Chapter 10
Ten
Ayna
Slow down-slow down-slow down , I beseech my racing heart. The faster it pumps, the faster it will spill my lifeblood on the forest ground.
There is no escape from the iron hold the Fire Fairy has on me and with the steel at my neck. Myron’s expression of horror tells me he knows it, too.
If only I could shift back. Even if the twin sliced deep into my neck, it would give us a moment of surprise, and I’d be able to use my healing powers to seal it back together.
“One wrong move and she’s carrion,” the Flame behind me growls, and I could swear the air goes thick with Myron’s ire as he beholds the male while, in the background, his brother has freed Gus, and the screams of pain have turned into murmurs. I can only assume the other twin is healing the injured male, for I don’t dare turn my gaze away from my mate, who has gone so still he could be hewn from that glimmering rock the fairy palace is made of.
“Good Crow King,” the twin purrs, shaving off one of my feathers as he moves the blade a fraction of an inch up my throat. Biting down on the caw of pain, I hold still so I don’t push the sharp edge of the blade deeper into my skin. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll accompany us to King Recienne’s palace and support our mission.”
Myron doesn’t hesitate to ask, “What mission?”
That costs the male a dark chuckle promising nothing less than violence and pain. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”
“If I am supposed to support it, I probably should know.” He means it. He’s ready to consider whatever they suggest just to spare me because that’s how ruthless Myron is when it comes to the people he loves.
“Something small, really. An offer to spare his realm if he decides to step down and hand it over willingly.”
My blood turns to ice.
No. No-no-no . If Recienne hands Askarea over to Ephegos as Erina’s general, there won’t be a war on the fairylands, but he won’t stop at that. He’ll take Cezux in a heartbeat by utilizing the magic-wielding armies he’d gain in the bargain. And Recienne—I doubt Erina would let him live, even if he abdicated to make space for the human king and his magic-suppressing weapons. Who knows what Erina would do to keep those fairy powers in check; perhaps poison the water supply of Aceleau to make sure no one could rise against him… My stomach turns at the mere thought of it—and what Erina would do if he found out Queen Sanja is pregnant.
“If you think Recienne gives a damn about the Queen of Crows, you are making a mistake.” Myron’s gaze is cold, composed the way I knew him during those first weeks when I was brought to the Seeing Forest, no trace of the male who advocates to save the lives of civilians in a war that will claim too many casualties on either side.
His words don’t even sting because he’s right. I mean nothing to Recienne DePauvre of Askarea. I’m the Queen of Crows, and not even very capable at that. If anyone could be persuaded to step down, it’s Myron.
My chest seizes as I realize this might very well be where things are headed.
“He might not care about her, but you do. And you are his ally.”
“If you believe he’ll give up his kingdom for my queen or me, you believe wrong.” Smoke still curls around Myron’s fingers, his all-black eyes so close to those of the monster I first met that I need to convince myself with a glance at his featherless arms that he hasn’t turned back into that creature. But he has turned into something .
Before I can wonder why he’s able to command darkened strands of air like ink in water, the twin says, “You are merely our ticket in and out of the palace, Myron the Valiant.” His voice changes enough to make me wonder if he’s musing about why they call Myron that. “I don’t need to threaten your life to make clear how easy it is to sneak into King Recienne’s realm. If we got in that easily, others could, and they might not come to negotiate but to douse the royal Askarean family in magic-nullifying serum and slit their throats before moving on to the rest of their people until Askarea’s rivers run red.”
Shaelak be damned .
“I don’t need to emphasize that King Erina, soon-to-be-king of these lands, has an army gathered at the borders who is ready to march at a moment’s notice.” I try not to shudder at his words, at what they imply: that we might have intercepted that one delivery of Erina’s magic-sedating serum, but he has managed to supply his army otherwise. He hasn’t attacked, not because he isn’t strong enough but because he wants to give Recienne the opportunity to hand over this kingdom without shedding soldier blood. Not because he’s noble, trying to spare lives, but to save up his army to wage war on other territories.
Cezux, the Southern Continent—who says he’ll be satisfied once he holds all of Eherea? If Ephegos has shared with him that an entire continent lies east of these lands, he might take these armies and sail across the oceans to conquer what no Eherean creature has ever set foot on.
Myron’s calculating gaze darts behind me and my captor, and I don’t think I imagine the infinitesimal nod that must be meant for Silas; wherever he is, he’s no longer fighting, frozen probably just as Myron by the sword at my throat.
The twin shifts an inch, nearly squeezing the air from me as he adjusts his grasp. I don’t dare move.
“You’ll make sure the Fairy King doesn’t kill us on sight, and you and your queen get to live.” What he doesn’t say is that living doesn’t equal freedom. As long as Ephegos lives, in his insane obsession with his sister’s death, he’ll strive for vengeance. And he won’t hesitate to use that vengeance as an excuse to grasp power left and right. Who says the males aren’t here on Ephegos’s behalf entirely, already bypassing the orders of the Tavrasian king?
From the corner of my eye, I spot movement—Gus, the second twin supporting him, is limping up to our side, blood soaking his clothes around the holes Silas’s magic pierced with one well-aimed assault.
Myron and Silas are strong enough to take them down, but they are hesitating because of me.
Attack, I want to yell at them. Attack and let me die if the gods are ready to claim me. I’m of no use to you in this form.
