“I didn’t come foryou,” I lie through my teeth. Though my next words ring with bitter truth. “I want to see Tairna’s work. What she chose over me.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. Her hand wavers on the bench between us. “But your mother is stillalive, Zev. You can decide how your story ends. I’d give anything to be standing where you are.”
My head swivels at the pain in her voice, realizing for the first time how seeing my mother might have made her feel. Soft, comforting words rise on my tongue, quickly swallowed down when the carriage door opens.
“We’re ready for you,” Sura declares, tugging Mayah from the carriage.
The Rebellion camp is as large as we’d come to suspect—and not far from where Jeyzar had surmised. Tairna beams with pride when she tells us wielders comprise nearly a third of their population. They lead us along dirt paths, and I make noteof where sentries are positioned atop buildings and how many guards man each entrance. I don’t miss the gleam of hatred in their eyes when they realize who I am.
They’re well-defended. It makes sense why so many of our search expeditions never returned.
A handful of earthwielders grow food in a square patch of dirt, harvest it, and then repeat the process. Mayah watches with an awestruck expression, and I’m tempted to snatch one of the carrots for her.
I don’t.
The tour continues—armory, infirmary, cafeteria, even a large canvas tent dedicated to the camp’s children where Sura works.
We pass a group of a waterwielders, one of them juggling glimmering water spheres to entertain a gaggle of children. The water drops to the ground with a splash when he catches sight of me. His face morphs into a snarl, the other wielders dropping into defensive positions.
Mayah stiffens, stepping closer to me. When the waterwielders see her, they freeze, confusion etched across their faces, then quickly drop into stilted bows. Sura salutes them with two fingers, a smirk playing on her lips.
Tairna hastens her pace.
“Are there any other stormwielders here?” I ask quietly. Tairna shakes her head, lips pursed as she scans each face we pass. I do the same.
Hostile eyes everywhere. And I’m fucking chained in iron. It brings me some comfort that the venomous looks are only aimed at me; the rebels eye Mayah with curiosity, some even with reverence.
“We’re almost to the forge,” Sura whispers loudly to Mayah, their arms intertwined.
When the stench of sweat and metal permeates the air, I know we’re close. Nearly every surface is littered with tools. Two menhammer glowing swords, whilst a third stands towards the back, coating arrowheads with melted iron.
A sharp exhale saws through my lungs.
Did this bastard coat the arrow that pierced through Mayah’s side?
He’s distinctly Tundrayni with blue eyes and dark braids, the sides of his head shaved down. A leather apron is tied loosely over his bare chest—not the sharpest sword in the armory, this one.
“Tumaas,” Sura calls in her annoying fucking voice.
“I don’t have any more coin for you, Sura,” the man responds without looking up. “Leave me be.”
I might warm up to him, actually.
“Tu-maaaaas,” she sings again, and I grit my teeth.
“Tides drown you, Sura,” the man mutters, shaking out a dripping arrowhead before finally glancing our way.
He stills.
The arrowhead falls to the ground, melted iron pooling into a shiny puddle by his feet.
“It’s Mayah-bear!” Sura squeals, but the man is already darting toward her. Mayah runs to meet him, and he lifts her into the air, twirling in a fast circle. A burst of happy laughter escapes her.
Fuck warming up. I’m going to kill him.
Mayah runs her palms across his cheeks—the gesture so fuckingintimate, it burns a hole in my chest—and he throws his head back and laughs. She laughs along with him until tears well in her blue eyes.
My nails dig into my palms until I’m certain I’m drawing both blood and Tairna’s attention.
