Chapter 12
I was wrong.There won’t be another opening to run. If I wasn’t certain when Ephegos forced the poisoned water down my throat, I’m sure now. It’s become impossible to tell the number of hours or days passing between my poison-induced periods of sleep and the time I spend vomiting and fighting a pounding headache when I wake up again.
This is the third time they’ve poisoned me on the journey to Meer, and every time I open my eyes, it’s night, so I can’t make out more than the immediate surroundings when Herinor marches me to a thicket where I can take care of my needs.
With nothing staying in my stomach for long, I’ve become weak and incapable of even thinking about running.
“Over there.” Herinor points at a low hedge that seems all too domesticated for us to still be in the Plithian Plains.
I follow where he’s pointing and double over, retching until the nausea ebbs and I’m able to breathe again.
The male hasn’t spoken about his oath to Ephegos again, or about how he intends on breaking it to help me the way an actual ally wouldn’t. Then, I’ve given up hope that anyone is my ally in this world. The only person willing to save me died to actually do so, and his death still haunts me in the nightmares of my poison-sleep.
I’m about to gather myself up and stagger back to the carriage when movement in the nearby bushes catches my attention. Before I can make out what sort of animal snuck up on us, Herinor darts over and reaches into the twigs, extracting a human shape clad in leathers. A bow and arrow are slipping from the person’s hands as Herinor slams her down on the ground where he pins her with his steel grasp.
Not any person, I realize.
“Kaira—” My voice is weak and my legs shaky as I stumble toward her, pulling on Herinor’s shoulder to get him off her. “Get off her. She’s not an enemy.”
Herinor doesn’t seem convinced, for he grabs the woman by the throat as he pulls her back to her feet, skillfully evading my attempts to shove him off her.
“Is something wrong with your eyes?” He jerks his chin at the bow and arrow. “She was pointing that at you.”
Kaira’s brown gaze meets mine through the pale, moonlit night, and she tries to shake her head. She’s wearing the exact same clothes she was when I saw her sneak along the hedges at the Flame estate.
“Did you follow us all the way here?”
“Apparently, or she wouldn’t be hiding in second-rate bushes to fire arrows at you.” Herinor drags a struggling Kaira toward the carriage, his free hand herding me along. “Only thieves and assassins sneak through the night like this.”
Under different circumstances, I might have raised a brow at him, asked him if he was serious, but with my head spinning from lack of nourishment and the aftereffects of the poison, I am in no condition to challenge him about anything.
“Don’t hurt her,” I ask instead, hating how helpless I’ve become. If only I had my magic?—
It’s a topic I try not to think on too much anymore when all it does is give me flashes of the day when even magic wasn’t enough to save Myron.
Herinor’s chuckle rolls through the field, bouncing off the polished walls of the carriage as he marches us up toward Ephegos’s elegant form. “I’m not the one who decides what’s to happen with her.” I can’t help noticing the disdain in his voice. “He is.”
“And he will make sure the lower Flame is properly punished for an attempt on my prisoner’s life.” Ephegos pushes away from the carriage, prowling toward me as if cataloguing any injuries. Of course, all he is doing is making sure I’m not visibly damaged when he delivers me to Erina.
My stomach sinks despite the excitement and adrenaline coursing through my blood. If Kaira truly meant to kill me… Perhaps Herinor was right that I have no allies.
He releases her, shoving her to the ground in front of the Crow traitor, her whimpering as her knees hit the hard earth making me shrink an inch. “Followed us all the way from the estate,” he notes, stepping back so he’s standing beside me—probably to make sure I won’t bolt.
The thought brings a dark laugh to my lips. As if I could run in this state. As if I could do anything other than exist.
Holding my breath, I scan the Crow from the side, searching for any indication he’s going to push me to my knees next, but Herinor stands like a statue as he waits for his master to exact justice on the would-be assassin.
Something in the way Kaira quivers under his stare tells me she’s been in this position before and knows exactly what’s going to happen next.
