Chapter 17
Herinor ushersme out of the throne room at Erina’s command so fast I almost stumble over the hem of my skirts as we make our way from the room and up a wide set of stairs leading to what must be the residential quarters of the palace. I’ve never been up far enough to know the entire layout of the royal home. A few minutes later, Odja points at a tall, walnut door, and Herinor stops, facing down the guard beside it. The man almost shits himself at the sight of the menacing male. His pointed ears are a dead giveaway of what he is—not human.
Nobody appeared surprised though, from the servants in the throne room to the king, and now this guard. If anything, he knows exactly what Herinor is capable of, or he wouldn’t clutch the hilt of his sword in a death grip.
“He’s under orders not to attack His Majesty’s staff,” Odja reassures the guard whose chest rises in a breath of obvious relief as he stands aside to let us pass.
When Odja shows us into the room, I can’t help but blink, multiple times, at the devastating beauty of the space. Lush golden wallpapers cover the areas between dark wooden panels along the walls. The windows are framed in the same dark wood, their arches high enough to allow me to study the gardens I missed taking a closer look at when seated next to the Tavrasian king. Rows of pink wisteria rain down along pathways crisscrossing through the neatly arranged greenery, sheltering courtiers marching slowly and locked in conversations the content of which isn’t meant for other ears. Stone benches in secluded corners offer refuge to those tired of walking along the gravel paths, and multiple fountains offer reprieve from the heat streaming in through the open windows.
I’ve forgotten how far south Meer is. And how close to the ocean.
A hint of salt lingers in the air that I hadn’t noticed before, all of my capacity focused on the fear eating me up, the anger that has been building in my chest. But… Ocean air. Something comes to life inside, and my legs can almost feel the swaying deck of the Wild Ray beneath my feet like a phantom limb.
“I hope your accommodations are to your liking, Wolayna,” Odja says as he retreats from the room. “His Majesty will have someone sent to help you prepare for the banquet. Fresh clothes will be provided. For you, too.” His gaze darts to Herinor, and his already pale skin turns chalk white. “Not that you need to if you don’t feel like it…” His words trail away at the single step Herinor takes in his direction.
“Leave.” His tone is darker than the dim lights of the Flame estate’s torture chamber, and the shiver running down my spine is enough to ease the heat of late summer.
The expression on his face changes the moment Odja closes the door behind him, leaving Herinor and me to ourselves. I don’t know what to think about any of it—the strange way Erina talked to me, kind on the one hand, almost threatening on the other. Apparently, Herinor does, though, since he marches to the walnut sitting arrangement by the far wall, gesturing for me to sit.
“So, you don’t sit in the Tavrasian king’s presence, but you do in mine?” I’m a queen after all. His queen. Not that I feel like one.
His shoulders rise in a slow shrug, leathers sliding across his muscles. “We have a lot ahead of us, so we best both rest.”
His tone is so at odds with the way he just kicked out Odja that it startles me all over again.
“You know exactly why I’m here, don’t you? Not just that I’m to be part of his court. There is more.” I pin him with a glare as I settle into the chair across from him. “Spit it out.”
“I am not allowed to tell you, but you’re a smart woman, Ayna. You can put two and two together. Why would a twenty-five-year-old king invite you to his palace?”
Katrijanov said that Erina needs to think of the future of his kingdom.
“By the Guardians—” Things click into place. “No. No way.” I’m out of my chair, pacing the gold-threaded carpet before the wide bed by the far wall. I’m exhausted from travels and being poisoned again and again, slightly surprised I’m still on my feet after all of it, but this keeps me wide awake. “I’m not marrying the King of Tavras.” Because a legacy—progeny—would be the only reason he’d invite a young woman to his realm. Not invite—buy.
“Couldn’t agree more.” My head whips around at the familiar wind chime voice announcing the new arrival from the threshold, and my knees finally give out.
Herinor catches me by the shoulders a moment before my head hits the edge of the bed.
“Ayna.” Her copper braid swings toward my face as Princess Cliophera of Askarea leans over me, shoving the Crow aside with her small shoulder and cupping my face with one hand while the other wipes across my forehead. “Are you all right?”
No. “What are you doing here?” It’s the only thing I can think of asking. Not how she’s alive after being in the explosion that took me out after the battle in the Seeing Forest.
Clio sighs, and it might have been the heaviest sound I’ve heard in my life, and I’ve heard my fair share of burdened sighs—Guardians, I’ve sighed them myself.
“Long story.” She turns to Herinor, a frown etched into her features. “Is this one trustworthy?”
“Depends.” I struggle into a sitting position, allowing both Herinor and Clio to stabilize me. Guardians, it’s good to see her. Even when she looks different. Very different, now that I take a closer look.
The copper of her hair isn’t as vibrant as I remember, and her movements are slower, less edged and honed. And her eyes… The usually bright jade has dulled to a nearly human hue. Above her face rests a white maid’s cap that directs my eyes toward the sepia uniform with the same white apron I’ve seen on the servants in the throne room. “What happened to you?”
“First, I need to know what happened to you?” Her tone doesn’t leave room for discussion, so I give her the brief version of the Flames capturing me and my time at the estate. I don’t leave out how many times I’ve been given poisoned water or how frequently I’ve vomited my guts up. When I try to explain Herinor’s role in all of it, her eyes narrow on the male who has returned to his chair and is watching like an eagle as I paint his character in the shades of gray I can find. To his credit, he doesn’t object when I accuse him of hurting me multiple times, he doesn’t defend his position or try to make himself look any more honorable than he is—which isn’t very much at all.
“You can be glad I don’t have access to my magic at the moment, or I’d freeze you and shatter you with a good punch to your sternum,” Clio throws over her shoulder with enough venom to make Herinor visibly shudder.
