22. Ayna
Ayna
The mood is everything but cheerful when Clio takes us to the border of the Seeing Forest in batches of two, and I would have asked why the former mysterious greenery stinks like a cold bonfire had I not been prepared to expect the aftermath of flames. Where once ferns and thickets dominated the path, soot-stained skeletons of trees are the only ones witnessing our arrival. Flakes of ash hover in the air like on a phantom wind, taunting whoever dares search for greenery and butterflies. From our little gathering by the stream separating fairy territory from former Crow lands, I can make out the outline of the palace ruins behind wafts of lingering smoke .
“This is a grave.” Nobody is more surprised than me when Herinor combs through the few surviving bushes with his sword, a somber expression on his face.
“Anyone specific you’re looking for?” Clio quips, flashing ice crystals at her fingertips, prepared to douse heat with her freezing power.
Herinor shrugs, but the way his mouth pulls into a tight line tells me he is, in fact, wary of this place.
“It’s not like there are any female Crows left to await you for a rendezvous,” Silas notes, painting a grin onto Herinor’s face, but the male cringes as he notices Kaira’s stare.
“Even if there were female Crows, I wouldn’t be interested.” He’s quick to respond. So quick that I almost miss the pinkish tint on his neck.
“He’s not lying,” Myron narrates, slightly amused but mostly alarmed by the otherworldly silence falling over a forest that once brimmed with life.
“Because he can ’ t lie.” Kaira’s right, and we all know it. “The question is: why?”
“Why we can’t lie?” Herinor grumbles. “Because Shaelak willed it so.”
“Must be a cruel god.” I’m about to agree with Kaira when Myron jumps in. “I’m not certain what’s more cruel, lying to people who deserve better, or the brutal honesty we’re forced to speak.”
I shoot him a damning look. “It’s not like you haven’t been twisting words.” It’s true. The curse was one thing, but they all have been meddling with phrasings to make things sound different from what they actually mean. “The only actual lie I’ve ever heard you tell is that your people remained within your borders. And that was before the curse was broken.” I vividly remember the day when Myron spoke for his people to the copper-haired Fairy Princess we now call our friend. “The Crows had long undone the wards and were coming and going as they pleased.”
Clio arches a brow, taking a few steps into the ashes that once were a carpet of moss and ferns.
It’s rare that I catch Myron wordless, but this is one of those moments. He rakes his hand through his hair, searching for a response that won’t damn him, a truth he can speak without giving away everything, whatever he’s hiding.
“He’s a diplomatic bastard, that’s what he is.” Silas plays with his hatchet, balancing it in his hand like he’s assessing the weight.
“Now that ’ s a lie,” Herinor counters. “He’s not a bastard. Just stinking feathered nobility.”
“Same thing.” Silas cuts the male a glance that speaks of all the things he’ll do to him if he won’t shut up, but it’s too late. I’ve realized that lies are in the eyes of the beholder.
“Which borders were you talking about?” It’s a simple question. One I expect a simple, un-twisted answer to.
Myron, Shaelak bless him, isn’t set on playing the two males’ game. He merely gives me a small smirk that says it all. “The borders of the Crow Kingdom.” When I don’t immediately understand, he adds, “But the Crow Kingdom technically no longer exists.”
“You had a kingdom in the Seeing Forest,” Clio objects. “ Those borders?—”
“Weren’t the borders of my kingdom. Without a true place to set roots with my people, I defined my realm to be wherever my Crows are.” Myron’s teeth gleam white in the afternoon sun as he flashes a grin at the Fairy Princess. “The sky’s the limit.”
“Not even that,” Royad chimes in. “The sky’s our domain.”
It’s almost comical how Clio’s mouth opens and closes without words coming out until eventually—“Someone should teach you some sense of honor, Crow King.”
But there’s humor in her voice, and I could swear she’s impressed by his inventiveness, almost as if his callous bending of the truth earned her respect. “Tell me the forest isn’t burned.”
Before Myron can attempt this lie, Royad leaps to his aid. “The forest isn’t burned.”
Clio rolls her eyes. “Tell me this forest isn’t burned.”
For a moment, I believe Myron can actually say it. Then he closes his mouth, grunting with frustration.
“At least, you’re not bleeding,” Royad tells him, and I don’t imagine the relief in his tone. Their blood-stained lips when they spoke about the curse is a terror still haunting me in my sleep.
“And I can’t say it.” Myron draws his sword, gaze flicking over the site of destruction. All the while, he hasn’t withdrawn his senses from his former home. I can tell by the way his nostrils flare, his chest heaves when he scents the heavy stench of burned wood and flesh drafting through the ruins of the forest.
“This forest isn’t burned,” Silas says with the most bored expression I’ve seen since the beginning of the conversation. “There, I said it. ”
My jaw is dropping, but Herinor comes to my aid, explaining before I question everything I’ve learned about Crow Fae so far. “You mean this particular part of this forest isn’t burned,” he specifies, pointing at the patch of green Silas is standing on. “If you have to be a fucking bastard about this, at least be an honest fucking bastard.”
Kaira’s chuckle bubbles through the mist like rain falling onto a water-deprived meadow, the sound so startling it makes Herinor cringe all over again. This time, I don’t miss the blush creeping all the way to his nose.
