“My power,” she stammers. “It’s not working. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
I stiffen.
Fuck. FuckingSkies. Lightning burn them all.
Iron. Skiesdamned iron.
I clench my hands to hide their tremble, before rising and walking to my pack. Retrieving a small tin of herbal resin, I stalk back. Anger courses through me, hot and heavy, choking the air from my lungs.
“Zevayr. Breathe,” she grits out, and I realize the sky has darkened with stormclouds.
“Iron,” I manage. “The arrow was coated with iron. It’s in your bloodstream, suppressing your powers. It’s why you can’t heal.Brace again.” I press the leather sheath back between her teeth before tipping the canteen over her wound.
Fresh tears leak from her eyes as I pack resin into her wound, and the sight guts me more than it should. But I’m past caring about what I should or shouldn’t feel.
I’m in love with her.
It’s as certain as the Skies and as turbulent as the Thunder.
I love her.
Fresh fury batters my chest at the man who put an arrow through her flesh. At every single rebel. At their fucking leader, hiding in the shadows while shaking kingdoms. I’ll kill them all, one by one. Painfully. Slowly. And still it would not atone for the pain they caused her.
I tug Mayah’s tunic back into place before carrying her to the blanket. Settling beside her, I brush back a lock of damp hair from her forehead.
“Sleep,” I whisper. “The iron will be out of your system by morning.”
But even still, I can’t bear to let her go.
Morning arrives as it always does, bright and hopeful. As if all were good and right, as if the woman who ensnared my heart isn’t gravely injured. All throughout the night, she groaned with pain.
I barely slept, terrified she’d stop breathing. Irrational, foolish thoughts, but this is who I am now, I suppose. Hopelessly in love with my brother’s betrothed.
I’ve worn a path in the ground, pacing, waiting for her to wake, eyes fixed on her deathly pale face.
When her eyes finally flutter open, I’m at her side in an instant, helping her sit up, asking how she feels, pressing a strip of dried meat between her lips even as she grimaces.
“Try now.” Hope and panic and fear curdle my blood.
Blue eyes clench shut for a heartbeat. Two beats, then three.
The fear in her eyes when she opens them drives a spike through my heart.
The iron isn’t out of her system.
I try to school my features, to conceal the panic that’s flooding my lungs. From her pack, I retrieve a tunic and chemise—her only spares. She eyes me warily, chest heaving, but doesn’t say a word to stop me. Doesn’t insist she can do it herself.
Wordlessly, I gently lift her bloodied tunic and chemise over her head, averting my gaze from the gray bindings banded around her chest. Goosebumps erupt across her arms and back and belly, my fingers grazing her soft skin as I help her into the clean clothing.
“Thank you,” she whispers, voice hoarse. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just nod.
Mayah attempts to stand, but her legs won’t hold her weight. She sways violently, arms thrown out for balance, before I steady her.
“I’ll carry you,” I mutter, my voice rough.
“I can walk,” she insists, even as her fingers grip fistfuls of my shirt for dear life.
I don’t bother answering—just lift her into my arms.
