Between Tides & Thunder

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

AWEEK PASSES QUICKLY, THEN another, like the rapid current of a rushing river. The leaves on the trees are edged with gold, and the warm wind has a cooler bite, hinting at the change in season to come. It’s strange—in Tundrayn, we only have one season.

A routine slowly emerges, one where I find actual contentment—I spend mornings with Farzina pla

Word spread quickly of the Healer Princess performing miracles—Sauzon grumbles that the daily patient count has almost tripled, but the brightness in his eyes tells me he’s pleased. I suspect he’s grown to like me.

I avoid Faramir and Varad like I would a contagious illness. I’m mostly successful, except for the occasional breakfast or formal di

Zev.

My heart flutters.

True to his word, Zev has made the most of his second chance. Our bed is cold when I wake in the morning, but he never misses lunch with me. Most nights, he comes to bed early, the hours melting away as we talk in the hush of darkness until sleep claims us both. We’ve yet to explore the capital, but he’s promised to take me once things settle down with the Rebellion.

“Soon,” he murmured as we lay in bed last night, facing each other with scarcely half a foot between us. “I’ll take you to my favorite tavern. They have the best mushroom stew in all of Arbinj.” I had laughed at him and his obsession with mushroom stew, trying to mask the effect he was having on me.

Even now, desire curls low in my belly at the memory of his voice—deep and rough and sinful enough to melt the iciest resolve. Each night stretches the fraying edges of my control. I start on my side of the bed, determined to resist him, but as the hours slip by, I find myself drifting toward him like a moth to flame. And when his fingers trace my jaw or his hand tightens around mine, tension ripples through him, barely restrained desire vibrating just beneath the surface.

I know he’s just waiting for me.

I hide a smile, pulled from my thoughts as a young woman walks into the infirmary. She’s a new face—Sauzon says the number of women seeking care has almost quadrupled.

A swell of pride warms my chest.

She offers a tentative smile and shuffles over.

“Y-your Majesty. Princess. Um, hi,” she stammers, tucking a lock of chocolate brown hair behind her ear before falling into a deep curtsy.

I try to ease her nerves with a warm smile. “Hello. What’s your name?” I gesture for her to sit on the neatly-made cot before me.

“Lunayra.”

“That’s beautiful. What is troubling you, Lunayra?”

She bites her lip, eyes flicking to Sauzon standing at the infirmary desk a few feet away. “It’s my monthly bleeding,” she whispers. “It’s extremely painful. Sometimes, I can’t even get out of bed.” She clutches her lower stomach, grimacing. “I’m sorry to trouble you for something so trivial … you treated my friend last week for a broken finger. She said you’d understand.”

I place a hand on her shoulder. “Lunayra, if something is causing you pain, there’s nothing trivial about it. I’m glad you came to see me.”

Debilitating monthly bleeds are not uncommon. I could place a temporary block that would prevent a cycle altogether—I performed it on myself years ago. I worry my lower lip. But if something were to happen to me—if I couldn’t heal anymore or if I left Arbinj … or if an assassination attempt were successful—Lunayra would be left unable to conceive unless she found another healer to undo the block.

Which is unlikely in Arbinj.

“I’ll soothe the pain now,” I tell her. “There’s an herbal tonic that Sauzon can give you—take it in the evenings, and it’ll alleviate the discomfort at night. Come back tomorrow if you’re still in pain. I’ll heal you again.”

Her bright smile is grateful, infectious. I set my glowing palms to her abdomen and cha

“Thank you,” she whispers, green eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you so much, Princess.”

“Of course. See Sauzon on your way out for the herbal tonic.” I give her a mock-stern look. “And I mean it. Come back tomorrow if you’re still in pain.”

After Lunayra leaves, Sauzon’s deadpan voice calls out, “Time for a snack, Princess.”

I groan. “I’ll eat some fruit later.”

Sauzon straightens, glaring at me over his spectacles. “It’ll be my hide if the prince finds out. Fruit. Now. Please.”

“I would never let him lash you.”

“Wonderful. My fate rests in the hands of a wisp of a princess. Very reassuring.”

A peal of laughter bursts from my chest. “Wisp I may be, but I’m persuasive! At the very least, I’d heal your back.”

Sauzon fixes me with a stern look, though his mouth twitches.

“What the fuck, Sauzon?” a deep, gravelly voice rumbles from the hallway. Sauzon freezes, dark eyes wide with panic behind his spectacles. Zev stalks into the infirmary, his face bearing the wrath of lightning itself. “Did you just refer to my wife as a ‘wisp’?”

