Chapter 13
I’m not even tryingto figure out what he meant. The moment silence enters the bathing room, I yank on the door, hoping to open it, but of course, Herinor locked it—with magic, I suppose, since I didn’t hear a lock. It doesn’t even rattle.
“Shit.” I curse the Guardians and Eroth and even the few Neredynian gods I’ve heard about when my legs go weak again and I need to grab for the oval sink beneath the arched mirror to my left. So I’m not getting out through the door.
The window then.
The glass is milky white, preventing me from seeing more than dark blotches, which I suspect to be bushes. Hopefully. Bushes are a good hiding place … if I ever make it through the window.
The last time I tried to escape from a bathing room, it was high up in the wall, and I broke a shelf, probably alerting half the Crow Palace with my noise. But this window is easy to reach and big enough to climb through.
Bracing myself on the sink, I reach for the handle and pull.
The window doesn’t open.
Fuck the Guardians if they won’t help me…
I pull again, harder this time. The window doesn’t move a fraction of an inch.
All right. If it won’t open, I’ll have to break the glass. I grab the largest bottle I can find on the sideboard and hurl it at the window.
The bottle is all that breaks. Big surprise.
I need something larger. Something strong enough to shatter the thin layer standing between me and freedom.
The plain stool by the bathtub seems like it’s up to the task, but my strength isn’t. Just when I start picking it up, my head spins, and I need to lean against the wall to stay upright. Damn Herinor and his poison. Damn the Flames and the Crows and everything magical. I need to get out of here.
The scent of rosewater spreads from the shards of the bottle scattered beneath the window, oil dripping from the dark wooden windowsill into the mess on the floor.
A few deep breaths later, the dizzy spell is over, and I turn to pick up the stool once more when the door opens again and Kaira walks in clad in a plain blue cotton dress that complements her eyes, and drops into a curtsey. Her gaze finds my hands on the stool then the mess beneath the window, and realization flickers across her features. “Don’t even try to break it. He put a magical barrier around the entire room. You’re not getting out. We’re not getting out unless he wants us to.”
The relief washing over me resembles an ocean wave near the Horn of Eroth. “Of course he has.” Only now that she’s standing before me, I realize how much I’d feared Ephegos killed her after all.
When I keep staring at her, she smothers the grin spreading on her face and drops into another curtsey. “At your service, Wolayna.”
“You…” A glance up and down her body tells me she’s wearing not just any dress; she’s wearing a servant uniform. “You’re my lady’s maid?”
“Ephegos wasn’t joking when he said he has a better punishment for me than death.” She smooths her skirts with an efficient hand.
“He said that?” The last thing I remember from before I blacked out is that he told her he should end her.
“And that I’ll loathe serving the human I intended to murder. Which means you, by the way.” The expression on her face tells me she finds it funny. “Of course, he took all my weapons first, and just like Jeseida, he believes I’m not a threat—especially with Herinor standing guard.” She glances at the door.
I’m not convinced I find any humor in the situation. “And?”
“And what?” She raises a brow at me, closing the door behind her and marching across the room to the bathtub, graceful like the warrior she is.
“And were you trying to kill me?” I can’t be certain with anyone…
“No.” Dipping one hand in the water, she rummages through the shelves filled with soaps and oils until she finds what she’s looking for.
“No?” I glower at her back. “That’s all?”
“No, I wasn’t trying to kill you, Your Majesty.” She winks at me over her shoulder in an impressive display of defiance and nonchalance for the topic at hand … and the bruise blooming on her cheekbone where Ephegos struck her. The light filtering in through the window emphasizes her injury by casting shadows. It can’t be more than a day or two since it happened.
How long was I unconscious, asleep, or in whatever state the poison puts me in?
“You don’t need to call me?—”
“Your Majesty? I know.” She opens the purple flask in her hand and sets it on the edge of the tub. “But there is something about your love story with the Crow King that makes me want to acknowledge you as the Crow Queen.” Humor shimmers in her eyes when they meet mine, but something more lingers beneath. Something I can’t name. “And before you ask: No, I don’t have plans to kill you anytime soon either. I wanted Ephegos to believe I did so he’d take me along.”
Digesting the news takes a moment, but when I finally do, things fall into place.
“You knew he’d make you a lady’s maid?”
Kaira shrugs. “Suspected. Since I overheard him speaking about the lady’s maid he already sent ahead to King Erina’s court, I assumed he wouldn’t bring me if I offered. He’d be suspicious of my reasons, and I’d be stuck at the estate forever. Not good enough, in Jeseida’s eyes, to do anything worthy of a Flame…” Her voice trails away as I sway on my feet, and she’s next to me in a heartbeat, arm wrapping around my shoulders as she guides me back to the stool I’ve abandoned. “Here, sit.” She shoves me down and starts undoing my braid. “I keep forgetting you just woke from another forced sleep. You must feel horrible.” Her fingers brush my forehead in a motherly gesture. “Let’s get you something to drink.”
