal me, just to turn around and poison me?
“What’s your plan?”
