Chapter 10
We rollthrough the forest for hours before the first break. All that time, I try to keep a casual eye on the trees outside, but there are no landmarks that would help me orient, and it doesn’t matter where we are. I know where we’re going, and I can’t go there.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Ephegos warns as he opens the door and gestures at a nearby bush where I’m supposed to see to my needs. “King Erina didn’t specify in what condition he wants you, but I assume you don’t need both your feet to be a guest at his court.”
Ice slides down my spine as the male who drove the carriage leaps off the bench at the front and steps to my side, obviously intending to accompany me to the bushes.
“I won’t run.” It’s not a promise I intend to keep, but how else am I to get the guard off my back?
“Don’t worry, Wolayna.” Ephegos tosses over his shoulder as he flexes his arms and stretches his legs in a few long strides in the other direction. “Herinor will make sure you won’t.”
My heart stops in my chest then picks up at double pace. Herinor towers over me, his scar-flecked skin and stubbled jaw the only recognizable parts of him under the hood he’s been wearing, but as he slides it down, his full features are illuminated by the soft sunlight piercing through the cover of leaves above. Eyes of fir green stare back at me with a warning, and for a beat, all I can think is that I couldn’t make out their color in his torture chamber with the dim torch light.
“Move.” He shoves me by the shoulder until I stumble into the thicket, legs sluggish with paralyzing fear. A glance at his belt confirms that the knife with the leather-wrapped hilt that inflicted all those cuts on my skin is traveling with him, but there is a sword attached at each hip as well, and a small hatchet.
When I meet his gaze, all I find is the same warning from when I glanced at him before the guards took me back to my room. I don’t speak a word, merely take a deliberate step back into the bushes where I hope he won’t follow.
Of course, there is no way for me to escape with both Ephegos and Herinor paying close attention to my every move, but that doesn’t keep me from hoping to find a window of opportunity later. Later, before we make it to Meer.
I don’t even know how many days of travel lay ahead, how long we’ll remain in the merciful cover of trees that might allow me to hide if I ever manage to make my escape. The moment we’re out in the open, the vastness of the Plithian Plains will make it practically impossible to sneak away. Ephegos and Herinor’s fairy senses will spot me across the flatlands even if I crawl on my belly.
“Isn’t there supposed to be a lady’s maid traveling with me?” I make conversation more to distract myself from having to pee within earshot of a male who recently cut me with his knife—or any male. “Or did Ephegos bring you for the job?” It’s not a smart move on my part. All the more, I’m surprised when Herinor laughs.
“I’d make a fine lady’s maid. It would be a very different type of task for once. Not that I don’t enjoy torturing, but I’ve heard Tavrasian fashion is almost as good as a knife to the throat with its fishbones and tight lacings.” His eyes travel my torso, stopping at my waist. “Go see to your needs. I’ll be right here.”
It’s all he says before he turns around so his back is to me, but I hear words unspoken that do not match his grumbling tone or the menace of his appearance. If you need me.
I decide not to listen to the silent add-on. I can’t trust him. Herinor put poison in my tea. And I sure as the Guardians are Eroth’s children can’t confront him about that with Ephegos this close by.
A few awkward minutes later, I step out of the bushes past the male’s shoulder. He follows at a few paces distance back to the carriage where Ephegos is waiting with a basket of food in his hand and a smile on his lips as if all he wants is to have a sweet picnic with the master of torture and me right here on the forest ground.
The horses stomp at the scent of apple and sugar filling the air, and I pause as I realize that I can actually smell the pie sitting in the basket from a few steps away.
“Here, Ayna.” Ephegos holds out a piece to me. I don’t wonder where he conjured the porcelain plate from or the silver fork but simply take it from his hands and start eating. Being rattled to the bones inside the carriage while my stomach has been clenching with trepidation hasn’t helped my already shaky condition. It’s a miracle I’m not swaying on my feet as I march to a fallen tree trunk and sit down, already shoveling the pie into my mouth. Herinor follows me like a prison guard.
“So, what about that lady’s maid?” I ask between bites.
Herinor’s jaw feathers as he turns those fir-green eyes on me, and I squirm at the promise of more knife-cutting if I don’t shut up.
By the carriage, Ephegos observes us with a raised brow. “Interesting you should ask. I already sent someone ahead for you. I don’t know if you’ll be happy with her, though. She’s quite a wreck.”
Something deep down in my chest turns to ice, and at the back of my mind, a small voice is screaming a warning. Ephegos is planning something. I don’t know what it is, but it includes the entirety of his wicked cunning.
