54. Ayna
Ayna
I ’ m in a boat. The little thing is swaying gently on the waves of the sea, and a warm wind blows over me like a soft caress. It ’ s the safest I ’ ve felt in years. From a distance, Ludelle ’ s laugh travels across the deck. He ’ s joking with his men, planning the next loot. Someone said there ’ d be royal ships passing through soon, right in the south of Tavras where the coast turns inward and the Quiet Sea becomes the Gulf of Tears. It ’ s been forever since we last visited the mainland. Usually, we stop at the uncharted islands far off the coast where Ludelle likes to leave his treasures to pick up later when we need them. Or to pick up never because we always acquire new treasures. Someone someday will be very rich when they stumble upon his stash .
Down at the bottom of all gold and jewel-filled chests lies a small, steel box with an item Ludelle promised me. I don ’ t know what it is. A necklace perhaps. A bracelet. But the way he looks at me from the head of the boat tells me it might be smaller, round, and solid. It might fit on my left middle finger. If pirates married, I ’ d marry him.
His teeth gleam in the bright sun like a string of pearls, eyes sparkling with mischief as he catches me staring, and my stomach flips with joy, warmth trickling through my veins like honey.
With a slow hand, he smooths back his hair. It ’ s longer than I remember, and his shirt is red.
Ludelle prefers white or black.
It takes me a moment to spot the thin line across his throat dripping crimson.
In a flash, everything comes back to me: the Wild Ray, the soldiers taking us to Fort Perenis, my mangled hand. Being held down on the ground with a knee pressed into my spine as they slit the crew ’ s throats. The light leaving Ludelle ’ s eyes.
A scream hatches from my lips as I tear my eyes open…
I’m not on a boat. The brine I thought I smelled is not from the ocean. It’s the scent of forests and salt and freedom that I recognize in an instant. As I recognize the hands scooping me up, fingertips brushing along my side so carefully I’m not sure he’s even touching me. I’m so tiny in his hands, all except my wings fit between his palms. My wings…
I want to spread them, but they barely twitch.
“Hello, my little Crow.” Myron leans down, his words a gentle wind that tastes of mint and memories. I can make out the details of his flawless mouth and the dark stubble on his chin. His eyes, clear blue and alert, track every movement despite the obvious signs of exhaustion surrounding them in smudges of dark purple.
Hello, I want to say, but a harsh caw leaves my mouth, and I register I’m not in my human form.
The tip of Myron’s finger brushes the place where my neck meets my wing. “You had quite the injury there.” Shuddering into his touch, I lift my wing an inch to see if it’s working. It twitches but doesn’t fully spread. “Herinor says he saw you plunge from the sky.”
Dark memories swirl before me. The battle. Flame after Flame after Flame coming for us. Myron fighting at my side. Blood and pain.
My heart pounds in my chest, hammering against my ribs, ready to escape. All the Crows were still alive and fighting when I last saw them. And the Fairy King?—
Jeseida—blood on my feathers and the satisfying scream as I ripped her throat out with my claws of death.
On instinct, I try to stand, but Myron’s hand isn’t stable ground to push myself upright against, and my wings don’t properly do their job when I use them to balance myself, which lands me right back on my belly, head resting between Myron’s thumb and index finger, and a miserable caw on my beak.
“You’ll be all right,” Myron murmurs. “The healers said it will take time for you to fully regain control over your body. You fell out of the skies.” With ocean eyes, he scans me, beak to tail feather. “Half of your bones were shattered, and your mind shut down for two solid weeks. ”
Two weeks. A sound of outrage escapes me, but it has nothing to do with the exasperation of having missed two weeks . It’s not knowing everything that happened since. It’s the uncertainty of who survived the battle after I blacked out and who died.
Are they all alive and well? I want to ask, but my damned bird body isn’t made for human conversation, and every last word turns into a creaky caw.
“I know,” Myron muses, reading meaning into the sound. “It’s a long time. Your bones are back to normal, though—as far as fairy healers can tell with crow bones,” he amends, leaning back in the tall armchair and placing me right over his heart, one hand protectively covering my form. “We’ll know for certain everything is all right once you shift.” His brows raise as if considering I should try right now; then he shakes his head. “They said it would be too risky to shift before making sure you’re in full control of your senses. Can you nod if you understand me?”
I can hear you. I understand you. I can count the buttons on your fucking tunic if you ’ d like me to.
I nearly screech at him. Then I remember none of it is his fault, and deep sorrow spreads in my chest.
In my bird form, I won’t be able to speak a word. The only possibility is to shift so I can ask him about the scratch running along the side of his chin and the shadows under his eyes. I risked everything to make sure he’s all right—that all of them are. And I need to hold him in my arms and tell him that nothing has changed. I’ll always be his mate, and I’ll always love him .
A dip of my head is all I manage, but it’s enough to paint a smile on Myron’s features. Such beautiful, sad features.
With a huff, I nudge his hand, indicating for him to move his fingers so I can scoot out of his grip and try to stand on my own again.
That, he understands. Whether it’s a universal gesture of Crows in their bird forms to let others know they want to be set down or intuition, I wish I knew, but eventually, Myron sets me on the armrest of his chair, watching my claws dig into the forest green velvet. One hand lingers on the side, ready to catch me should I lose balance and fall off the chair.
“There you go.” He studies my clumsy movements as I struggle to keep upright. “Maybe you should give it a day or two.”
