Chapter 4
An hourafter the general and Ephegos leave, my hands haven’t stopped shaking, and I can’t move from the chair the Crow tied me to, even when he removed the invisible bonds upon his exit.
It doesn’t seem to matter how far I sail or run, the past always catches up with me. Even in the fairylands, the reach of the Tavrasian king extends deeply enough to put a sling around my neck.
Then there is the little detail of Katrijanov and Ephegos working together. It doesn’t add up in my mind. Not yet. But if Ephegos meant what he said, that I’ll be here for a while, I’m ready to put my efforts into finding out so I can prepare myself. Anything is better than being pushed into dire situations blindly. It was hard enough with the prison in Fort Perenis and then being dragged across the lands by Royad. No matter how he became my friend later, at that point, he was a monster to me, and I nearly shat myself at the sight of him. Not to mention what the news of being a tribute for the Crow King did to me.
How fate twisted to gift me a friend and a lover out of that terror, I am yet to come to terms with. Perhaps losing both of them is the price I’m paying for stealing hope from darkness. Perhaps it’s the rage of the gods the Crows pray to, the same ones who cursed them for their ancestors’ wrongdoings.
So much I yet have to learn… So much to wonder and guess and break over if I’m not careful.
My hand absently wanders to my shoulder, tracing where I now know a crow tattoo graces my skin. Yet another mystery to add to the pile, and the pile is already sky-high.
I take small comfort in the fact that Ephegos isn’t here to watch me fall apart, in the fact that I’m not chained to a dungeon wall with moldy bread and stale water as my daily meal. It’s not anything I trust to remain, though. I’ve seen what Ephegos is capable of, how he doesn’t shy away from spearing his friends with blades for self-righteous reasons, have been on the receiving end of his blade. There is no way I’ll live in silk and luxury forever. This is a temporary reprieve, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it’s preparation for something more, something worse than the dungeons of Fort Perenis. If darkness hits worse in bright and cozy places like this, where it can hide behind polished corners and between shiny ornamentations, and you’d never see it coming when it finally sneaks up on you.
A knock on the door tears me from my thoughts. With a quick hand, I wipe away the tears threatening to fall and take a stabilizing breath before getting to my feet, fingers gripping the backrest of the chair to keep my balance as I stand as straight as a silk-and-blossoms-covered pillar.
Before I can say a word for whoever knocked to come in or stay out, the lock on the door clicks, and a woman strides in, her long brown braid bouncing on her shoulder as she carries a tray to the table in front of me. Her linen pants are as brown as her hair, and the leather vest covering her torso is that of a fighter or hunter rather than of a household servant—as are the knives strapped to her thighs and the sword peeking above her shoulder as she sets the tray down.
“Order of Ephegos,” she chirps while dishes clink against each other as she jostles them, not paying attention to her task and taking in my appearance instead. “Nice choice.”
Whether she means the dress, my still-drying hairstyle, or just me, I can’t tell. I’m too flabbergasted that Ephegos would let any other being near me without supervision. And more than that: the woman is human. Her ears are rounded, and her face is gloriously … normal. Pretty, but not fairy beautiful. No sign of immortal grace or other magical attributes to give away that she’s anything more than an average human.
“Who are you?” The words slip out so fast I can make a conscious choice to ask.
The woman gives me a clipped smile. “Kaira.” Abandoning her grip on the tray, she picks up an elaborate teapot and pours steaming liquid into a cream and brass cup the size of a doll dish.
“Kaira,” I repeat, leaving the word hanging in the air with the expectation of an explanation.
When she’s done pouring, Kaira sets down the teapot, gesturing for me to settle in the chair I just made an effort to get out of. “You should drink and eat while you can. Who knows when Ephegos will feel another surge of kindness and allow such luxury?”
I smother the impulse to gesture at the obvious luxury of the room I’m being held in and do as she bids, especially since I notice her hand drifting to the knife where it casually hovers within range to draw the weapon effortlessly.
“You are human.” I don’t know why I’m surprised. Katrijanov just left, and he was human. It’s only logical there would be another human around.
“Mostly.” A grin splits her lips.
