But she thinks this war is one-sided—as though Tundraynis are the only ones who’ve suffered. As thoughshe’sthe only one who has known loss.
A pained, garbled moan.
Open, unseeing eyes.
Cold skin, unnatural and rigid.
The fire crackles, pulling me from my thoughts. I watch her from the corner of my eye as she scrubs clean snow overher hands and face, then down the slender column of her neck, firelight dancing across the necklace resting between her collarbones. The logs pop, and I tear my gaze away.
The pampered princess is likely accustomed to handmaids fussing over her and luxurious scented baths.
She hasn’t complained, though. Not yet, at least.
Her shadow falls over mine across the stark snow as she sits, leaving two feet of space between us. Like I might bite her, if I felt so inclined.
A soft moan escapes her as the fire warms her pink fingertips. I grit my teeth at the sound. I should’ve taken Lying Lyra up on her offer before leaving Arbinj.
“I’ll take first watch,” Mayah says, voice firm. Her gaze darts toward me, then back to the fire. “You stayed up the last two nights.”
I study her face, the dark shadows smudged beneath her blue eyes. Her body needs the sleep more than me, though I suspect if I tell her as much, she’ll bite my head off. Her jaw is set, shoulders tense as if she’s bracing for a fight. So I just nod and head toward the blanket.
Later, when she carefully peels back my cloak and lies down beside me, I pretend to sleep.
“How much farther until we’re out of Tundrayn?” she asks a few days later, her breath misting in the frigid air.
“At least another two weeks.” I can’t help but smirk at her. She’s a delicate flower as much as she pretends to be madeof steel. “Tired already? I didn’t realize Tundraynis were such babies.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve met corpses with better insults than you.”
“Meet a lot of corpses, do you?”
“Yes, actually. It’s quite cruel. They come back in droves from the border. Usually burnt to a crisp by lightning.”
I clench my jaw so tightly, my teeth ache. She loves to remind me that I’m a monster—of the lives I’ve taken, the blood on my hands.
What of the livesTundraynhas taken?
Cold, stiff skin beneath my palms. A pained, garbled moan. Unseeing eyes, frosted over with ice. He can’t blink, can’t speak.
Rage crackles through my veins, and I walk faster so we aren’t side by side anymore.
That night, when I hunt for dinner, I take twice as long—not because game is scarce, but to avoid being in Mayah’s presence. She hasn’t uttered a single word to me after our conversation—I doubt she even notices my simmering anger.
When I head back to camp with a large snowshoe hare in hand, she’s already started a fire. I skin the animal in silence before skewering it on a long branch and setting it over the fire.
Mayah doesn’t say a word, not when the hare is cooked, not when I set her portion before her, not while we eat. Anger sparks inside me like a storm desperate to be unleashed. I grit my teeth together in an attempt to temper my rage.
Shedidn’t start this war.
Shedidn’t murder Lev.
No, she’s just here. A pawn, much like I am.
But the longer she sits there, silent in her self-righteousness, firm in the unshakeable belief that she’s on the right side of this decades-long war, my fury rages hotter.
“You think my lightning is cruel?” I’m unable to remain silent a moment longer. “You should see what waterwielders can do.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, blue eyes wide.
