Chapter 27
“He can’t do this,”I fling at Herinor, who has joined Clio and me in my room for a change. “He can’t force me to marry him when I’m already married to Myron.”
I try not to panic at the memory of Katrijanov escorting him back to the dungeon after the party, of the shiver running through my body when Myron’s ocean-blue eyes met mine over his shoulder before crossing the threshold. Magic or no, those eyes hold the power to silence the world around me, to make me drown in everything that he is.
I can’t allow myself to even think of him, or I won’t be able to form a clear thought.
“He can do whatever he wants. That’s the problem.” Clio is lounging on my bed, gesturing at Herinor whose vigilant gaze follows my pacing around the room. “He’s a fucking king with no regard for the laws of the fairylands.”
“What are thelaws of the fairylands?” It’s not like anyone ever explained to me. All I know of the fairylands is the Seeing Forest, a very limited perspective of a much larger realm where a variety of other fairies live in peace under the rule of Clio’s brother.
“Mating bond over marriage.” Clio shrugs when I stare at her, trying not to read into the meaning of her words.
“There is nothing more sacred than a mating bond,” Herinor agrees.
“I didn’t strike you as the romantic type,” Clio quips, fiddling with the maid’s cap until it comes loose from her head. Massaging her scalp with one hand, she tucks the cap into the apron. “What?” She observes Herinor’s glare with as little respect for the warrior as any creature could hold—she’s the Fairy Princess after all—and crosses her ankles, her feet dangling over the edge of the bed.
“Just because I never had the chance to find a mate doesn’t mean I’m a barbarian.” Herinor holds Clio’s gaze, and I could swear the two of them will tear each other to shreds if I don’t get one of them out of the room.
“You are a barbarian.” Clio gestures at his overall appearance. “The nice armor and tidy hair don’t change anything.”
Watching Herinor grind his teeth, I ponder who of the two I need more at this moment and who I’ll kick out.
“Can we please stay on topic?” I decide I need them both to work on the matters at hand. “I can’t marry Erina, married or mated. I can’t marry him.”
“Because you want to overthrow him and take the crown of Tavras for yourself, Lady Milevishja?” The scars on Herinor’s forehead scrunch as he raises his brows at me. “Because if that’s what you want, you might be better off marrying him and poisoning him once you’ve been crowned queen.”
“He has a point there,” Clio reluctantly agrees, fingers still in her hair as she undoes her braid with a frown on her features.
It’s been a while since I shared the news with Clio, but Herinor knew from the day Erina filled me in since he was standing guard during that fateful conversation. This is the first time he’s brought it up, though.
“Not happening.” I stop by the window, eyeing the darkening gardens in search of a solution. “He is a monster.”
“You thought Myron was a monster when you met him,” Herinor reminds me, and he’s not wrong.
“He never tortured someone I love to force me.” On the contrary. The day of our wedding, he handed me a knife to protect myself from him if need be.
“Truth,” Herinor admits, sitting back in the chair that seems too small for him. “He’d never have done such a despicable thing.”
My gaze drifts to Clio, who is rebraiding her hair. “Don’t forget Erina is holding my mate prisoner, too.” Despite her calm exterior, the fire of vengeance burns hot in her jade eyes. “And the other two Crows, of course.”
She’d happily sacrifice Royad and the other male if that meant Astorian got out alive, I have no doubt.
“The wedding is in six days. How do we get them out so Erina loses his leverage?” It’s the only question I should be asking, but there are so many swirling in my mind, like how did Kaira get into my head. Can she hear me now? When will I see her again? I haven’t told Clio and Herinor about what happened with the part-Flame in the throne room. For now, it feels too intimate to share with anyone.
“I shouldn’t be in here when you’re planning. If I know, my deal with Ephegos might force me to inform him.”
Clio stops him with a sharp look. “If you as much as think of telling him anything we speak about in here, I will end you, with or without my magic.” Her hand drifts to her hip where a sword would usually be hanging, and the menace in her expression is convincing enough to make me quiver.
I’ve seen this female fight, and I don’t want to be on the receiving end of her wrath.
Apparently, Herinor doesn’t either since he stands from his chair and marches for the door. “Find a way around my bargain, and I’ll help you.” He glances between Clio and me. “Both of you.”
Without another word, he walks out, the door creaking as he closes it behind him.
“Weird fairy,” Clio comments, standing from the bed and joining me by the window.
Wondering if Herinor heard that, I listen for footsteps or voices from the hallway. Everything is quiet like any other night when Clio joins me in my room to perform her lady’s maid duties. And like every other night, I know that there is no such thing as a conversation Herinor isn’t privy to.
Him leaving is a gesture, a show of his goodwill. If there’s anything he could do, he’d have already done it. He has done plenty to help me even with the many things he did to hurt me.
My mind travels back to the first day I met him when he cut my skin open.
“I have a plan. One where I don’t need to break my bargain and where the pain will benefit you.”