Since I woke in the Flame estate, I haven’t seen Ephegos lay a hand on anyone other than me, friend or foe, but when he strikes Kaira’s face with the back of his hand in a wide swing, it’s obvious he has more practice beating up his prisoner than he’d let on.
At the gasp of agony from Kaira’s lips, something tries to rise inside me like a memory of the power I once held, but there’s no water around us. No stream. Not even a puddle … if I don’t count the spiked liquid in the canteen that’s sitting under the bench inside the carriage.
“I tolerate a lot of things.” Ephegos stalks away from the cowering part-Flame, folding his arms as if he hadn’t just struck her in the face and musing at the stars above is the only concern he has. “But I don’t tolerate insubordination, Kaira. You were worth nothing in Jeseida’s service, and if you’re stupid enough to sneak up on two full-blooded Crows in the middle of the night and try to kill their charge, you’re even more useless than I initially thought.”
He stops to eye Kaira, who is shaking with suppressed sobs. Sobs of fury, I realize as she turns to watch Ephegos, and I can make out the ire written on her features. Her bow and arrow have dropped to the ground in the process of Herinor dragging her to the carriage, lying in the dirt and leaves right at Ephegos’s feet. He swipes them up with a swift hand and snaps them in half.
I could swear a part of Kaira’s defiance withers at the sight of her weapon being destroyed.
“I should end you for your disobedience.” His hiss is the closest I’ve experienced him to his Crow self since the breaking of the curse, and it’s enough to remind me what sort of creature I deal with.
Fear flashes through me, drawing upon what little energy I have left, making my knees buckle. Before I can hit the ground, Herinor catches me with a massive arm, and I wish I could jerk away from his touch.
The forest and Ephegos’s hissing disappear in a dark void as my consciousness leaves me for what feels like the hundredth time.
My hip hits something hard, and I jerk out of oblivion. I don’t get far, though, with the hard grip restraining my legs and the way I’m slung over someone’s shoulder. The scent of leather and sweat climbs into my nose, making me want to weasel out of that iron hold.
“Stop moving,” Herinor orders. “You’ll only hurt yourself more.”
I want to ask him since when does he care whether I get hurt, but all I get out is a dry, raspy sound that could have been a complaint or a grumbling whine.
“We’re almost there. Ephegos ordered you cleaned up before we meet the King of Tavras.”
I force my eyes to stay open and focus on the tall, colorful buildings, the countless arches and carvings lining their roofs, windows, and countless little towers. The morning sun gleams from the small spheres sitting atop each roof tipped with needle-sharp spires pointing toward the perfect clouds above. A wave of childhood memories rushes through me at the sight of narrow streets weaving between ornate fences painted in fir green and azure and butter yellow. For over a decade, this part of Tavras’s capital was my home. I walked each of those alleys when my mother took me to luncheons and parties hosted by Meer’s society, knocked on too many of the carved, painted doors when I accompanied my father on his visits with clients.
It doesn’t feel like home, though, when I glance around to take in the otherwise empty streets. It’s too early in the day for the noble quarters to come to life with artfully dressed Tavrasians and too late in the day for the servants to fill the streets on their early errand runs.
All color blurs, and the evenly spaced cobblestones are the only things I see as my head slumps against Herinor’s back, cheek resting against his leathers.
Fuck—
We’ve arrived in Meer … and I’m hung upside down over Herinor’s broad shoulder.
The scent from days’ worth of travel climbs deeper into my nose, the intensity making me cough.
“Maybe you should clean up,” I murmur, responding to his earlier statement.
Of course, the male hears it with his damned Crow ears. His laugh rumbles beneath me as he turns into an alley and marches up a set of blue-painted, wooden stairs. “Don’t worry. I will. But first, we’ve got to get you presentable.”
“And by we, you mean?”
“If you’re worried I’ll lay a hand on you, you can stop right here, Ayna.” Herinor’s laugh has faded, leaving behind the same serious tone he used in his torture chamber when he tried to explain that he’s my ally.
The fact he even says something like this tells me that Ephegos has to be out of earshot.
Wiggling myself into a more comfortable position that won’t make my stomach empty itself all over again, I heave a breath to convince myself it’s a good idea to even bring it up.