“Now eat up. We’ve got somewhere to be.” He watches me finish my pie before he waves me back to the carriage. I don’t even try to resist, knowing that Herinor’s strength unquestionably outmatches mine even if Ephegos wouldn’t get involved in dragging me back.
At the door, he holds out a small canteen. “You haven’t had anything to drink in a while, Ayna.” Again, it’s not an invitation; it’s an order. So I take the canteen from his hand and take a sip before handing it back to him.
The familiar taste of herbs spreads on my tongue, and I know I’ve been poisoned again. Before my senses fail me, I shoot an accusatory glance at Herinor, whose eyes are already on me, conflicted, yet he doesn’t make a move to help me as I drop to the forest ground, uncaught by protecting arms.
The ground beneath me sways, making it difficult to keep my balance. I haven’t been in a storm like this since the night before the Wild Ray was captured by Tavrasian soldiers—by General Katrijanov to be precise. The ship aboard which I am standing isn’t the Wild Ray, though. This is a simple sailing yacht, big enough to hold a small crew, but nothing as formidable as the pirate ship I once called my home.
Gripping the railing harder, I glance over my shoulder, trying to figure out how I got here, if I’m a prisoner, or if I miraculously escaped Ephegos and made it to the ocean. Perhaps I’m on my way to freedom and the storm is the only obstacle standing between me and the Eastern waters of Eherea bridging the way to Neredyn.
“Ayna.” Myron’s voice pierces right through my heart. I don’t see him, but his scent drafts into my nose as I whip my head around to locate him… Wind and pine and something reminding me of freedom. My chest clenches at the possibility of him being here, of all of the horrors from the Seeing Forest being nothing more than a horrific figment of my imagination.
“I’m here!” The gusts of air whipping around me swallow up my voice, tearing at my long, heavy dress, at my loose hair, until my view is blocked by strands of ash blonde.
From within the haze, Myron’s powerful outline appears, black-feathered arms hanging loosely at his sides as he takes me in, head to toe—the tight leather pants, linen shirt, and vest that are my pirate uniform, the daggers sheathed at my hips.
My heart stops as his all-black eyes lock onto mine, and he closes the distance between us in a few long strides, wind ruffling his feathers and tousling his hair. He’s just like I remember him: the lean muscle rippling along his torso with every step he takes toward me, the darkness of his mood mirroring on his face. I still haven’t taken a breath when his talon-tipped hands wrap around my waist, pulling me against him, and I crash against his chest like in free fall. I’m still free-falling as he lowers his face, aligning his mouth with mine. A rush of heat brushes my lips, and I remember to breathe, remember that he shouldn’t be here, that he’s dead. But he’s kissing me in a symphony of all the memories he and I made during my time at the Crow Palace.
My stomach flutters as he nudges his tongue against my lower lip, requesting access … and I give it to him. I give him all of me because this might be the last time I’ll get to see him. Tingling warmth turns into liquid heat as he slides his tongue into my mouth, at the taste of him, his fingers splaying on the small of my back as I tilt my head to give him better access. The wind relentlessly beats against our silhouette, trying to cool down the fire Myron ignited in me, but his touch is a million times hotter as it finds its way up my spine until he’s cupping my neck, fingers tangling with my hair, and I sink my hands into the soft feathers of his arms.
Guardians—
I moan as he presses his hips against mine, trapping me between the railing and the hard planes of his body, lining them up with my curves—until I forget where we are and that this can’t possibly be real. Until all I can think of is how to get him out of his leather pants and have him take me right here, right now on deck of this ship?—
A ship…
This isn’t real. I carefully pull back my right hand, bending and rolling the wrist. It moves like it’s never been shattered, like it used to when I was still able to wield a dagger with it.
As reality settles in that this is a dream—a dream I don’t want to let go of—Myron is tugged away by the ruthless storm, his wings flaring as he fights the relentless forces that are the weathers at sea. He doesn’t stand a chance. Neither do I when I push my path after him through the fog hiding his beautiful face from view once more.
“Don’t leave me.” Panic grasps me as the last of him is swallowed up by a barrier of dense white, and I have to hold onto the railing so my strength won’t leave me.
“Where are you, Ayna?” He sounds close enough to touch, but I can’t find his outline in the haze spreading along the planks of simple wood I stand on, eating up every inch of clear sight until I’m trapped in smoke and mist and my own thundering heartbeat.