Find a way to make yourself useful, Shaelak whispers in my mind.
Think, Ayna-think, Ayna-think. It used to be my strength, coming up with crazy plans that might buy me a chance at survival, but my mind isn’t working the way it does in my human form, bird instincts backing me into a corner where the line between life and death is thinner than I care for.
“Think it through, Crow King. You might not believe in the sway you hold in the Fairy Court, but we’ve heard about who you shared a dungeon with,” Gus takes over the talking now that he’s back on his feet, bleeding stinted and no longer leaning on the second twin. “Think of all the lives you could save—including your own, of course.”
That’s where those males underestimate Myron. He doesn’t value his own life above that of others—especially mine. When it comes to a choice, he’ll choose my life over his—just as I will always choose him.
That’s the sacrifice I realize I need to make. My way of making myself useful.
Even if Silas and Myron could take those three Flames in a normal battle, they aren’t attacking because they don’t want to risk me. But if I take that choice away from them…
Dying won’t make you useful. It will only make you dead, Shaelak points out, and I hate-hate-hate him—for his gifts, his meddling, his unbidden commentary.
So how can I be useful if not by helping them make a decision so they can kick those Flames’ asses?
Not that that’s the way to speak to a god, but Shaelak seems to have a sense of humor because his chuckle trickles through me like black honey as he tells me, You will only be of use if you step into your destiny and accept your role in this world.
I don’t dare look Myron in the eye as his gaze lands on mine for a heartbeat before wandering back to the male’s weapon at my throat and the crimson trace across the shiny silver of the blade.
And what destiny is that? I’m no longer sure if I know anything about who I am and who I am meant to be. Crow Queen, Queen of Tavras, bird or human, lover or friend. A part of me whispers that it would be easiest to find a ship and hide there until it lays anchor by the coast of a foreign land where no one knows I once had a human body.
That’s for you to find out.
I want to throw a retort at him that being a god doesn’t make up for being cryptic and that his hints truly don’t change anything about the situation we’re in, but an invisible finger slides down my back so gently I nearly shiver. I instantly recognize Myron’s power, the strength that could shatter the world if he so pleased.
It’s the only warning I get to keep still as that same power wraps around the Flame’s blade and rips it away from my throat only to shove it down the male’s. Blood rains on me as he loosens his grasp, and I drop like a rotten plum, still wrapped in those leather strings. Before I can hit the ground, that invisible power slices through the strings, and my wings snap free, spreading enough to cushion my fall.
Pain barks through my entire body as my claws hit the ground, but I ignore it, flapping those wings enough to flutter out of the falling male’s path before he can smother me. Gus and the other twin are fighting Silas, who is upon them with his hatchet, delivering blow after blow while Myron’s power envelops me in a shield so thick not even the gods could penetrate it.
A wet, crunching sound fills the air as Silas takes off the second twin’s head, and he lifts his hatchet again to give Gus the same courtesy.
“Keep him alive,” Myron merely growls, and Silas stops his weapon mid-blow. Such control. Such strength hidden in the Crow warrior despite that grumpy sarcastic facade he likes to show us all.
“As you wish.” With a few efficient moves, Silas disarms the dark-skinned Flame who is readying to stab the Crow in the stomach, while all Gus can do is stare death in the eye.
Death—but not just yet.
“What do you want to do with him?”
Myron’s mouth splits into a dangerous grin that has my blood running cold, and the black of his eyes extends to thin, creeping veins around them. Not one look at me, whom his power is still protecting like that doesn’t cost him half a thought. “Recienne will want to know everything about this mission, and when the Fairy King is done with him…” He stalks toward the now trembling Fire Fairy, scanning. His features, the sheen of sweat covering his brow, the streaks of blood that must have made it all the way from the twin who held the sword to my throat—and who now lies barely twitching in the dirt, a puddle of crimson forming around his head where the blade runs straight from his mouth to the back of his neck and farther. “Then he and I will have a talk.”
He rips the cloak from the male’s shoulders, tossing it on the ground, and extends a hand to his face. Talons sprout from his fingertips, black and sharp like those of a crow, and his grin widens as he drags his index finger along the Flame’s cheek lightly enough not to cut deep but hard enough to draw blood. “We’ll have fun, you and I.”
A chill creeps into my bones at the sight of this side of my mate—the one who will torture and kill on my behalf, and I want to beg him to look at me, but his focus is honed on the male who dared touch me, dared capture and tie me up. Like a predator going for the throat, Myron swipes his talon down the side of the male’s neck, and Guardians help him, a dark stain spreads on the front of the Flame’s pants.
“He’ll die of fright,” Silas says with a dark chuckle, but I recognize the concern in his tone despite the clever disguise. “Let’s tie him up and get him back to Aceleau. I’m sure Recienne is eager to meet him.”
Myron snarls at the Flame’s face once; then he pivots, stalking for me and lifting me into his palms.
“Tie him up and fly to the palace, Silas,” he orders without looking at him. “We’ll need someone to site-hop that bastard back.”
He doesn’t look at me, chest heaving as he gulps down deep breaths of air like a male about to suffocate; his lids shutter, talons retracting, and when he finally, finally gazes down at me, his eyes are ocean blue once more and so, so weary. His thumb carefully brushes over my neck where the wound instantly seals, and he shakes his head, black strands falling into his face, covering the signs of exhaustion.
“What should I do with you, little crow?”