His words before he’s sliced into the tattoo on my back. I didn’t understand then, was too blinded by my fear to acknowledge something I should have realized a long time ago.
He knew. Herinor knew Myron was alive. He knew about the connection the tattoo formed between us. He knew that Myron would feel it and know I was alive, too.
Uncertain of whether that counts as betrayal or as actual help, I turn to the door. “You knew he was alive, and you didn’t tell me.”
Clio understands without explanation that the words are meant for Herinor. Her arm wraps around my shoulders. “Come on, Ayna. We need to get you out of this dress and into your nightgown.”
I don’t object, merely let her guide me into the bathing chamber where she opens the faucet to fill the bathtub. Once the water is running, she shoots me a victorious grin. “Now he can’t hear a thing.”
Hot water thunders into the tub, filling it angrily and with enough noise to drown out all other sounds.
By the Guardians, she’s right.
“One of the many reasons I believe there is value in being your lady’s maid.” She helps me out of my dress and gestures for me to slip into the tub. “This might be the only time in the day where we don’t have an audience and our conversations remain fully private.” Before I can ask any questions, she settles on the rim of the tub and adds, “We both don’t have access to our magic, so we’re dependent on Herinor as the muscle of our operations. How do we find a way around his bargain?”
Determination shines in her eyes as they meet mine when I sink into the filling tub.
“I have no idea. But we have about five minutes until the tub is full and we become transparent again, so let’s figure it out.”
The golden dress abandoned on the bathroom floor, we tuck our heads together in hopes of finding a way to make it happen.
Dinner arrives late that night, brought in on a wide wooden tray in the hands of the same servant who carries it in every night. Clio left shortly after my bath, a frown on her features and her cap back on her hair. The main worry, for now, is that, even if we could find a way to sneak down to the dungeon, we don’t know what condition the males will be in when we find them. Without Clio’s full fairy strength, she can’t carry them out of their cells if they are unconscious like the last time I was down there. Even if Herinor was able to help us, he still could carry only one at a time. It might take too long to get them out, and if we’re discovered, I wouldn’t put it past Erina to torture the males as a punishment for us. Not to mention what Ephegos would do to Herinor.
The woman wordlessly sets the tray on the table and leaves with a bobbed curtsey, allowing me some privacy to eat—or wallow in self-pity about my fate.
Every other young Tavrasian woman would probably kill to be in my position, engaged to the handsome King of Tavras, but all I can think about is my husband in the dungeon, the bruises marring his face, the heat in his gaze when my foot slid up his boot, the sensation in my shoulder that seems to ease only when we touch.
I’ve long stopped paying attention to the constant throb in my flesh where the inked bird covers my skin, but what Clio said about bonds makes a weird kind of sense when my mind can’t seem to stray from the topic of Myron of Whinghaven. My heart flutters as if those dark feathered wings were beating between my ribs instead.
I will free you, Myron. I will find a way.I don’t expect him to respond, but the sensation in my shoulder intensifies as if my tattoo provided a direct channel to him—as if the separation is equally painful to him.
The silver covers clink against the teacup as I slide the tray closer, the scent of peppers and meat climbing into my nose. My stomach grumbles violently. Apparently, the sugary cake wasn’t enough to make up for the missed meals and lack of strength, and I could devour several of the steaks I used to be served in Myron’s court.
I lift the cover, taking in the appealing draping of vegetables around slices of pheasant, but that’s not what catches my attention. It’s the barely visible piece of parchment stuck under the piece of rye bread at the edge of the plate where the sauce doesn’t reach.
With shaking fingers, I pick up the bread and extract the paper, shooting a glance around the room as if Ephegos or Erina might appear out of the walls to witness the secret message someone is apparently trying to pass me.
As I unfold it, a narrow scribble challenges my ability to decipher letters. It’s so unreadable it takes me several attempts to realize it’s a language I know, but once I do, my heart beats faster, adrenaline coursing through my veins at one simple sentence: Don’t eat the bread.
Gaze darting to the thick slice of fresh bread I placed beside the plate on the wooden tray, I wonder if that’s where the drug is hidden. I hope that’s what the message implies and it isn’t some ploy to lead me on a wrong track to consume only the parts of the foods that are laced with the drug.
It’s not like I know anyone’s handwriting, which leads me to the decision of trusting whoever smuggled this message in with my dinner—or not.
I go with trust. Not because my most recent experiences have led me to believe this world is a trustworthy place where people mean no harm, but because how much worse can it get? Usually, my evening meals knock me out, so if I do ingest the drug, it will be just another night out cold and a morning of hurling up my guts.
But if the message is real and I get to eat actual food that will strengthen me instead of weakening me, I might have a chance of recovering some of my powers. And if I manage to do so over a few days, maybe I’ll get strong enough to stand a chance against the guards outside my door.
Not against Herinor, though. Even if his magic wasn’t in the game, he’d easily outmatch me with his physical strength and his skill with a weapon.
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. He isn’t supposed to aid me. His bargain won’t allow it. But what if he turns his eye when I make my escape? Would that kill him, too?
