Chapter 23
I didn’t eatbreakfast today, or lunch. I refused the tea and the water, too. At least, with my own bathing chamber, I have access to un-spiked water whenever I want. It’s the food I need to be wary of, I’ve learned. My stomach grumbles uncontrollably as the door opens and Clio enters with a bag draped over her arm.
“Good day, Ayna.” She marches up to the sofa where she sets down the bag then drops onto the sepia cushions right beside it.
“Is it a good day?” I cross the room from where I’ve been staring out the window, following the unusually dense activity along the gravel pathways of the gardens. More courtiers seem to be arriving as the day progresses, their dresses and suits more elaborate than even at the banquet on my initial day.
We’ve discussed what happened with Erina a few days ago in length and multiple times, and much as I hate to admit it, Clio looks happier since I told her who is with Myron in the dungeon.
“Good if we’re both alive.”
She isn’t wrong. My chest has been lighter since I’ve seen Myron for myself, alive and breathing, even behind bars. I’m not naive enough to believe they aren’t hurting him. The condition I found him in speaks for itself. If anything, now I have confirmation that Erina is willing to capture, incapacitate, and torture magical creatures in order to get what he wants. And what he wants?
I wish I knew.
Annihilating the royal Milevishja bloodline by marrying it into his own line is one goal. No competition when it comes to the throne of Tavras, yes. But what else is he brewing behind closed doors?
If he has a weapon able to wipe out magic, nowhere in Eherea is safe. Where the borders to the fairylands used to be a natural barrier preventing humans from conquering territory in the north, Erina’s inventions may lift that restriction, giving him access to new lands, new power.
My stomach sours all over again as I watch Clio unfold the cloth protecting today’s attire.
“We need to get them out of the dungeon.” I settle on the chair across from her, resting my head in my hands as I brace my elbows on my knees. “If they’re free, they’ll recover their magic, and Erina has no power over them.” My voice comes out muffled, and I’m wondering if Herinor can pick up even those distorted words. Probably. It would be a novelty if anything were easy or would work in our favor.
Clio smooths her apron over her thighs, studying me with those vigilant jade eyes. They have more fire today than the color of her hair, their vibrancy partially restored as if by some magic of its own even when her fairy powers have been suppressed by the drug. “You know I’ve debated running over and over again—not that I could fight my way out of here with the guards following me everywhere but into your room. But I’ve debated it often enough to know the layout of the palace and the rotations of the guards. But with you about to be married to the Tavrasian king and Tori in the dungeon…” Her gaze grows distant as if she can see straight through the wood and stone of the floors separating us from our males, and a shiver runs through my body at the thought of how close Myron is. “I can’t find it in my heart to leave without them.”
Because the Princess of Askarea is a good female. If I hadn’t already liked her during our training sessions at the Crow Palace, now I do for sure.
“He’s your mate.” I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the concept of mates, even after Clio’s lengthy explanation of the soul-bond existing between fated fairies. She couldn’t leave him behind even if she wanted to.
“He’s my everything.” The pride shining in her eyes tells me what a creature that male has to be—one of the best. Because Clio deserves nothing but the best.
Clio didn’t tell me details about how they got together or how long they’ve been a mated pair—a story for another time, she’d said—and I didn’t dare ask when my head was spinning from seeing Myron fast asleep in the dungeons. At least, that’s what I tell myself, that he was asleep from the effect of the drug they keep giving us rather than from a punch to the head.
That sour taste is back in my mouth, and my shoulder aches where Myron has a matching one. I haven’t given it much thought with everything going on, but now that the sensation is back, I can’t help obsessing about the fact that we have the same tattoo.
“When Erina took me to see Myron…” I pause, waiting for Clio’s attention to make it back to this room. Only when her gaze meets mine do I continue. “I noticed a tattoo on Myron’s shoulder.” With sweaty fingers, I pull my nightgown aside to expose my own inked bird and turn so she can take a closer look. “The same crow on the same shoulder.”
Clio’s head tilts, expression neutral as she examines the black curves and lines making up the mark I can’t remember ever receiving. “How long have you had this?”
“It was there when I woke at the Flame estate.” The memories of those first days of vomiting my guts up are nothing I like to recall.
“And before?”
We both know the answer even when she’s never seen my naked shoulder before she was assigned as my lady’s maid.
“The only tattoo I had before is this.” I hold up my right hand where I was given the mark all prisoners at Fort Perenis get inked into their skin. A thin chain identifying them as criminals sentenced to rot in a fortress at the edge of the world.
At least, I used to think the island in the northeast of Eherea was the end of our world. Then Myron mentioned he was from a different continent in the east, and everything changed.
Neredyn. Where the gods curse their creations, and generations suffer for the wrongdoing of their ancestors.
“If Erina truly intends to marry you, he’d better cover that up. No one will be pleased to have a criminal as a queen.” The way she says it tells me that she approves of the thought of defying all traditions and advertising that a so-called traitor is wearing a crown, and a part of me agrees. A part of me is rebellious and ready to fight with all I have to make this an impossible endeavor for Erina.
Then I think of his threat—You will marry me, Wolayna. If you refuse, I will destroy him—and all that was hopeful inside of me crumbles back into a heap.
“As for the crow tattoo—I doubt Ephegos put that on you.” Leaning forward, she traces a fingertip along the smooth image in expert assessment. “This wasn’t put there by ink and needle.”
“What do you mean?” I run my fingers across the edge of the mark where the crow’s wing winds around my biceps. “How can you tell?”
