Chapter 5
For the firsttime since the warrior Flame entered the room, her expression becomes guarded, and she is fidgeting, almost like she is anxious she might spill secrets that aren’t hers to tell. Not that I’m surprised Ephegos would have put a lock on all that information he’s been unwilling to share with me himself, and his vengeance is nothing I’d want anyone exposed to, so I shake my head at Kaira, pretending my curiosity and fear aren’t eating me up. “It’s all right. I’ll find out in good time.” If I never find out, it’s soon enough.
Kaira’s shoulders relax, and she heaves an obvious breath of relief.
I might not get the information I want, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned at the Crow Palace, it is that there’s always something else to learn that might come in handy later, so I brace myself for all the possible answers to my next question. “Where is this residence located? Are we still in Askarea?” Not that I’m in any condition to attempt an escape, but if I ever get a chance, I’d better know what to expect if I make it past the pink and yellow blossoms in the gardens outside my window.
Kaira shakes her head, then nods. “Kind of. We’re right at the border.”
My heart beats wildly enough to make me wonder if the full-blooded fairies in the estate can hear it through walls and floors. “Which border?”
There are only two borders with Askarea, and both of them are human territories. Cezux and Tavras.
“The Plithian Plains.” She gestures at the window as if the forest and flowers would explain everything, and my stomach sags to my knees.
“Tavras.” The word leaves me in a gust, hollowing out my chest until I have no breath in me. I haven’t seen the Plithian Plains in the north of Tavras since my childhood when my mother dragged me across the land to find a new home for us. The flatland sits nestled between the lush grain fields in the northeast of the capital Meer and the Askarean border. It’s a region of harsh winds and wet storms that hosts only a few settlements. Merchant outposts mostly, where goods for trade with the fairylands are being temporarily stored, inns and blacksmiths provide for travelers, and then there are the horses.
I’ve never seen as many horses as on the Plithian Plains where they graze in vast stretches of flat lands with sheds built against copses of trees as shelters and waterholes scattered between the occasional fence for keeping them from meandering into the fairylands.
When I was a child, I thought galloping through the Plithian Plains on one of those slender horses would equal freedom. Then I grew up and became a pirate. Riding is nothing compared to the winds whipping across the ocean and the sense of flying they induce when the ship cuts through storms and waters.
“Not quite. We’re technically still on Askarean soil. It’s the only way to make sure Tavras can’t interfere—” Eyes widening, she slaps her hand over her mouth, stopping herself, but I’ve soaked up every last syllable, and there is no unhearing what she said.
“Interfere with what?” I prompt, hoping she’ll slip up again.
Kaira takes a step back, gesturing at the tea. “Drink. I’ve already said too much.”
“Not enough,” I correct her, and I notice that guarded expression again that tells me something is going on behind those brown eyes that could make a difference in my escape.
That makes the woman chuckle before her gaze darkens. “I always say too much. It’s a Guardiansdamned miracle they let me do anything at all.”
“Who are they? The Flames? The Crows working with the Flames? General Katrijanov?” I have to at least try. After seeing the Crows bleed when answering questions the curse forbade, there is nothing that can happen to Kaira if no one ever learns she spilled secrets. “I won’t tell anyone you said anything,” I promise, wondering if Flames—or even part-Flames—make bargains like other fairies.
Kaira only shakes her head at me. “I value my life too much to tell you. But know that, even if this seems to be a dire situation, not all Flames are happy with Ephegos’s leadership.” She doesn’t say if she agrees, but the fact that she mentioned Ephegos as a leader confirms the impression I got at the battle when the Flames seemed to flank him and protect him like a king of their own.
Inclining my head, I reach for the cup still waiting on the table. “I won’t forget your kindness, Kaira.”
She’s already stalking toward the door, knife back at her hip and shoulders tight as she reaches for the brass knob and hesitates. “I’ll try to come back tomorrow. Just don’t upset anyone in the meantime. Flames are a fiery people and their tempers almost as bad as that of the Crows.”
I accept her warning with a tentative smile. “A perfect match, those two people then. If only they wouldn’t try to rip each other apart.”
Kaira returns my smile before she leaves the room.
I’m wearing the same eggshell-and-blue dress with blossom embroidery when I wake in my bed, what could be minutes or hours later. An ache in my shoulder makes me roll to the side and reach up to rub it, but my arm is stuck between the mattress and my body, and the sensation vanishes as I try to remember how I ended up here. The last thing I know is sipping the aromatic brew Kaira poured for me; everything after is a haze of jostling and nausea.
