Tundrayn staged those attacks to lure me away from the palace—so Mayah could have more freedom to enact their plan with her captain’s help.
Tairna waits for an explanation, but I’m preoccupied with steadying my breathing.
She drops to her knees, cradles his head in her lap.
Blue eyes, frosted with rage.
“My father staged those attacks,” Mayah whispers. “To draw Zev away from the palace. So that I could…”
Understanding dawns on Tairna’s face. “That’s in the past,” she says firmly. “We’re all on the same side now.” She casts her stern gaze around the table, but it settles longest on me. She clears her throat, then adds, “Yes, the Volcans will have enough soldiers. I’ll send a message to my men in both palaces. They’ll be ready.”
I keep my eyes fixed on the map.
Eyes closed, her hand clutching the captain’s shoulder, betrothal ring sparkling in the torchlight, his mouth moving over hers.
I barely register Tairna concluding the meeting. When I move to rise, Tairna rests a hand on my shoulder. “Stay a moment.”
Rycken and Lyzza rise from their seats, chairs scraping against the wooden floor, and quietly file from the room. Mayah lingers for a moment, then exits as well.
A softclick. Tairna doesn’t hesitate before turning to me.
“The staged attacks,” she starts, tapping her fingers on the table. “Mayah couldn’t have been involved. You told me she wrote no letters and none came for me. That must’ve all been Tormik’s doing.”
“I’m sure it was. They grew desperate when she didn’t make contact with the captain. I kept her on too tight of a leash for assassination, it seems.”
She huffs an exasperated sigh, the same one she’s exhaled each of the three times we’ve had this conversation. I can’t fathom why she keeps insisting I forgive Mayah.
“Vayru, please. Tormik has been manipulating her since she was achild. Even the storms in Tundrayn—he was weaponizing her fear, exacerbating her hatred for Arbinj.”
Her hand covers mine on the table. “You ache for her, Vayru.”
“I do no such thing.”
Her lips twitch. “Why didn’t you let her sit next to Rycken, then?”
Because my foolish heart refuses to accept she isn’t mine.
Tairna’s dark gaze searches my face. “You’re being cruel to yourself. To yourselfandto her.”
I know. Skies, I know.
That’s why I need to leave as soon as I’m certain she’ll be safe.
“How many longswords?” Saakar asks, his gruff voice echoing in the quiet of the armory.
“Fifty-six.”
His quill scratches against the parchment as he jots it down, dark blue eyes narrowed in concentration. “And daggers?”
I scan the large drawer, then the one below it, counting quickly. “Hundred and seven.”
Saakar manages the armory with an iron fist. We’ve counted inventory four times in the three weeks since Tairna assigned me here. For the first week, Saakar was Skies-bent on torturing me. I cleaned rusted blades until they shone, oiling swords and daggers, stacking shields, then restacking them since I somehow did it incorrectly.
I spent every moment on guard, certain that any movement behind me was Saakar ready to skewer me.
He’s warmed up to me, I think. This afternoon, when I made three trips to the forge, hauling back fresh batches of swords,he’d actually used my name. It was to tell me to hurry the fuck up, but still an improvement over “you” or “boy.”
Saakar scans the parchment, lanternlight glinting off his white stubble. “Arrows next.”
