40. Ayna
Ayna
The arena is slick with rain, rocks dripping and dust swirling in little puddles where the water collects on the uneven ground. I’m drenched to the bones, leathers sticking to my body like a very tight, very uncomfortable skin, but at least I’m still wearing them. A week of practicing shifting has worked wonders for Clio’s mood with not having to replace my wardrobe every time I manage to return from my bird form to my human form. I’ve tried to get my water magic to return at full force yet haven’t been able to summon anything remotely as spectacular as the armor the water from the lake at Myron’s palace formed around my body .
The Crows have been taking turns working with me on my Crow powers. All but Herinor. It wasn’t him refusing to help me, though; I decided to not put him through any more risk after seeing him bleed the day he hinted that Silas knows something about the un-mating situation. I absently rub my hand along the edge of my bicep where the burn wound is almost gone.
Today is Royad’s turn. He’s sitting on the highest wall encircling the arena, legs dangling and chest bare.
“Why is it that Crow males never wear proper shirts?” I shout up at him instead of attempting another shift. I’ve done three without losing a buckle on my jacket, and I don’t want to push my luck. Clio is scary enough as it is; I don’t need her to take my head for another set of leathers I make disappear. I don’t even want to know if there’s a secret stash of clothing tucked away in the in-between that will one day drop onto my head when I least expect it, or if they dissolved into dust and wind during shifts.
Royad holds out both hands to the side in a shrug. “Habit.” Within a few heartbeats, he shrinks into a feathered bird and flutters to the lower levels of the arena where he shifts back. “I grew up without a shirt. I believe I only wore one at your wedding because Myron forced me to.”
“You wore a shirt at my wedding?” I clearly have no recollection of that day or the horrors I endured when I believed Myron was going to eat me alive on our wedding night.
Royad shrugs again. “Does it matter? When given the choice, I’ll always choose shirtless.” He circles me, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “You know your stance is shit, right? You won’t last a minute in hand to hand combat. ”
We’re not here to train that, but I know enough about hand-to-hand from my time on the Wild Ray, have fought my fair share with fists when capturing and looting ships. So, I adjust my feet anyway, bracing for the impact a moment before it comes.
Royad’s hand is at my shoulder so fast I lose balance before I can even hope to fortify my standing—good for a human opponent, but for a fae?
I land on my ass the way I seem to be doing every other day now, be it from exhaustion when climbing stairs or from harsh training in the arena with any of the Crows or fairies.
Royad chuckles, offering a hand to help me up at the same time.
I hop back to my feet without his help.
Again, his hand lands on my shoulder, same spot. And I land in the mud.
“What, by Eroth, was that for?” I spit out the rain and wipe a splatter of dirt off my cheek.
Royad grabs my hand and pulls me up without warning, setting me to my feet and kicking them slightly apart so I end up in a proper fighting stance. “You keep forgetting that your magic will not be worth a thing if you end up on the ground and can’t find your footing. The Flames will burn you. The Crows will rip you apart with their claws. And the humans will inject you with their drug and drag you right back to Erina’s chambers.”
There’s wisdom in his eyes, despite the mocking of his tone.
Turning on the spot, he puts three long strides between us. When he faces me again, his features are grim .
“I thought I was here to improve my shifting.” That’s what he said when he picked me up for training a long, wet hour ago.