A glance at the table confirms the tea set is gone, and I wonder what sort of poison they gave me that makes my stomach feel like I have a ton of sawdust to hurl.
When I roll out of bed and hurtle for the bathing room, I barely make it to the porcelain toilet. But all that comes up is bile and memories of a beautiful pale male lying lifeless in a puddle of blood and water.
“Myron,” I whisper as if somehow that would summon him from behind Eroth’s Veil. His name bounces off the marble tiles and brass accents in the room, but in my chest, all it does is sink into the darkness I’m harboring there like a rock into ink.
By the time I’m done dry heaving, I’m shaking from exhaustion, and sweat beads my neck and forehead, but my head is clear, and where I had little to no idea of where I am and why I am here a day ago, I now have an estimated location of my whereabouts and the knowledge that the Flames and Crows working together might not be as happy with their alliance as they seemed when acting against Myron.
The thought should give me hope. Instead, it’s like another downward spiral in a growing assortment of downward spirals. If only I understood how Tavras fit into the equation, if this is merely about a failed punishment that needs to be re-exacted, or if it’s something more. Something personal.
Before I can come to a conclusion, the door opens with a bang, and two males in leather armor stride in, lifting me from where I kneel by the toilet, and dragging me back to the bedroom. No, not the bedroom. They hook their arms under my shoulders and pull me into the hallway while I protest with weak kicks and wriggles.
There is no getting rid of a Flame I learn as I’m being hauled down the set of stairs where windows are black as the night outside, the only thing illuminating the tall hallway is the bright fire flickering in brass sconces lining the walls. A distant part of me notices how similar they look to the torches at the Crow place, and it’s suddenly very clear that I’m at a Fire Fairy residence and these are everlasting flames.
Sharp pain runs through my arms and sides as the males tear at my shoulders to pull me into a more upright position. The hem of my skirt catches on a heavy boot, the fabric ripping somewhere at the height of my ankle. The male on my right curses, but the one on my left growls for him to shut up. I don’t get a proper look at either of them, other than that they are tall and powerfully built, before I’m being shoved through a hidden side door down a narrow set of stairs. I barely catch myself on the wooden handrail attached to the wall and slither to a halt on my knees at the bottom of the stairs, heart pounding as I take inventory of my bones. All are intact.
It’s not the fall I should have feared, though, but the creature awaiting me in the small, dim room, towering over a plain wooden chair. He turns to face me, a cruel curl to his lips, and cracks his knuckles.
“Welcome, Wolayna.” He gestures at the chair with his leather-clad arm, golden blond hair shifting into his harsh face as he nods in clear dismissal at the door behind me where I know the two guards must still be standing.
I don’t dare turn around to watch them close it. A heartbeat later, the sound of a lock clicking shut confirms they locked me in, and the terror in my veins won’t allow for me to tear my gaze away from the hulk of a fairy in front of me.
“I’ve been looking forward to this moment for quite a while.” He gestures at the chair as if I had a choice whether I sit or turn and run. “Take a seat.”
Trying not to acknowledge the petrifying panic surging through my body, I push myself up instead and stand on shaky legs with my hand braced on the wall. How I wish I had my dagger—or any weapon for that matter—even when I doubt any fighting trick I have up my brass and gold embroidered sleeves might help me defeat the male in front of me.
“I said sit,” he growls, the only warning I’ll get before he uses his brute strength on me; I can see by the gleam of violence in his eyes.
My legs barely carry me, but they march on to the chair anyway, the traitors.
“Good girl.” He pushes me down by the shoulder, the touch like fire, right over the tattoo I discovered before Katrijanov’s visit.
“I’m not a girl.” My voice is as weak as my legs, but I grit my teeth and hold the male’s stare as I face him from my position in the uncomfortable piece of furniture.
That merely costs him a rough laugh. “I don’t care what you are, Wolayna. Only who you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Call it bravery or sheer stupidity—or the missing energy to reflect on my words before speaking them—but I speak unfiltered as I defy him with all I have. Which isn’t much, considering I’ve barely eaten and have been poisoned or drugged—who knows with Ephegos; I wouldn’t put it past him to kill me slowly with poison—since I almost died three days ago. Four, perhaps, if I count the time I was passed out after the gloriously sedating tea Kaira served. I make a mental note to tell her all about how little the taste of the brew was worth the pain I went through after.