I try to grapple my way through the haze, pierce it with my gaze, but it doesn’t yield. “Myron…” I pant his name, another gust of wind stealing my breath.
“I will find you. And if it takes a lifetime, I will find you.”
The promise still echoes in my head when I claw at the barrier pushing toward the source of his voice, then something hard hits my face.
Pain explodes along my cheek, blooming like a spring meadow of torment as I shoot to my feet but am jostled back into a sitting position immediately. The haze has lifted—or I blinked the dream away when Herinor slapped me with his brutal hand.
The ground is swaying, but it’s not a boat. It’s the carriage, and Herinor is riding in the cabin with me, face grim and eyes hard as a frozen lake.
“Pay attention.” His hiss is almost as harsh as the wind in my dream—a dream where Myron’s voice called out to me. Biting my lower lip is all I can do to fight the tears pricking behind my eyes.
Herinor gestures at the window, and I finally focus on something other than the gaping hole that the thought of Myron being alive—and waking to it having been a dream—left in my chest. Swallowing all signs of the spreading agony, I follow his gaze to find we’ve cleared the forest, and all I can see are the grassy plains outside the windows. Herds of horses should be grazing here and there, but the pulsing pain trapped inside my skull doesn’t allow for me to focus enough to make out those brown and black dots in the distance. I must have hit my head when I fainted.
“Drink this.” A canteen of water dangles from Herinor’s hand on a leather strap. “You’ve been out for a while.”
He doesn’t need to say it when it’s written all over his face: I missed my opportunity to escape in the forest. From here on, it will only become harder to avoid the keen eyes of my company—if I ever manage to slip away.
Ignoring the canteen as well as all the reasons I should spit in Herinor’s face, I pin him with a gaze. “Where is he?”
For a heartbeat, the massive male sitting on the bench across from me squirms. Then, his features smooth over, turning into the mask of the male who sliced me open in the basement of the Flame estate. He stashes the canteen under the bench he’s sitting on and faces me, shoulders squared and scar-flecked jaw feathering as he scans my features. “You mean Ephegos.” I can’t tell if I imagine the relief in his tone when he realizes I’m asking for the Crow traitor.
“Who else would I be asking about?” For there are only two males I want to see, and one of them is dead. Wherever Royad is, I hope he’s still breathing and fighting. I can’t bear losing another person, no matter how far away and how unlikely I’ll ever see him again. If he’s smart, he’ll take whatever remains of his people and flee Eherea.
Herinor shakes his head. “He’s driving the carriage.” The look he gives me is all I need to know that Ephegos hasn’t cleared the field to give me space. Someone needs to drive the carriage, and since Herinor is in here with me, I assume the pain in my chest and head won’t be the only ones for much longer.
It takes the blink of an eye for him to reach for his simple knife and set it to the side of my arm. “I’m bound by my bargain with Ephegos,” he reminds me as he slices through my sleeve, making me cringe back into the cushions of the bench.
Panic grasps my voice, and I can’t get a scream out. Even if I did, no one would come to my aid. No one would care if Herinor reduced me to a bundle of bloody ribbons—as long as I was still breathing so Ephegos could deliver me to Erina.
“Please.” I mouth the word, not daring to speak out loud when Ephegos is within earshot. “You said you were my ally.”
Herinor understands and nods, but his blade bites into my upper arm anyway, right where my tattoo wraps to the side of my biceps. A brief, stinging pain tears through my arm before Herinor pulls back his knife and sheaths it without wiping off my blood.
“I’m not supposed to make a mess in the carriage. Just do enough to keep you in line and occupied on an otherwise boring journey.” The bitterness in his voice doesn’t match the cruelty of his actions or the remorse in his eyes as he scans my arm, the streaks of blood running down my sleeve, then my face. “I’m sorry,” he mouths, too, before he opens his mouth as if to say something more.
I shake my head at him. He hurt me, poisoned me. Hurt me again. I don’t want his apologies or his pity. I want nothing to do with this fairy at all.
Fighting all the anger, the pain, the fear, and frustration, I clasp my wounded arm with my free hand and pray to the Guardians that this journey will be over soon. If I want a chance to make my escape, I can’t eat or drink to avoid another dose of poison, and I can’t sleep because I won’t miss another opportunity.
At least, the pain keeps me alert when my body is exhausted from the aftereffects of the poison. I yet need to learn what it does besides putting me to sleep for extended periods of time, how long it will take for it to finish me off for good, though I’m not ready to ask Herinor anything. I’ll bide my time until an opening arises. And then, I’ll run.