“You’re all fucking bastards,” Clio clarifies, turning on her heels and marching ahead into the no-longer-depths of a mostly vanished forest.
We follow without question, even when I really want to know if she’ll escort us the whole way to the Flame residence. Recienne might have sent us in alone to prove our good intentions for this alliance, but Clio seems to be dead-set on keeping us company anyway.
Whirls of ashes dance around scorched tree trunks in magical bleakness, guiding my attention to the myriads of pathways that could once have led to my freedom. Our footsteps are the only sound, though. Not one bird flutters in the sky; not one rodent scurries between the occasional pillar of steam rising from the ground.
The path is wide enough for three of us to walk next to each other, but Myron grabs my hand, pulling me to a halt at the back of the group while the others march on at a slow and steady pace. They could shift and fly. Clio could site-hop. Apparently, screening the wasteland for any sign of life is more important than speed, so they stick to walking lest they miss a footprint, a broken twig, a fiber of fabric, a feather, or anything that would hint at where to find our target. We’re on a mission after all.
Brushing a thumb across the back of my palm, Myron turns toward me, ocean-blue eyes capturing mine with ease. I don’t want to stare at him like a complete fool, but when it comes to this male, apparently I have no sense of shame. Because I’m shamelessly ogling his beautiful features, the way his leathers stretch over the expanse of his shoulders?—
“I’ve never lied to you,” he interrupts my train of thought before I can catch fire the way the forest did not too long ago.
“Because you can’t lie,” I repeat Kaira’s earlier point.
With a swift tug on my hand, I’m chest to chest with the Crow King, the pommel of his sword pressing against my spine where his sword hand is resting on the small of my back. Midnight lashes frame the endless waters of his gaze, and I’m tempted to lose myself in there. “Because I’d never lie to you, even if I could. You’re my mate, my queen, the beginning and end of my world. If I have no kingdom in this realm, you’ll be my kingdom instead.” My breath catches as he lowers his face a few inches, his scent of earth and moss and the salt of the coastal brine climbing into my nose, making my entire being listen. “If there’s nothing left for me in this world but you, I’ll have all I need. I’ll thank the gods and be a happy male.”
I no longer know where the others are. I thought I heard them a few paces ahead, but the world has gone silent behind Myron’s shield; the wind has ebbed, the taste of the destruction the wildfire left around us swept away by Myron’s breath on my tongue as he leans in so close I can feel the warmth of his lips in the slightest of touches.
“You’re mine , Ayna.”
His words race through me like a string of fire itself, only to be soothed by the brush of his tongue against mine as I inhale his kiss.
“And I’m yours. ” He kisses me deep and slow, my skin tingling from where his mouth molds over mine to where he’s securing my hand against his heart. “Together , Ayna … Together, we’re eternal.”
I’m about to wrap myself around his body when Royad’s shout of warning shoves me right out of the dreamy state Myron seems to be so perfect at sending me into with nothing more than a glance, a touch, a single kiss.
Cursing the gods, the Guardians, and all other beings who might have an impact on this realm with their godly acts, I detach from Myron, who has already raised his sword, a shield of silver power shimmering around us like a wall of solid, gleaming air.
“If I asked you to hide, would you at least consider it?” His frown is proof of how well he’s been holding back his protective side, allowing me to decide whether I want to face whatever gruesomeness is awaiting us where the others disappeared behind a cluster of dead trees.
“Consider, yes. Actually hide—” Shaking my head so wildly my hair threatens to pull free from my braid, I inform Myron there is no way in this world I’ll stand by and watch him risk his life while I remain tucked away somewhere supposedly safe .
I get it, though. The impulse to protect him is a relentless hum in my chest, ready to push me over the limits just to see him spared from harm. It’s enough to jerk me into motion.
Myron follows me toward the others, his footsteps so much quieter than mine as we sneak up on the copse of dead trees they disappeared behind. In my veins, a thrum of power rises, welling like a wild ocean as fear grips me tighter with every pace. Shadows are moving by the trees, but I can’t make out what they are. I count the absence of winged fairies as a plus. At least, it isn’t Ephegos’s traitor crows.
At least that’s what I hope. No matter how well we fight, we’re a small group, and Ephegos has the traitors and Erina’s soldiers at his disposal. Not to speak of the magic-sedating weapon. If he found us, we’re fucked.
The sizzle of Myron’s shield grazes my hand as I reach forward with my blade to shove aside a branch. The charred thing crumbles at my touch, dropping to the ground in a pile of black ashes.
It’s then that I spot them a few paces behind the trees, slender silver blades sheathed at their hips and hands raised in front of their chests, palms outward as if in defense. It’s not the desire for peace that drives them to perform that gesture, though. Sparks of orange flame rain down from their fingers, searching their way across the scorched ground right to the side where Kaira and the Crows are standing.
Flattening myself against the trunk of a dead tree, I pull Myron with me, out of sight from the Flames. If we’re lucky, they haven’t noticed us, and we can sneak up on them from the other side .
Our luck won’t go as far.
Just when Myron’s weight leans into me behind the tree, back against my chest so we both fit into the slender hideout, someone screams, and all hell breaks loose.