“I’ve pulled men off the battlefield with ice spears piercing their lungs—jagged,serratedshards. They choke on their own blood while we try to break ribs to dig them out. I’ve seen soldiers with bubbles of water forced over their heads. They scratch their faces bloody trying to escape before they drown.
“But the worst? Water forced in through the nose, mouth, eyes—until it fills the body. And then frozen solid. You know what that looks like, Mayah?” Lev’s contorted face flashes before my eyes, and I turn away from her. “And while your people have healers with glowing hands and soothing light, know what we have? Poultices. Crushed roots. Bark soaked in boiled snow. Whatever the earth gives us. We’re fighting thesame warwith blood and dirt, while your people can erase wounds into nothing.”
A beat.
“So don’t talk to me about cruelty.”
I can’t bring myself to look at her as I stalk to the blanket.
For once, I actually try to sleep when she has first watch. But every time I close my eyes, I see Lev’s face—eyes vacant and unseeing.
The fire hisses as she kicks snow over it, then trudges over to the blanket. She hesitates, then heads towards the other side. Away from me. Probably doesn’t want to be near me after our fight—and is willing to risk freezing to death in her sleep.
“Mayah.”
She falters, but obeys the command in my voice. I’m glad—I don’t have it in me tonight to argue with her. Mayah unlaces her boots and scoots over, resting her head on my bicep. I can’t look at her and face her hatred and disdain and disgust. Not right now.
But when she speaks, it’s not at all what I expect.
“Who did you lose?” she whispers.
I stiffen.
“My best friend.” My voice is a hoarse rasp. I’m not certain why I answer. “Levaint. We grew up together. Zev and Lev.” A humorless laugh claws from my throat. “His parents were nonwielders—simple farmers. Imagine their surprise when their five-year-old son grew a giant tree in the middle of their cottage. They brought him to the palace for training. We were inseparable after that.
“He was a powerful wielder—and all wielders must join the army. We fought our first battles side by side before I was assigned to a different squad. Stormwielders are lethal even from a distance, but earthwielders are more effective in close combat. He—”
I swallow hard. I’ve never voiced these words aloud to anyone.
But then—her small hand clasps mine, and Mayah laces our fingers together. My hand twitches, wanting to squeeze, but I don’t.
“Lev—it was after a brutal battle. Your side won. We retreated. I was settling down for the night, tending to my wounds, when a soldier rushed into my tent, said I needed to come immediately. In that moment, I knew. I just knew what was waiting for me.”
“What happened to him?”
“Waterwielder. Forced water into his body and froze it. He couldn’t see, couldn’t speak. We had fires burning around him, blankets covering him to try and melt it, but wielded ice is cruel. He was in unimaginable pain, and there was nothing I could do for him. Lev suffered for hours before he died.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“Me too.”
She’s quiet for a heartbeat, grief roiling in her gaze, before she says, “My best friends were Sura and Tumaas.” Her voice cracks over their names. “Twins. Their mother worked in the palace kitchens. We grew up together—three shadows always getting into trouble. They called me Mayah-bear. Because I’m ferocious when I’m mad.”
Her soft laugh is a pained, watery sound, but it brings a smile to my lips regardless. “One time, we snuck into the palace laundry and stole every piece of clothing. Knotted everything together and strung them across the banisters like garlands. Father was livid. Tumaas made up a song about it. We were inseparable. Sura always had this hope that Tumaas and I would get married, and we’d be arealfamily.”
The light dies from her smile, and I find myself holding her tighter.
“But they were nonwielders. And in Tundrayn, that means you’re expendable. They were sent to the border five years ago, despite my begging. Father wouldn’t make any exceptions. Not even for me.Especiallynot for me.” Her voice becomes thick with tears. “They wrote to me every few weeks—long, silly letters. Tumaas would dictate to Sura—I’d always teased himabout his atrocious handwriting. I kept each one. I used to reread them when I couldn’t sleep.”
She steels herself, and I do the same. I know her story doesn’t have a happy ending.
“There was a big battle. One of the worst. So many wounded, so many dead. We won—barely, but we won. They made it back to camp. I know because Sura wrote me a letter. Said she was safe, that they’d survived. And that maybe, in a few weeks, they’d come home. I slept with that letter beneath my pillow. Clung to it like a promise. Her letter made it, Zevayr, but she never did.”
My breath catches.
I know that battle. Skies, it’s thesamebattle.
Lightning shearing the dark sky.