“No.” The stool almost topples over as I shrink away from her touch, but Kaira just catches me by the shoulder, stabilizing both me and the chair, and smiles.
“No poison. Promise.” She gives me a nod, inviting me to mimic the movement, and damn my head, it bobs once. “Good.” Her fingers slide off my shoulder, and she turns to the sink but stops mid-motion. “No attacking the window again. Even if you managed to break it, you wouldn’t get out. And we’d be left with more shards to work around in here.”
She grabs a cup from the shelf beside the mirror and fills it with water before returning to my side. “Here. You must be parched.”
Now that she mentions it… I drain the cup in a few greedy gulps, yet my throat remains dry. After days of drinking only a few sips of that poison water, I can’t even remember how much fluid I should be having in my body. The returning dizziness tells me not enough.
“So, what’s the poison for? Other than making me miserable,” I wonder, grateful that this time I am not vomiting my guts up. It’s a small mercy.
Kaira shrugs again. “Do you really think Ephegos tells me anything? He barely tolerated me at the estate, let alone now that he believes I wanted to kill his leverage…” She stops herself, realizing she said more than she intended to.
Naturally, the sentence she didn’t finish is the only thing my brain can focus on. “Leverage? Leverage for what?”
Kaira shakes her head. “I haven’t figured that one out yet.” The way her brows lower into a line of determination tells me she is ready to dig up all the secrets.
“And he’s willing to let you near me if he believes you want to kill me? Doesn’t sound logical to me.” Unless he found a way to force her hands to stay well away from anything capable of ending me.
The haunted look entering Kaira’s eyes tells me that’s exactly what happened. “He’s powerful—even more so since you broke the curse. All Crows are. But he’s particularly dangerous since he believes himself to be a Flame now.”
“A Flame without fire,” I amend, and in response, Kaira’s grin returns.
“Despicable bastard, isn’t he?”
“The worst.” I’m not surprised at the conspiratorial look she gives me, like we’re two friends planning our escape from a cursed fortress rather than … enemies? Unlikely allies? I’m no longer sure what we are, but we’re definitely not on opposite sides of a war here. We’re more of right in the middle of a war we never signed up for. It’s nice not to feel alone for once.
“I told you I wouldn’t let you go alone.”
I don’t fight her when she gestures for me to get into the tub but strip out of my dirty clothes and slide into the luxurious heat. A sigh falls from my lips as the water swallows me up. I haven’t washed since we left the estate, and I reek of vomit and sweat and dirt from the journey. The fact that I stank up the carriage cabin while either Herinor or Ephegos were riding with me gives me astounding satisfaction.
Kaira doesn’t speak while I scrub at my hair with the lavender soap she hands me, busying herself with plucking at a heap of fabric I hadn’t noticed in a basket in the corner. She could shove my head underwater easily. Ephegos must truly trust Herinor to leave me alone with anyone on the male’s guard—whether they intend to hurt me or help me. Only, when I emerge from the water, I’m reluctant to leave the soothing warmth of the element that once wrapped me in armor to protect me from fire and sword. My shoulders slump, the revitalizing effect of the bath draining in an instant.
“What do you think will happen at court?”
Kaira glances up from the blood-red satin skirt she’s smoothing out over her arm. “All I know is that I am to dress you in these.” Setting down the skirt, she lifts a cream top with detailed flower embroidery in the same hues. “And then you’ll go to the palace. I’m not sure what else will happen, other than meeting the king, of course.”
“Of course.” My empty stomach folds itself over. I’ll be returned as a traitor’s daughter, a traitor myself. A widowed queen of a mythical menace.
Steeling myself, I dry off in a surprisingly soft towel and take the plain undergarments Kaira hands me, then the skirt, and put them on. The top is scratchy, made from a type of flax native to the north of Tavras. Elbow-length sleeves complement the loose cut of the piece, the embroidered blossoms giving it structure and adding detail the average Tavrasian woman couldn’t afford. It’s a sort of fashion I haven’t worn since I left Meer with my mother, and I can’t help it, nostalgia takes me over as I try to push back all the memories beloved and hated.
With a few efficient moves, Kaira has my hair swept into her hands, and before I can tell her not to do anything elaborate with it, a wave of heat rushes along my scalp, making me shrink toward the sink and the mirror to check if the Flame has set my hair on fire.
It falls neat and dry over my shoulders in a waterfall of ash blonde like someone spent hours combing it out as it dries on its own.
“The perks of having at least a spark of Flame magic in me.” She shrugs at me through the mirror before I find my voice. “Let’s get it all nice and tidy so the King of Tavras doesn’t notice Ephegos brought a warrior queen into his home.”
A laugh bubbles to my throat, and I want to tell her I’m far from a warrior. I have fought but one battle. The expression in her eyes tells me she’s serious, though, and I take it as a compliment.