By the time I work up the nerves, we’re inside a small, dim entrance hall. Herinor sets me on my feet, his hand remaining locked around my arm to stabilize me, not to hurt. I notice that detail, too.
“Are you still my ally?” My eyes lock on his, and I refuse to bleat with fear at the way the morning light makes his countless scars stand out even more.
With a shrug, he leads me past walls hung with portraits of Tavrasian kings and queens. From the corner of my eye, I spy one of Erina’s father in his uniform rather than ceremonial dress. He’s still young in the painting, the way I remember him from his visits to my father’s warehouse.
“More than you’d think and less than you’d hope.” He shoves me inside the next room, closing the door behind us before he follows me into the corridor leading to what must be sitting rooms, dining rooms, and reception rooms. All houses in this part of Meer have a similar layout when it comes to the ground level where nobility likes to impress their guests. This home is no exception.
“What do you mean, less than I’d hope?” I turn, my arm brushing the wood-paneled wall and almost swiping a small painting down. After Myron and Royad, I’ve become accustomed to fairies speaking in riddles, but I need to know who I can trust, or I’ll slowly lose my mind—perhaps that’s already happening.
“It means exactly what I’ve told you before, Ayna. My bargain with Ephegos prevents me from helping you the way I want to. Nothing has changed.”
The way he says it, flat and matter-of-fact… A shiver rakes through me, and my legs go weak all over again. He’s going to hurt me again, to poison me again. Even if he doesn’t want to.
“In there.” He reaches around me to open another door, this one leading to a large bathing room with a tall milky window. The scent of lavender and berries floats in clouds of steam from the porcelain tub. “Your lady’s maid will be there soon.”
Herinor turns to leave, but my hand latches onto his forearm in an impulse that might have been stupidity or desperation.
“Please tell me I’ll get out of here. Please tell me there is a different life for me than being Ephegos’s toy. His to sell to whomever he chooses.” I hate that I’m begging him—especially when he’s done nothing to aid me since the moment he carved me open in the torture chamber. He hasn’t proven that he’s on my side. Has poisoned me over and over again.
He’s also the only one I have left to talk to. The Guardians know where Kaira ended up. I wouldn’t put it past Ephegos or Herinor to have made her their supper, and I don’t dare ask.
The look Herinor gives is all I need to know there is no other future—and that he wishes there was.
“If I can promise you nothing else, I can promise you that I’ll be the one guarding you at the palace. I might have failed Myron, but I won’t fail my queen.” His words are a murmur, his hair bouncing into his face as he leans closer to share this secret. “And before you ask, I will continue to drug you. It’s the best way I can protect you for now. I can’t torture you when you’re out cold. Even Ephegos has to acknowledge that.”
Blood rushes to my head with the new understanding of what a slim line he’s walking in fulfilling his bargain with Ephegos and actually trying to do the right thing, and I am tempted to thank him. But there is more. More words he is about to say, more truths swirling in his green eyes. He’s murdered and raped and tortured. He used to believe Myron’s father’s path was the right one—until he started to see there was a different way. Myron’s way.
“Have you had any dreams?”
The question takes me by such surprise that I forget to be afraid of him. Heat flushes my cheeks as the dream about Myron on the Wild Ray comes back to me. I can almost feel the wind on my face, almost smell the ocean, feel his lips on mine and his fingers on my skin. And his voice echoes in my head like he’s standing next to me.
I will find you. And if it takes a lifetime, I will find you.
Smothering all evidence of the pain filling my chest at the mere thought of the hope flaring when I’d heard him in my dream, I let go of his arm and step back until my shoes hit the rose and creme granite tiles of the bathing room.
“About what?
Herinor’s gaze flickers to my shoulder, and for a heartbeat, I believe he’s going to tear off my sleeve again and cut my skin all the way to the crow tattoo gracing my shoulder.
All he does is shake his head. “When I was little, my father used to say some dreams are real. Not all but some. And you’ll know when they are.”
Before I can ask what he means by that, he closes the door in my face, and his footsteps disappear down the hallway.