“Just that we have things to talk about, you and I.” He turns to the shelf against the wall where a set of tools is waiting to be used. Sharp metal and tough wood. Leather slings and various thicknesses of ropes.
“Are you going to torture me?” It’s a stupid question to ask a male who seems to be ready to exact violence and pain on any soul stepping into his path, but I need to know. I need to know if I have to brace myself for more pain or if I can take a breath.
“What makes you think I’d revert to such primal methods when I have the perfect ability to lead a conversation that’s not dictated by pliers to pull your teeth and hammers to shatter your bones?” His stark, gray gaze slides to my stiff wrist as if he knows exactly where I’m most vulnerable.
He’s wrong, though. The most vulnerable part of me is the splintered lump I used to call my heart. And that can be hurt most with words. So, I brace myself for a storm rather than the stabbing pain of a blade and study his scar-flecked face, his sharp, stubbled jaw. He seems older than most fairies I’ve seen, who are all timelessly beautiful, frozen in the prime of their years. But this male looks more like he’s in his late thirties. Handsome still, the pointed ears slightly out of place.
“Since you already seem to know who I am, how about you tell me who you are?” I pray to the Guardians that he will opt for words rather than the instruments of torture he’s turning toward again and fold my hands in my lap in aspiration of indifferent calm.
The male barks a laugh, his leather armor creaking as he lifts his arms over his head to reach for an item high up on the shelf. “Herinor.”
I wait for more as he rummages above my line of sight for something, I’m not sure I even want to know what, but he leaves it at that one name.
“Herinor,” I repeat.
He hums his confirmation.
“Are you a Flame?” I know better than to call him a Fire Fairy. While Kaira’s anger seemed manageable, I don’t want to be on the receiving end of this male’s fury.
“Do I look like a Flame?” He glances at me over his shoulder, brushing back his hair with his free hand while he tucks a small, longish item into the side of his belt. I’m too busy squirming under his brutal stare to notice what exactly it is.
“Is there a right answer to this question? Because I have only seen so many Flames from up close, and I have no idea what other fairies live in this estate.” It’s not exactly the smartest response, but it’s one that leaves room for him to pick up the conversation if that’s what he’s set on doing.
He measures me with a sharp look before cutting his gaze back to the shelf and arranging a few tools.
“I’m almost disappointed you don’t remember me, Wolayna. It’s been less than a week since I last saw you, and you have already forgotten.”
I rack my brain for a memory of this male, of his tall and broad frame, his scarred face and unique eyes, but come up blank.
“Nothing, Ayna? Really?” He raises a light brown brow, shooting me a gaze that somehow feels familiar, yet his features are as unfamiliar as they were two minutes ago.
When I don’t respond, the male turns and leans against the shelf, one hand braced on the worn wood, and pins me with those gray eyes. “I must say, I’m a bit disappointed. I guarded your sleep for the past months after all.”
His words clang through me, taking with them all my resolve to remain unbothered, strong, and my mouth opens wordlessly.
“I do look a bit different now, I’ll give you that. You probably remember a winged monster with beak and black eyes.”
And feathers on his features, I add in my mind, but when I study him, I see the similarity of his build. The Crow who stood guard the first day I woke at the Crow Palace. I never paid much attention to who guarded the door to Myron’s chambers, too occupied with either Royad or the Crow King himself at my side whenever I left the room.
He’s one of the Crows who used to glare at me when I walked the hallways, one of those who believed I didn’t have a place there and that his people were better off without a broken curse—at least, that’s what I assume from his appearance in the Flame residence.
“Are you a traitor Crow or just an opportunist?” Clutching my fingers in my lap, I scan his features, memorizing the straight nose and light stubble, the pointed ears, and the waves of his hair. In his leather armor, he looks every bit as menacing as he did in his half-Crow form, but I refuse to balk, refuse to panic. If anything, this male is another source of information. Finding enough of those, may help me piece together what’s going on here. Because, no matter how much Ephegos hates Myron for the death of his sister, that cannot be the only reason I’m here. If revenge was all he wanted, he’d torture me himself until I beg for death. But he hasn’t even hinted that’s what he has in mind. Not yet.