“We wouldn’t want him to make a mistake.” It’s been over a decade since I’ve last seen Erina. I don’t even know what he looks like now. If the deep-set eyes of his father or the lovely mouth of his mother made it into his adult features. All I know is that he wasn’t bad as a child, just entitled, unaware of the sorrows tormenting the lesser in his kingdom—a kingdom of wealth where a shortage of food has never been a problem—or the threat of magical creatures taking his lands, his people, his everything.
Except for that one woman every three years, of course, when it used to be Tavras’s turn to supply a bride for the Crow King. He was aware of those.
My stomach tightens painfully. That Crow King no longer exists. His final bride has returned to Tavras.
And Erina was the one to sanction my imprisonment, my being made into a tribute to a mystical people known for their brutality and bloodlust.
Perhaps the kindness of child-Erina has ceased entirely.
“Do you know anything about him?” Kaira prompts, probably reading from my absent gaze that I must have wandered into my memories.
“Nothing that would help me now.” Truth. After what he did, I no longer know what to expect.
Kaira’s fingers tug my hair into a tight braid starting at the crown of my head and pulling new strands in with every time she weaves another layer. It’s a more elaborate version of the braid she’s wearing, and with my ash-blonde tresses, the effect is startling. I don’t think I’ve worn my hair like this since my childhood years when my mother dressed me up for social events. All of a sudden, I’m eight years old again, and I’m sitting beneath a banquet table, listening to the voices of noblemen and women, to the society of Meer, their laughter and chitchat.
I wish I was small enough to hide under a table now.
There’s nowhere for me to go, though, as the door swings open after a single knock announcing someone is about to let themselves in.
In his black and russet uniform, Herinor looks like a brutal half-god. He’s washed, trimmed his beard, and tied his hair at the nape of his neck. Had it not been for the scars on his face and the grim line of his mouth, I might have been fooled that he isn’t the torturing Crow who’s poisoned me over and over again.
“Ephegos insisted.” He shifts on his feet, surprisingly uncomfortable in the well-fitted clothes.
“They look good,” Kaira reassures him before I can tell him I don’t care one bit what Ephegos insists on.
Am I imagining Herinor’s cheeks turning a shade darker? Might be the light.
Kaira clears her throat then gestures at me. “All done and ready.”
I don’t feel ready as Herinor walks me down the same hallway we took on our way to the bathing room, Kaira a step behind us.
“I’ll see you later tonight,” she whispers, her hand brushing my arm in a gesture that could mean to comfort me. A moment later, she turns to the narrow staircase we’re passing and disappears with near-soundless footsteps.
Herinor stops in the entrance hall, flashing his teeth in an attempt at what I suppose should be a grin. “Ephegos is already at the palace,” he announces, reaching for his belt where only three blades are attached in matching sheaths—and one is stuck in the waistband of his pants like it won’t slash open his skin at one wrong movement.
That’s the one he draws and holds out for me.
I blink, more out of shock that he isn’t offering me the pointy end to cut myself on but the hilt.
“Take it. Hide it under your skirts. There should be a leather pocket sewn into the folds.” He draws his brows into a tight line, urgency defining his features as he waits for me to pick it from his fingers.
It takes me a moment to understand he’s serious, but when I do, I don’t hesitate a heartbeat. With careful fingers, I pull it from his grasp, my other hand already reaching my skirts for a sign of that secret compartment for even more secret weapons.
Herinor studies me with more impatience than makes me feel comfortable, and when I don’t find what he told me to look for fast enough, he darts for my skirts and pulls at them so fast I don’t even get to scream before his arm is halfway up my calf. My heart races with fear. He’s a Crow. One of the earlier creatures of his people who were the reason for Vala to place a curse on them.
No matter how much I want to, I don’t shrink away when he catches a slip of fabric inside the masses of satin and tugs it to the outside by shoving up the crimson layers.
“Here.” He doesn’t explain, simply grabs the wrist of my hand holding the knife and guides it to the leather attached to the underskirt. “It might bounce against your thigh while walking, but no one will notice it.”
I’m still a pillar of shock and horror when Herinor drops the skirts and my wrist and steps back so we’re face to face, features turning into a grimace as he finds my gaze. “Don’t believe everything you hear in the palace. Listen for everything, though. You will know what’s the truth and what’s a lie by listening to that annoying moral compass of yours.”
“You’re talking to a pirate,” I remind him, just in case he forgets who I was before I became his queen. “A traitor to the kingdom you brought me to, a prisoner sentenced to a fate worse than death.”
His lips tug up at the side. “Turns out worse than death was actually pretty good.” The little smirk he gives me reminds me of who he used to be before he turned over to my side—which, after he’s handed me an actual weapon before sending me into enemy territory, is where I believe he stands. In my corner.
If it weren’t for that Guardiansforsaken bargain he made with Ephegos, he might have gotten me out of here.
“Don’t die, Ayna.” It’s all he says before he opens the door with a wave of his hand and gestures for me to walk to the carriage waiting for us at the bottom of the granite stairs.