I don’t have a day or two. There’s a war going on, and I need to fight at my peoples’ side—Crows or Tavras, it no longer matters. If Erina keeps pushing, the soldiers won’t be the only ones to die in this war. We might have been able to plan this past attack to avoid civilian casualties, but we won’t be able to choose each and every battlefield. Eventually, Erina’s greed for power will cost civilian lives, and that’s something I’m not ready for.
With a tug on my power, I search for the sensation that always brings me back into my human form, for the warmth and the feeling of soil beneath my bare feet and rain on my skin.
Deep inside of me, the well of magic remains silent.
“You saved us out there, you know? If you hadn’t summoned the rain, we would have lost that battle. But at what cost?” The near reverence in his tone strikes me like a hit to the gut.
Order and Chaos have always been fighting for balance. If you use my power at the same time as his, I don ’ t know what it will take for that balance to be restored.
Vala’s words drift back into my mind like a dark cloud.
Whatever it is, I ’ ll pay the price, I told her. Now I’m dreading what that might be.
The first onslaught of panic evaporates when I search for the mating bond and find a thin thread connecting me to Myron. As if he’s feeling me reach for it, Myron’s lips curl into a wry smile.
“Clio has been pestering me about when she can ask you what, by Shaelak, you were thinking, dropping from the skies like that,” Myron says with the tired amusement of someone who’s been worrying day and night for two full weeks—or for a full millennium. “She’ll be glad to hear you’re awake.”
He doesn’t realize what a gift that simple line is, knowing Clio is well enough to snark like that.
Again, I push my magic—nothing happens.
Perhaps the healers are right and I should wait a few more days before I attempt to shift, but I’m restless. I want to look Myron in the eye and tell him I’m sorry. That it hurt to leave him behind on the battlefield and watch him get hurt from above like the coward I am. That I’m sorry for not waking up sooner.
Sorry, for not having told him sooner how much I love him.
Not a flicker of my power comes to life .
“Kaira checked in earlier with a bowl of soup,” Myron rambles on. He never rambles, but my silence seems to warrant his monologue. “At first, I thought it was for me, but she plopped into a chair and spent the lunch hour staring me down with that guilt-inducing look of hers. You probably know what I mean.” His chuckle is not as genuine as he tries to make it sound. “If you don’t, you better not get on her bad side.” He sighs. “She blames me for what happened to you.”
I can’t shift. I can ’ t shift. My wings spread a few inches, and I flutter from the armrest to the dark hardwood floor. Myron’s hands twitch to catch me, but the moment he sees I’m not falling, he draws them back.
From down here, his black leather boots are the first thing I see. Half of his torso is hidden by the chair, but his face is prominent as if there was no distance between us. With still blue eyes, he watches me, a crease forming between his brows while he quietly reaches for a small bowl on the low table between the arrangement of three armchairs and sets it down in front of me. “In case you’re thirsty.” Hesitating, he slides out of his chair and kneels beside me. He’s so big. I can’t remember ever feeling that dwarfed by a creature, even when in my bird form, and the distance between us becomes a chasm aching in my chest.
The words I want to tell him don’t matter when I can’t find my magic as I reach for it once more and a soft female laugh echoes in my mind.
Panic rises in my chest; I know that voice.
Ignoring the deep brown ceramic in front of me, I hop aside, fluttering wildly as I try to stretch my wings. Myron’s gaze follows me cautiously around the room as I duck under the table, climb the side of a chair, and launch myself into a glide back toward the floor. Every beat of my wings aches, but the sensation of unease inside my body drives me to keep moving.
“It’s all right, Ayna.” Myron’s voice is calm, but I see it for the facade it is. His heart is racing almost as fast as mine, the pulse in his neck thumping wildly with every time I hit my wing on the furniture and slither across the floor.
It’s not all right.
I don’t give up that easily. My Crow powers might not respond to me, but if I can’t shift, perhaps I can draw water from the bowl Myron prepared for me.
I nearly stumble into it as I flutter past Myron’s shoulder, ignoring the hand he holds out for me to land on.
Come to me, I command the water.
It doesn’t move. Doesn’t even taunt me with a lap against the slanted side of the bowl.
Come to me, please. The pain is spiking as the laugh sounds again, clearer this time.
Vala . I don’t mean to think her name, but it’s unmistakably the Goddess of Water whose voice fills my head.
I ’ m here, my child. Like a feather, her invisible touch brushes my neck, eliciting a shudder.
“What’s wrong, Ayna?” I’m faintly aware of Myron’s extended hand as he tries to pick me up, but I hop out of reach before his fingertips touch my feathers.
My caw is throaty and off-kilter. I need to shift. Need to tell him what I learned about our gods being the same. About Vala and Shaelak being the Guardians of Eherea. Need to tell him Vala said there would be a price if I used her powers while using those of her brother at the same time—and that I was willing to pay that price.
My whole body is trembling as I cling to the idea of my human form, pushing hard and harder to make it happen.
You will exert yourself if you keep doing that, Vala says with that benevolent tone I want to shove up her ass.
I ignore her, forcing a part of me—any part—to turn human. A slight shift in my vision is all I get as a result, and Myron stares at me as I keep staring at him.
“Your eyes,” he whispers as if he can’t believe it.
What? What ’ s wrong with my eyes? I bend over the water bowl, but the surface ripples as if Vala herself doesn’t want me to see.
“They’re gray. The exact shade of your human eyes.” He scrutinizes me with such intensity I might break. “Are you shifting?”
The hope in his voice almost destroys me. Especially when Vala whispers into my ear, Try as you may, Ayna. You cannot shift back. I warned you there would be consequences.