“Neither.” Herinor gives me a grim glance that makes me wonder if he is all that dangerous or merely a male stuck in a position he hates. When I measure him, he shakes his head. “Don’t look at me like you wonder if I’m better than them because I’m not.” He gestures at the ceiling in the general direction of where I assume the other inhabitants of this residence must be located. “I’m not upset the curse is broken, even when I didn’t believe it necessary. There was power in the way our bodies were locked in claws and feathers. It gave us an entirely different way of perceiving the world, made us strong, resilient.”
I don’t interrupt, despite the millions of questions about how he knows the difference, if he is one of the ancient Crows responsible for the curse or if he is just like Myron and Royad, who were infants when the curse hit.
“Do I mourn our king?” He shrugs. “More than I mourned Carius. I hated that male, thought there was something inherently cruel about Myron’s father that made it impossible not to follow his lead. Something charismatic, almost like a song of violence our Crow nature answers to. Of course, our people turned into what we are today. Of course, the gods would—” He stops himself, hand wandering to his mouth where he wipes as if expecting blood to spill from his lips. But the curse is broken, and nothing is keeping him from speaking the truth of his people, the curse, and whatever gods placed it on them.
“Who cursed the Crows?” I half expect the Neredynian gods to rain vengeance down on me for the mere question, expect anything other than an actual answer.
All the more surprised I am when Herinor holds my gaze and says, “Vala, the Goddess of Life and Water.”
My breath catches in my throat. I haven’t the slightest clue about that goddess, but if she cursed a people to be stuck in their monster form, to become unlovable and cruel, she can’t be a deity I want to pray to.
“You probably haven’t heard of Vala. Neredynian deities aren’t commonly known in Eherea, let alone Neredyn, our?—”
“Home,” I finish for him, eager to get on with the conversation now that I’m finally getting information. “How did she curse you? What happened exactly that justifies taking away all females of a people and damning them to slowly go extinct?” Taking away a species’s females so they can no longer bear offspring and spread across the lands to cause more destruction is an effective punishment—a cruel, brutal punishment. The curse merely missed that Crows bred with humans and, apparently, Fire Fairies whenever they could get their claws on them. I shudder at the mere thought of the horrors the Crows symbolize.
All those conversations with Myron and Royad come back to mind, how the Crows had taken from the lands of Neredyn whatever they pleased—resources, women—that they’d wreaked havoc wherever they went. And after the curse hit the Crows, Carius brought them to Eherea where he eradicated the people living at the palace in the Seeing Forest. He didn’t care to ask for land. He took. He killed for it.
Maybe Vala was right.
I was, I hear a non-distinct voice in my mind, the sound familiar, an echo of the moments I’d begged the murderous lake of brides’ tears to help me save Myron.
Everything goes still inside of me, listening for another sound from what I now understand can only be the voice of the goddess herself.
Why?she’d asked me. Why I wanted to save the Crow King.
And I’d answered I was the only chance he had. Back then, I didn’t realize that the lake from the sacred chamber was more than just the former brides’ tears but a medium for the Goddess of Water.
Guardians save me.
Had I not been sitting, my knees would have gone weak now.
“You were there when it all happened, weren’t you? You were with Carius from the beginning.”
Herinor nods, folding his arms over his broad chest, leathers creaking. “I was just as bad as Carius. I killed and raped and looted. And where we went, a trail of death and destruction followed. The human race was very new to Neredyn back then, and the gods had already left the realm of the mortals, and our creator with them.”
“Shaelak.” It’s a wild guess, but Shaelak is the god the Crows kept referencing.
“You are quite observant, Wolayna.” Herinor measures me with a glance that’s almost civil. I try not to think how many ways this situation can go wrong with his track record of crimes. “No wonder Myron risked everything to make you fall for him.”
“He didn’t make me fall for him,” I correct. “Quite the opposite. He tried to warn me away countless times.”
“That kid has always been too soft for a Crow.” The expression on Herinor’s features isn’t unkind, yet not fond either. But something changed the moment I walked in. He isn’t trying to scare me or threaten me. Herinor, the hulk of a Crow guard, is doing exactly what he said he would. He is leading a conversation, and I’m getting surprisingly much information out of it. So much, in fact, that my head is swimming.
“Only the God of Darkness can create a species such as ours. I believe he considers us Crows his one mistake.” There is regret in that voice, a darkness deeper than the one in the half-shifted Crows’ all-black eyes when they’d been stuck through the curse. Darkness and remorse.