25. Ayna
Ayna
The sun is rising when I come around, my limbs screaming at me with punishing soreness. It’s not like I trained with a sword or did other physical workouts. What is causing my condition is the uncontrolled use of my magic. I remember the blast of power rushing from my veins like lightning. I also remember the wall of fire hitting me.
On instinct, I reach for my face where my skin should be raw.
My fingers find smooth skin and the absence of pain a burn mark would come with.
It takes me a moment to understand we’re in the ruins of the Crow palace and the two graceful outlines on the half-shattered wall are Myron and Clio.
“About time you woke up,” Royad’s soothing voice greets me from a few feet away where the other Crows are gnawing on dried fruit and passing a waterskin around.
Herinor nods his agreement. “If I didn’t already know you’re a menace, I’d be convinced now.”
With an eye-roll, Kaira elbows him, sitting down beside him with just enough distance that their bodies don’t touch. “My sister is not a menace.”
“But you are?”
Honestly, if Herinor is trying to collect extra points with Kaira, he’s not doing well at all.
“What made you doubt before?” Sitting up, I stretch my arms over my head, ready to take a full breath when a black, feathery form flutters into my shoulder. I barely get in a gasp of air before the bird expands into Myron’s familiar shape. His lips find my cheek, arms winding around me so tightly I cough, even as I lean into him, inhaling his scent greedily.
Turning my head, I brush my mouth against his, the warmth of his breath filling me with new strength, new life.
“Good, everyone’s awake.” Clio’s voice nearly startles said life out of me once more as she sneaks up behind us.
Royad bursts out in laughter as I jump into Myron’s lap, and the male winces as I land roughly on the sensitive pieces of his malehood.
When I glance over Myron’s shoulder, determined to glower but incapable of doing so when all I really want to do is take hold of Myron’s pants and check what damage I did, Clio is grinning sheepishly. “Once the Crow King’s got his cock back in order, we can go find the rest of those feathery creeps.”
I’m surprised neither of the males glares at her with death in their eyes. Even Myron grunts a pained but humorous sound.
“Off we go, Crow hunting,” Kaira chimes in.
“No hunting,” Herinor corrects, snatching her bow from where she’s placed it on the ground beside her. “You like Crows, never forget that.”
“Only the ones who deserve it.”
Royad and Silas are still laughing when they get to their feet, lifting their packs onto their shoulders and sheathing their weapons. A few minutes later, we’re on our way to comb the wasteland that is now the Seeing Forest for left-over Crows.
We find no one on the first day. The Flames have thoroughly burned everything to the ground, and there are no tracks we could interpret to figure out if Crows have recently passed through. By the end of the second day, we have searched the entire north-western part of the forest, finding no sign of life other than a few birds picking for scorched nuts. A day later, we arrive in the eastern regions of the forest. The Crows in our group search from up in the air, shifting back and forth to report, while Clio, Kaira, and I stay on the ground .
I could shift. Deep down in my bones, I know I could shift if I gave in to the tug whenever I watch the flock of birds take off to the skies, but there’s a part of me that fears my own power, fears the lightness of that other body and where the winds could carry me if I dared to give in. I could easily lose myself and forget I have a kingdom to save. So, I find reasons why I need to stay with the females.
On the third day, we find a black feather on the ground. Myron lands just in time to watch me pluck it from the charred soil, his elegant bird form expanding into the broadness of his fae body, shoulders widening as layers of feathers retreat, giving way to his leathers.
“Could be a regular crow’s,” Herinor comments as he plants his boots next to Myron’s in the ashes.
“Could be,” Royad agrees. He’s been quiet these past days, retreating more and more into himself as hope to find any remaining Crow Fairies in this joke of a forest dwindles.
“Or it could be one of ours,” Myron points out, brushing an invisible feather on his forearm.
“Could be.” Silas shrugs as if humoring the others, then turns to gaze into the distance where gray turns to green and tree skeletons turn to grassland. “We’ve found more bones than we can count in this godsforsaken forest. If you ask me, whoever was hiding here is either dead or has left for good.”
“No one is asking you,” Herinor snarls, but I can see the anger is superficial. The tight lines around his mouth tell a different story. One of loss.
Elbow braced against the stump of a tree, Silas grimaces. “Too bad I don’t care. I would have long disappeared had I not been busy spitting blood at my captors for the better part of the past month.”
“You wouldn’t, and you know it.” Kaira steps in front of the grumpy male, bracing her hands on her hips, the bow slung over her shoulder sliding down to her elbow. “You would follow Myron to the ends of this land and never even shed a tear about it. You know it. I know it.”
Herinor is smothering a chuckle as he carefully pulls Kaira’s bow back up to her shoulder. “Crows don’t cry.” He leans in so close Kaira shouts a startled curse—in her mind—and I stumble a step forward, ready for an attack.
“ Damn it, Kaira,” I warn through our channel. “ Do that again and I might accidentally stab someone.” The danger in my trembling hand is suggesting exactly that might happen.
Myron raises a brow at me as his gaze bounces back and forth between Kaira and Herinor and me. “Do I even want to know,” he whispers.
Shaking my head, I sheathe my dagger, casting my gaze on the feather once more. “What if they all disappeared?”