She gives me a knowing look. “Even if I don’t have access to my powers right now, I can tell when magic is at work. Trust me.”
And I do. I do trust Princess Cliophera of Askarea.
“If Myron has a matching one, this might be something connected to you breaking the curse,” she muses. “Perhaps the goddess herself put it there.”
A shudder rakes along my spine at the thought of Vala marking me. But with a flying crow, not with an image of water the way one would expect from a goddess of the element?
“There might even be an underlying connection. Does it ever hurt? Tingle?” Sitting back on the sofa, she tugs on the buttons of her apron. “Gods, I hate this uniform. I want my leathers back.”
A smile creeps onto my features at the disgruntled expression on hers. “You wear it like the princess you are,” I tell her, taking in her posture, the elegance and grace of even her smallest movements. “But you’re badass in your leathers.”
“I’m badass in anything.” She flashes a predatory grin, reminding me of the powerful fairy slumbering beneath the composed servant she’s playing.
“You are.” Because she is.
“Now, does it tingle every now and then?”
I didn’t miss her question earlier, but an actual connection established between Myron and me through the tattoos on our shoulders… Now that’s something taking me a few heartbeats to digest. “It has hurt before.” The moments of searing pain come back to me, the tingling sensation… “It definitely has a life of its own.”
“Or you can feel him through it.” Her head tilts as she ponders. “It’s rare—not unheard of. But rare that a pair is connected through such a bond.”
My pulse picks up pace. “What bond are we talking about?”
Clio turns to unfold the cloth bag, casually extracting the fabrics inside before she spreads them out on the backrest of the sofa. “A bond gifted by the deities. I know someone the Guardians bonded to a fairy. A human who now possesses magic.” Her expression softens, her hands gliding over the golden silk of the dress she laid out.
“The Guardians bonded a human to a fairy?” My mouth won’t close.
“Long story. The quintessence is that they are mated now.”
I’m glad I’m already sitting down, or my knees would give out at the news. “Does the other human have a tattoo like this?” And more importantly… “You believe I’m bonded to the King of Crows?”
“I don’t know if you’re ready for an answer.” She raises a brow as she picks up a long golden sleeve and lets it plop back onto the sofa. “If anyone can tell, it’s you—and him, of course, but he’s a little inaccessible at the moment.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
I try not to have an opinion on what this means—if it’s even true.
You didn’t think breaking a goddess’s curse wouldn’t leave a mark on you.Ephegos mentioned it weeks ago at the Flame estate. Did he know? Did he know Myron was alive? And if he knew, who else knew?
I suddenly wish Kaira was here. If anyone, she could tell me what was going on in that house during the days I was imprisoned there. Not having seen her since my arrival in Meer makes me uneasy. Especially knowing how unpredictable Ephegos is.
“Clio, have you seen a Flame woman around the palace? A few years older than me. Brown, long hair, brown eyes. She has very little Flame blood, so you could mistake her for a human, I guess.”
“There are so many humans around here that it’s near-impossible to notice them all—or remember every face.”
I don’t know why I’m disappointed. She’s only a servant in this palace after all, unable to wander the halls freely and take note of every single individual coming and going.
“But if you mean the feisty warrior who wouldn’t stop coming to the servants’ entrance of the palace every morning, demanding to be allowed to see you, then yes.”
That sounds remarkably like something Kaira would do. After all, she took herself on a journey to follow the carriage taking me to Meer. Her showing up at the palace every day would be a logical consequence if she was serious about not letting me go alone.
Then, I need to ask myself what interest she has in my survival other than learning about the love that broke a millennia-old curse.
A groan works its way up my throat, and I’m tempted to let it escape.
“Until now, they haven’t let her in farther than the kitchens.” Clio eyes the empty breakfast tray on my table as if the answers to all our problems lie in the breadcrumbs.
The kitchens… “What is she doing in the kitchens?”
“Apparently, Ephegos ordered her to prepare your food specifically.”
The information settles in my stomach like a heavy boulder. “So she’s the one administering the drug to my meals?” It wouldn’t be a first. So much for trusting anyone.
“That’s my guess. She could be making it extra delicious, though.” The attempted joke doesn’t remotely stir a laugh out of me. Not even a smile.
“She doesn’t strike me as the type with the patience to cook.” Imagining Kaira behind a stove is enough to bring that grin forward after all. “Poor ingredients.” She’d chop them with the spirit of waging war on them.
“So, what about her?” Picking up the dress, Clio rises. Apparently, the time for sitting and musing is over.
I drain the glass of water I filled in the bathing chamber. “She came to Meer with us… Kind of.”
“Kind of?” Clio raises a thin, copper brow.
So, I tell her the story of how I met Kaira and how I don’t trust her not to lace my food with the drug Erina developed with Ephegos’s help.
While I’m talking, Clio helps me out of my nightgown and into the golden dress that seems to be made for a queen rather than a prisoner, and I can’t help but think back on the black, feathery gowns Myron provided for my attire at the Crow Palace. I hated them back then, but now that soft, smooth golden silk slides along my skin, the room illuminated with late summer light, I wish for the darkness of Myron’s realm. I yearn for the cold emptiness and the dire shadows. That darkness, I knew how to handle. It’s such an innate part of me that it now misses the grayscale of my time there. But the gold and airy light of the Tavrasian palace? It’s intimidating on a level that has me quivering at the mere thought of stepping back into Erina’s throne room. No shadows provide a reprieve from eager eyes in these halls. And I have too many things to hide.