“And the other part? The non-human one?” Whatever loosens my tongue, it can’t be the tea she poured, for that is still sitting in its cup, untouched while Kaira steps back, surveying me with alert brown eyes the approximate color of her hair and clothes.
“Flame.” She adds a little shrug as if it’s something to accept rather than to be proud of.
“You’re part Fire Fairy?”
Her fingers curl beside the hilt of her dagger. “We prefer the term Flame. You know, since most of us are no longer all fully fairy-blooded.”
It takes me a moment to digest the information and the fact that she’s so willingly given it.
“So, this is the residence of the Flames?” It’s a long shot, and I don’t expect her to answer since Ephegos has so expertly kept our whereabouts a secret. But now that I have a talking Flame in front of me, I need to at least try.
“One of the many.” Again, her tone is nonchalant as if this is common knowledge and I’m not a prisoner.
“Are you saying the Flames have a lot of…” I glance at the ornamentations on the walls, searching for words. “Palaces?”
Kaira’s laugh bubbles through the room like I’ve said something hilarious and she can’t help herself, but her hand is on her knife, quite in contrast to the smile on her face.
“We don’t have palaces,” she finally says, face colder than I’ve seen since the moment she entered the room. “Not anymore. The last one was taken over by the Crow Fairies thousands of years ago and was destroyed in our final attempt to take it back a few days ago.”
My heart stutters.
“Destroyed?”
“Let’s put it this way.” She holds up a hand as if weighing her words on her palm. “Flame fire doesn’t do well when combined with certain traits of Crow magic.”
Images of that fateful battle come back to me: Myron’s power holding off the assaults of flames, my water magic lashing out fires in the entrance hall. The Crow magic hadn’t caused explosions then.
“What do you mean, combined?”
Kaira grimaces, and this time, there is no tell that her face is telling another story than her hands. The knife is tucked back to her side and she looses a slow breath. “The Crows fighting on our side fueled our fire with their invisible powers. It didn’t end well.”
I remember the explosions from the throne room, the debris. I remember being hit by something before I blacked out over Myron’s body.
“You were there? Did you see what happened to the others?” Again, I’m quicker speaking than thinking, but this Flame is talking, and I so desperately need answers. I still have no idea what happened to Clio and Royad or whatever Crows remained after the battle.
“I was here. Nobody wants a mostly human warrior on a magical battlefield. At least, not on the side of the Flames.” The appraising look she gives me makes my skin crawl, even when she hasn’t made any declaration she’s here to hurt me. I can’t tell if she’s my enemy, but she’s not my friend either. “As opposed to your side. I heard King Myron let you fight at his side. A human wielding magic… Fascinating.”
It’s not an answer to my question, but it’s information I tuck away for later. Any puzzle piece I can come by, I’ll take.
“So, you don’t know what happened to the … survivors?” My stomach tightens at the thought of Royad and Clio not having made it out. Guardians. If the Fire Fairies—the Flames—collapsed the entire palace, they might have been ended then and there among the rubble. And Myron’s body … buried in the ashes of a home he never truly owned.
I hide the tremor in my hand by sitting down and tucking my fingers into the folds of my skirts.
“The Flames tended to their wounded, and most of them returned to their settlements. Of course, our warriors are still hunting leftover Crows.” The glint of menace in her gaze tells me exactly what she thinks of the Crows, and this time, I can’t hide the shudder raking through my body.
This woman is a warrior as well. One carrying trays and making conversation with prisoners, but a warrior anyway, and there is no doubt she isn’t happy that again she has been left behind.
Another piece of information I tuck away for later.
“So, there are still some Crows left?” I can’t help the rapid rising and falling of my chest as my heart kicks into a gallop. They might be alive. Royad might be alive. And Clio… Not a Crow, but she fought at our side anyway. If I ever see her again, I will ask her what got her to work with her enemies instead of against them, when letting the Crows die would have rid the lands of Askarea of one more breed of monsters.
“Some.” Kaira’s hand twitches back toward her knife, ready to draw it and slay one of said Crows should they decide to step out of a pretty corner of my room.
For a moment, I wait for her to continue, but she remains quiet, eyes distant as if in her mind she’s already gone on a hunt.
“Can you tell me what Ephegos wants with me, Kaira?”