“Sire, I—”
“Zev—”
“What—”
I silence them with a raised hand. “For those four weeks, Lavinya, you’ll be charged with growing food for merchant vessels to trade with Volca.”
Her green eyes flash with indignation. “I’m acombat wielder, not an agriculturist. I can barely grow—”
“So you’ll learn,” I interject sharply. “Combat wielders are not superior to other types of wielders. Are they, Lavinya?”
“No, sire.” She withers beneath my glare, and I don’t miss the way Tarkin grinds his teeth.
Lavinya takes a deep breath, her voice steady when says, “Sire, Tarka Island is a solid block of ice. It’ll be impossible to grow anything.”
“There’s earth beneath the ice. Which is why it’ll be Tarkin’s job to clear space for you to grow, then refreeze the ice when you’re finished for the day.”
She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut, clearly thinking better of whatever protest lingered on her tongue.
“You’re dismissed. Go pack and return here within the hour. Sura will set you up with supplies.”
Sura and I watch as they stride away, refusing to look at one another.
“They’re going to kill each other,” Sura says matter-of-factly.
“No. I don’t think they will.” She casts me a confused glance. I clap her on the shoulder. “Trust me on this one.”
THREE YEARS LATER
“Another heartwielder has been discovered,” a lanky adviser reports. “She’s eight. Used her power to temper her mother’s anger toward her father.” Some of the men in the room chuckle, but Mother only grinds her teeth. “She’ll start at the training school next week.”
Heart- and truthwielders are no longer executed in Arbinj. Instead, Mother suggested a special school—one where they are taught to harness their powersandundergo rigorous courses on ethics. After a certain age, they’re required to wear golden pins at all times, signifying their abilities. I should probably feel more guilty that I’ve made myself the only exception to this rule, but I don’t.
“Any questions about the heartwielder?” Jeyzar asks, glancing around the room. Mayah sits unusually quiet beside me, foot tapping a nervous rhythm on the floor. Before I can get her attention, the adviser changes the subject to our upcoming journey.
“All right, then. Onto the upcoming journey. Two battalions should be more than enough,” Jeyzar says, hands steepled beneath his chin. “Any more, and we’ll need another ship. This is already shaping up to be the largest diplomatic trip to Volca in our history.”
“Agreed,” Tairna replies. She smiles at me, then says, “Actually, we might only need one battalion. Vayru turns into a fearsome bear when anyone evenlooksat his wife.”
The room titters at her joke. I roll my eyes, a smile twitching at my lips, but my gaze remains on Mayah. She doesn’t laughat Mother’s joke. She’s been unfocused and silent for nearly the entire meeting, her energy signature pulsing in sporadic bursts.
I squeeze her thigh, and she snaps to attention, casting me a quick smile before turning away.
“Can you tell us more about the Volcan princess?” Mayah asks.
“She’s young, my queen. Only twenty, I believe.” Jeyzar taps a quill against his cheek. “Her mother’s only child. And a firewielder. She remains out of the spotlight, from what I’m told.”
Mayah asks a few more questions about the Volcan queen, their customs and laws, dutifully taking notes. It’ll be our first time visiting Volca—something I’d dreamed about for years. But I can’t bring myself to pay attention, focused instead on the faint crease that seems to have taken residence between my wife’s pretty brows.
Worry bubbles inside my chest for the remainder of the meeting. As soon as it’s adjourned, we file out into the hallway, and I snake my arm around her waist, leaning down to ask, “What’s wrong?” as we head toward our chambers. “You didn’t even smile when Mother likened me to a grumbling bear.”
She narrows her eyes at me playfully. “Are you reading my energy signature thing again?”
“Always.”
My wife rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re obsessed with me. It’s actually adorable.”
I tuck her closer against my side. She’s trying to distract me, my clever wife, but it won’t work. “What’s wrong, my love?”