The blood drains from Sauzon’s face, and he takes a shaky step back. “Sire, I meant no—”

“Leave him alone, Zev.” Hands perched on my hips, I glare at him. “I’ll have no friends at all if you keep scaring everyone. Ignore him, Sauzon.”

The medic bows deeply to Zev, spectacles almost sliding off the straight bridge of his nose, then hurries to the supply room, muttering “ignore him” under his breath and shaking his head.

Zev crosses his arms over his broad chest. “You think it’s appropriate to tell our subjects to ‘ignore’ me?”

I offer him my brightest smile in response.

With a low chuckle, he ladles a bowl of vegetable stew from the rolling cart in the corner—the palace staff know to send food to the infirmary—and settles onto the cot across from me, so close that our eyes are level.

With Sauzon gone, Zev shucks his princely exterior, a look of pure mischief gracing his face. “I’m in need of your services, healer.”

“Oh?” A stubborn smile tugs at my lips. “And what is troubling you, sir? You seem like a big, strong man.” A giggle escapes me, even as I try to keep a straight face.

“It’s my wife,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice dropping. “She’s driving me insane.” Zev brings the spoon to my mouth, hovering until I take a sip of warm, savory stew.

“I don’t know if a healer is the right person to help with that,” I whisper.

Another spoonful of soup.

“I think you’re exactly the right person.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “How exactly does your wife drive you insane?”

“She’s cast a spell on me. When I’m away from her, she’s all I can think about—what she’s doing, if she’s eaten, if she’s happy.” His voice pitches lower. “If she’s thinking about me.”

Another warm spoonful. My tongue darts out to lick the edge of the spoon, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “And when she’s with me,” he continues, his smoldering gaze still settled on my lips, “my heart doesn’t know peace until she’s in my arms. I can barely function. The palace gossips about their inept prince, smitten with his wife.”

He sets the bowl of soup aside and raises an arm in invitation. His side presses against mine as I sit beside him on the cot, the length of his arm a pleasant weight over my shoulders.

“And you want me to rid you of this spell? So you might have some peace?” My lips curve downward in a frown.

“Absolutely not. I want you to help me cast the same spell on her.” He twirls a lock of my hair around a long, graceful finger. “Tell me how to make her ache for me. The same way I do for her.”

His face inches closer until there’s only a scant sliver of space between us.

My heart flutters in my chest. I can’t think straight with his intoxicating smoky scent enveloping me. We’re in the middle of the infirmary, anyone could walk in, Sauzon could return, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“I don’t think you need any help in that regard,” I whisper, my breath fa

The sudden thudding of footsteps has me jerking away, smoothing the fabric of my simple gown. A middle-aged woman walks into the infirmary, wide eyes darting between me and her prince.

Zev growls a low string of curses behind me.

The woman mumbles an apology and turns to leave, but I call out, “Wait! Have a seat, please. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

When I turn back to Zev, he’s practically pouting. Something flickers in his eyes—a flash of hurt?—but it’s there and gone in a blink.

With a long-suffering sigh, he rises from the cot. “I’ll be late coming to bed,” he says. “A delegation from Volca arrives tonight. Don’t wait up for me.” His thumb traces the line of my jaw.

Volca? It seems talks of an alliance are progressing. I’ll have to ask Zev for the details later. For now, I clasp his large hand, holding it to my cheek. “All right.” I hesitate. There’s a question poised on my tongue that I’m not sure I want to ask.

“What is it?” His brows furrow.

I bite my lip. “Have there been any letters for me? From my father? Or anyone?”

His eyes shine with so much remorse, they give me my answer before he does.

I stiffen. “It’s a long distance from here to Tundrayn,” I mutter. I shouldn’t have to defend my father’s silence—there shouldn’t be a silence—yet the urge still clings to me all the same.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re just delayed.”

I appreciate the lie.

Sometimes, it’s the lies we choose to believe that let us keep moving forward.

The tile is cold beneath my bare feet as I emerge from a long, hot bath. I pad over to the sofa, eager to continue my latest book about medical practices in Arbinj. My legs ache from long hours standing in the infirmary, and I quickly send a wave of healing energy through my calves.

I’ve barely settled into the plush pillows when I hear it.

A loud rumble of thunder.

Too loud.

My mouth goes dry.

There’ve been several storms since I arrived in Arbinj, but they all were brief and tame—usually during the day, either when I was with Zev or buried in the infirmary, deep enough inside the palace that the thunder barely reached me.

Another startling boom, even louder than before.