“I’m not going to hurt her if I can help it,” he merely says. “And before you start, I’ve learned my lesson. I am fully aware how bad an idea it was to bind myself to Ephegos.”
“Truth? Or a convenient lie so you can shove a knife into her back the moment she starts trusting you?” Clio is on her feet in a fighting stance, and even in her servant’s uniform and without a weapon, she is a sight to behold. Fierce and ready to defend me to the death, I can feel it in my bones.
Wiping his hand over his scar-flecked features, Herinor shakes his head. “You forget I’m not an Eherean creature. While you Eherean fairies can lie until your throats bleed, Neredynian fae can’t. Shaelak likes his creatures truthful.”
At that, Clio straightens. Something passes between them like a silent communication only ancient creatures have access to. “You can still bend the truth to your advantage,” Clio claims, and I want to chime right in with my agreement, but Herinor beats me to it.
“I could, and I have. But not on this. I made a mistake. I pledged my loyalty to a power-hungry male in false hopes of freedom. Instead, I ended up in an even worse sort of prison. Look at me.” He gestures at his chest, his weapons. “I’m a warrior. And Ephegos made me into a babysitter for a queen he wants taken care of so he can follow his own aspirations.” His mouth closes as if he’s said too much and is expecting blood to pour from his lips.
This isn’t the curse Vala placed on them, though. The curse is broken, and he can tell me whatever he wants—except for whatever his bargain with Ephegos prevents him from saying.
Guardians—could things be any more complicated?
“Now what’s your story,” he bounces the question back to Clio, who has relaxed her posture if only slightly. She still appears ready to kill on my behalf if Herinor as much as breathes wrong.
“I was knocked out by the explosion the combined Crow magic and Flame fire caused. Ephegos used the opportunity to haul me to Tavras and drug me so I can’t use my magic.” Her gaze wanders to me as if expecting for me to remember.
“What do you mean … drugged?” The emptiness in my chest and palms where my magic once flowed tingles as if in response before Clio can answer, and my head whips to Herinor. “The water?”
He dips his chin but doesn’t speak.
“Whatever unholy brew it is, Ephegos has found a way to sedate magical abilities.”
Fuck—
Not poison. They weren’t trying to slowly kill me so it would be a longer suffering than a swift execution. It’s a fucking drug.
“You sent my magic to sleep?” I don’t know why I’m surprised after everything I’ve been through in the fairylands.
Relief as sweet as a poison of its own rushes my veins at the thought that my powers aren’t gone, merely dormant. Gently, I reach into my body, searching for hints of the cool liquid magic running through my veins—hidden but still there, somewhere beneath the layers of sedation.
“Ephegos demanded it at first, but I chose to continue on my own. I already told you, he’d never order me to hurt you while you are sleeping. He’d want you fully awake and alert for torture.” The fact that I now know whatever Herinor says is the truth is as unsettling as the thought that, without the drug, I might be strong enough to free myself from this new prison.
“Yes, yes, you’re a selfless hero.” Clio turns her back on the fairy as she looks me over. “We need to get you ready for the banquet. And before you ask, yes, I’m your lady’s maid.”
I don’t ask. Her outfit is proof even when a tiny part of me had hoped she was here to get me out rather than dress me to meet the man who intends to marry me.
Instead of screaming at the top of my lungs at the thought of having ended up in another arranged engagement, I turn to the only person who’s been around this court long enough to perhaps have a clue what the Tavrasian king wants with a traitor. “I thought he’d execute me to make a statement, not put me in a wedding gown. Why does he want to marry me?”
Both Herinor’s and Clio’s gazes whip to mine, Herinor shaking his head and Clio’s face filling with pity. “If there is one thing I’ve learned about things involving the King of Tavras, it’s that whatever it is he wants, it can’t be good.
“His court doesn’t know who you are, Ayna.” Herinor’s voice is so quiet I can’t believe he’s spoken, but when I meet his gaze again, he’s nodding with encouragement. “King Erina, General Katrijanov, and Ephegos are the only ones who know, and they won’t lift a finger to advertise the King of Tavras intends to marry a convicted criminal and foreign queen.” It feels like those are the most words Herinor has ever spoken to me, their meaning sliding over me like poisonous honey.
I left Meer so long ago that no one here will remember my face even when I remember too many of them. I left as a traitor’s daughter, and I’ve returned as a nobody. So far, I haven’t decided if my anonymity is a blessing or a curse. If I had someone … only one person who remembers my family, I might have another ally—or another enemy.
Before I can choose to be strong, I slump over my knees, and tears fall from my eyes.
Clio’s arms wrap around me so fast I gasp as she pulls me against her chest, sitting down beside me and rocking me back and forth like a child. “It’s all right, Ayna. Cry those tears now so Erina will never see them. He can’t know how close to breaking you are, or he’ll make it a public spectacle to watch you come apart.”
I don’t question her. She’s been in this palace longer than I have. As a fucking servant. The horror of one of the most powerful creatures I know ending up in a human king’s service… It nearly breaks my heart.
If Myron could see me now, he’d be ashamed of the woman he entrusted his heart to, and his people.
On instinct, my fingers wander to my biceps where the edge of the crow tattoo curls around my arm. Myron. If he were still alive, he’d bring down this palace with his vengeance and pick me from the rubble. He’d break apart Ephegos and Erina like twigs until their blood tinted the ground the color of nightmares, and even Herinor for the role he played in my pain.
It’s not much but enough to shock my tears into submission. As I trace my fingers over the fabric covering the corner of my tattoo, a current courses along my skin all the way to my spine where the tattoo ends. It’s stronger than a caress, near painful.
“What’s wrong, Ayna?” Clio’s voice is pushed to the background at the flicker of darkness running through me like an echo of Myron’s touch, and I jolt out of her arms, heart racing and breathless.