I don’t trust myself with words—I can only watch as she removes her white apron and washes her hands in the steel basin in the corner of the room.
We walk in silence to the garden where we were wed, her fingers curled around my bicep. A sudden gust of brisk, autumnal wind has Mayah nestling closer into my side.
She’s waiting for me to speak, pretty blue eyes finding my face every few minutes. The words linger on my tongue, but I don’t want to voice them and ruin this rare moment of peace.
When her fingers tighten on my arm and she looses her third deep sigh, I break my silence. “The Rebellion has waged three attacks in three days,” I tell her, my hand clasped tightly around hers. “All on Arbinji bases.”
I say nothing else, but my clever wife hears what I leave unspoken.
“Do you think Tundrayn is involved?” A crease forms between her brows, and I want to smooth it away with my fingers.
“My father and brother do,” I admit. “I’m not sure. Your father would be a fool to attack Arbinj when we have his daughter.”
Mayah stiffens beside me, footsteps halting in the grass.
Lightning strike me. Poor choice of words.
I cradle her face. “Hey. You know I’d burn down all of skiesdamned Arbinj to protect you, right?” I press a soft kiss to her brow. “But your father doesn’t know that.”
My words don’t have the intended effect—if anything, the crease between her brows deepens.
“I don’t like being so far removed from what’s going on. I want to attend council meetings with you.”
I cast her an apologetic glance. “I swear by the Skies, Mayah, one day you’ll be beside me wherever I go.”
“But?” she snaps with a scowl. Her hand wriggles in mine as she tries to unlace our fingers, but I don’t let go.
“But my father and brother already suspect Tundrayn’s hand in these attacks. And if they continue—which I’m certain they will—they’ll see you as a spy, feeding them information.”
I don’t mention that they already suspect her.
“What about your brother’s marriage to the Volcan princess?”
“Still up in the air. The emissaries left weeks ago, but their queen still seems unwilling to ally with a kingdom plagued by Rebellion attacks.”
“I can’t blame them. Volca actually treats nonwielders fairly. Maybe if Arbinj and Tundrayn did the same, the Rebellion would leave us alone, too.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, gazing at her earnest face. It strikes me again that Mayah isgood. Selfless. Guided by a strong moral compass, outraged against the injustice in this world. She’s fought against her father for years for nonwielder rights, while I’ve done nothing. Nothing besides murdering her people.
I am utterly unworthy of her.
I cut my eyes away, fingers scraping against my palms as though that might erase the blood that tarnishes them. The blood of her people. The blood of herfriends.
How can she stand to be around me? How can she look at me without hate clouding her gaze? I can’t speak past the heap of self-loathing in my throat.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Istillthinkit’sfoolish,”Faramir drawls, leaning across the table. A little closer, and he’d be within punching range.
I’ve spent three days trapped in the council chambers with him, plotting and strategizing, gritting my teeth against his snide remarks. When he’d called Mayah a snowbitch earlier, thunder shattered the silence before he finished speaking.
“Letting those filthy Tundraynis set upanothercamp within our borders?” he sneers, eyes shining with malice. “Are you sure you’re on our side? Or did Mayah convince you to support Tundrayn with her pretty litt—”
“Faramir!” my father snaps. A vein pulses in his forehead. “Do not speak of your brother’s wife.” A flicker of surprise crackles in my chest. There’s something else, an emotion so foreign, especially toward him, that I don’t recognize it at first.
Gratitude.
My lips turn down at the realization.