Royad nods, water dripping over his ears from the bun tied at the back of his head. “That’s where this training started, but we’re far from done. Myron has been cautious with you because he doesn’t want to break that fragile thing you’re regrowing between the two of you. His main priority is to give you time to heal from what Erina did to you. He’s so focused on not pushing you that he keeps forgetting it won’t matter if the bond still exists when Erina gets his hands on you. He’ll do it all over again just to spite you. To break you, Ayna.” His brows knit together, his tan skin pale in the morning light. The ocean blue of his eyes is an exact copy of Myron’s, but where Myron has been careful and deliberate with me, Royad is losing patience. Not with me but with his cousin. “He’s destroying himself over you, Ayna. Day and night, he’s waiting, listening, searching for a sign that you’re ready. That he can shove you into the next stage of training, tell you the truths of what life will be like if we lose this war.” He swallows, hands balling into fists as he approaches—one step, then another, exasperation and determination warring on his features. “I can’t watch him break. I’ve seen it happen in the Seeing Forest. I’ve seen him give up hope. I’m not ready to see him break for good this time, so you better learn to defend yourself on every level that counts, or I’ll hold you personally accountable for it when he shatters over the loss of you. ”
My body turns cold, center of gravity lowering as I bend my knees. Royad has been quiet the past weeks, a shadow aiding Myron, consulting Tori and Recienne, cheering up Kaira and helping me improve my already mastered skills. I’ve never seen him like this, but he’s right.
I’ve been wasting so much time hesitating that I can’t tell anymore how strong the bond between Myron and me has regrown. I haven’t dared tug on it to see if he’ll feel it—for fear he would and fear he wouldn’t.
Royad pins me with a stare as if to drive home his point—or biding his time before his next attack. Instead of waiting for him to throw a punch, I launch into action, landing a blow on his shoulder that makes him do a double take.
“Your king’s heart is as precious to me as it is to you, Royad. I love him. I want to protect him. I’m ready. To. Die. For him.”
He stares at me, rubbing his shoulder, breath coming hard and fast, and I stare right back, rain mingling with tears as such violent anger grabs me that it’s hard to keep a straight thought.
Erina took my mate mark. He hurt me, but even worse than that, he hurt Myron. He tortured my mate, locked him up in a cage and let him bleed. He took his powers, took his strength, his senses. He took everything from him. And at our last encounter, he tried to take me as well.
“Try me, Roy,” I dare him. “I might be a queen, but I was an outlaw first. I learned to fight on the railing of a ship, held my own against pirates and soldiers alike. I’m not the fragile little bird you think I am. ”
“I never said you were fragile.” The grin he gives me is wicked and victorious, and I know he rallied me on purpose to test my limits.
The next punch I throw is straight to his jaw. Royad ducks, blocking me and delivering a blow to my side that takes my breath. I don’t pause to catch it, though. Already coming up, I spin and kick out with my leg. My heel connects with Royad’s sternum, putting him on his back.
Mud splatters in a circle, and we both gasp for air as I hold out my hand, helping him back to his feet, studying his movements. He’s tall and broad. Not as tall as Myron but equally fast, I’m sure. My Crow senses help me analyze every tell of his muscles, the way he slightly sways to his left leg before attacking.
With a hook of my knee, I catch him in the stomach as I twist from under his punching fist. Royad grabs me by the leathers as he falls, pulling me down with him, and his knee lands on my back. How he got on top of me is beyond me, but I’m back in the clearing by the Flame estate, guards shoving me down, forcing me to lie still as their torch took Myron’s mark away.
“No—” I pant, chest tight, air eluding me. “Please. Not the mark. Not the—” I’m thrashing. Kicking and screaming like a wild cat when the weight mercifully slides off my back, hands gently rolling me over so I face my attacker.
“It’s just me.” Royad’s blue eyes stare down at me, full of terror as he realizes it takes me a few moments to recognize him. “It’s all right, Ayna. You’re safe.”
Royad doesn’t attack again that morning .
We return to the palace, dripping wet and ready for the fried bacon and fresh toast the scent drafting from the kitchens is promising, but when we enter the dining room, the table has already been cleared, and the others are standing around a map rolled out instead of our breakfast, various expressions of worry marring their features.
“What happened?” Royad is by Myron’s side first, bending over the spot his cousin is fixating with a troubled gaze, and I notice the crimson-topped pins sticking out of the paper in inch-wide intervals.
“The rebels sent word,” Recienne responds. “We know what path the weapon will travel. We only need to get there in time to stop the delivery.”