“It’s more likely they are dead,” Royad gravely muses, head hung as if in respect for brothers lost in battle.
For a long moment, we all stand in silence. Even Clio doesn’t comment, her sharp fairy tongue mute for once as she watches us absorb the fact that our search might be in vain.
Eventually, Myron clears his throat, voice hoarse as he tells us, “We’ll search for the missing fairies first.” What he doesn’t need to add is the silent hope that maybe we’ll come across a track that leads us to the Crows .
It’s the fourth day when we get close to the Tavrasian border. There’s been no sign of the Flames or the Crows. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise that whatever’s left of Myron’s people hasn’t shown up. Even death would be better than being captured by the Flames. No one has mentioned that option, probably out of fear it might be true.
Clio site-hops Kaira and me while the Crows fly the whole distance, gleaning for signs of fires or rogue features. It seems Recienne wasn’t lying about the series of attacks. There are burn marks all over the borderlands, some fresh like from a few days ago, and some older, fresh ferns and blades of grass pushing through the layer of ash. Whenever we come across one of them, Clio’s anger rises an inch higher until, by the time we make it near Jeseida’s residence, the female is ready to slaughter the first creature looking at her the wrong way.
I’ve seen her protective of her mate before, but this is the wrath of a princess whose people have been wronged.
“The Flames have lived in this region since long before the Crows ever invaded Askarea,” Kaira reminds me. “After the Crows took our home in the Seeing Forest, we had to find other niches of this realm to survive.”
I remember the Flames have scattered throughout the lands, some even as far as the Southern Continent.
“What Jeseida built here”—she points at the estate whose roofs are peeking through the treetops—“is more than a shiny home. It’s the beginning of a new generation of Flames. Those who will stop at nothing to claim what they believe is theirs. ”
“They can have the forest they burned down for all that I care,” I murmur under my breath, scooting to the side to make room for Myron as he squeezes into our vantage point between a copse of firs and some hazel bushes. Herinor and Silas are keeping watch in their bird forms high up in the branches while Clio, Kaira, Myron, and Royad are talking strategy to scout if the fairies are really here.
“Thank the Guardians you don’t have a say in who gets the Seeing Forest,” Clio snarks, and I’m surprised she doesn’t freeze me over with the look she gives me.
“She’s working with Ephegos.” Myron hides the hurt in his tone, but the betrayal of his friend still stings, I can tell. “That alone is reason to never let her get a foothold again. Once we’ve uprooted her,” he adds with gritted teeth.
The anger runs deep. As deep as Clio’s, even if for a different reason.
“I wonder where he keeps the other traitors,” Royad throws in, ducking slightly to gain a better view on the estate. “They can’t possibly all fit in there.”
“How many did he take?” Clio takes a swig from the waterskin, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. I can’t imagine this female in finery and tiaras, no matter if she’s a princess. Perhaps she’s the best version of a princess; one who doesn’t shy away from saving her people with her own hands.
I still don’t know how I feel about King Recienne not bothering to make a trip to the locations of the attacks. Perhaps his sister has some insight. “Doesn’t Recienne put on leathers and fight every once in a while? ”
“I know he did in the Crow war,” Myron notes, shifting his weight to glance at the princess.
Clio bites her lip, holding back words that obviously aren’t meant for us. It shouldn’t hurt that she’s keeping secrets; after all, she’s centuries older than me and couldn’t possibly share all her stories in one human lifetime, but the bitter taste of being left out spreads on my tongue, and it takes more effort than it should not to push for an answer she doesn’t want to give.
“He needs to look after his own priorities right now.” It’s all she says, and it’s a weak excuse.
“His people should be his priority,” Royad says with unusual bite.
“They are. That’s why I’m here.” And that’s that. Clio’s eyes are back on the estate where black birds are rising from the roof, taking off south.
Myron’s arm wraps around me so fast I barely manage a breath before he’s flattened me beneath the low branches of the closest fir. He’s covering me with his body, arms braced on each side of my shoulders, ocean gaze locked on mine as we listen to the wingbeats in the distance. My heightened senses are alert and awake, taking in the danger of being spotted by what must have been Crow Fae in their bird form.
That’s not the only thing I perceive, though. The scent of fresh moss, of evergreens and damp soil, and … Myron. His scent is so prominent in my nose that I almost lose my breath. Then there’s the feel of him. Even with two layers of leather between us, I can feel his powerful build. I should be focusing on Silas and Royad’s whisper, I know, but all I ca n see is Myron. His eyes holding the enigma of the ocean and filled with awareness as he scans my face, his lashes two frames of night silk, his strong, stubbled jaw. His mouth…
My lips are parting, ready to taste him, and were it not for Clio’s jab in Myron’s bicep—which he deems with a growl of warning—I’d forget why we’re here on the ground with his hips settled against mine and the intent of a predator on me.
“Save it for when you’re alone, stallion.” Clio is already getting to her hands and knees, crawling through the thicket back to where prying eyes from the sky cannot reach.
I don’t protest when Myron pushes up and slides off me, but I do bemoan the feel of him in an instant. I can’t lose him again.
So, I’ll happily fight to make sure neither Erina nor Ephegos nor the Flames get to separate us again.
And the first step is to earn Recienne’s full support.