Before I can come to a conclusion, a knock sounds on the door, making me jump in my chair as I crumple the note between my fingers and shove it into the décolletage of my nightdress before ripping a large piece of bread off, hiding it in the vase at the center of the table, and rearranging the white and pink flowers so there are no traces left.
“Come in.” Bread still in hand, I turn to the door without standing from my seat and pretend to chew. One never knows who’s coming to check on me.
A moment later, my whole body chills as Ephegos steps into the room, led by General Katrijanov, who hasn’t bothered to wipe the blood from his face where a thin streak graces his cheekbone. He flashes me a cold smile that I don’t return. I do, however, notice that his gaze wanders to my hands—either to determine whether I armed myself with the dull knife they provided with my meal or because he is interested in whether I’ve started eating.
His lips twitch before he packs away that smile and turns to Ephegos, who is studying me, head cocked as if expecting me to stand and curtsey or simply fall to my knees in front of him.
I don’t bother to stand at all. Before their magic and strength, it doesn’t matter if I even attempt to defend myself. I’ll lose. I’ll always lose—unless I get my powers back, which, judging by the quick glance Ephegos sends toward the tray on the table before spotting the bread in my hand, I’m on the best way to achieving.
Whoever wrote that note might truly want me to live.
“To what do I owe the pleasure,” I ask after laying the bread back in its place and pretending to swallow the bite I never took.
Ephegos’s features turn into that fake friendliness I remember from his time at Myron’s court. Traitor. Monster.
Katrijanov steps forward first, lowering his head so he looks straight into my eyes. I refuse to shrink away, steeling my spine even when I’ve used up most of my strength for the day and my emotions are all over the place, swirling like a hurricane of terror and hope fueled by that sizzling connection originating in my shoulder and ending in the dungeons where Myron is being held captive.
The blood on Katrijanov’s cheek is fresh, but the missing gash in his skin informs me it isn’t his.
“Got into a fight, General?” I ask him with less fire than I feel while he straightens and stalks around the room as if in a military inspection.
Ephegos laughs a melodious laugh I want to shove back down his throat. “The brave general faced a particular brand of monster just a minute ago. Fortunately, Crows with an establishing mating bond are easy to control… Something I’d like to be able to say about humans as well. But you, dear Ayna… You are a piece of work. You have always been, from the day you set foot in Myron’s court.”
“At least you still acknowledge it’s his court.” I try not to spit at him and quietly thank whoever sent the note that my head isn’t spinning yet the way it likes to do during dinners when the drug’s effect is kicking in.
“His court.” Ephegos muses at the ornate ceiling as if the little curves and swirls will respond. “It was. Now it’s mine.” His grin widens as he steps up to the table, sitting down across from me. Katrijanov stops his tour by the window, eyeing me like an eagle does his prey, and a shiver spreads along my body. A sort of expectation is surfacing in his eyes, and I know he’s waiting for something to happen.
His chin dips as if in agreement.
Wait… “What do you mean, Crows with an establishing mating bond?”
Guardians, he knows. He knows about the connection. He’s probably seen Myron’s tattoo when he’s tortured him in the dungeon.
Anger so profound it makes bile rise in my throat and wash through me. I flap my hand across my mouth so I don’t throw up all over my dinner. I still need to eat the meat and the vegetables even if I feel like my appetite will never return. I need my strength to free Myron.
To free the male Vala bonded me with.
I can’t yet handle the thought of him being my mate, but what happened during the banquet is proof that they are all onto something.
Ephegos’s chuckle is soft, his gaze pitiful as if I’m a little puppy he intends to save from the streets. How I hate him. More even than when I found out he betrayed all of us.
“Mating bonds are a beautiful invention of the gods to keep immortal creatures loyal.” He cocks his head so birdlike I can see his Crow features even when he doesn’t shift. “Useful, don’t you think? Especially when vengeance comes into play.”
The dark glint in his eyes promises nothing good.
Mating bonds.Clio was right. Deep in my core, I know that she was, that they all are, but it hurts too much to allow myself to hope this will lead to anything other than pain.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was alive?” I bite out the words, keeping a leash on my temper so I don’t do something stupid like outright attack him with my bare hands.
“And take away the pain that comes with losing a loved one? I don’t think so.” He leans over, gesturing at the plate. “Eat.”
I pick up the fork and spear the first slice of meat with so much force the prongs bend, earning a raised brow from Ephegos.
“The bread first.” He picks it up and hands it to me. It’s then that I know the note was from someone who intends to help me. It’s the look on Ephegos’s face as he watches me set down the fork and reluctantly lead the bread to my lips. “Faster.”
His eyes flick to the fork, to the curved metal piercing through the tender meat at an odd angle where it should be straight. This is different. It’s not the magic in my chest rallying to aid me; that’s still silent as the deep waters of the Gulf of Tears, but a new strength that I have never experienced.
“Eat, Wolayna,” Katrijanov warns, stepping closer and drawing his sword. “Now.”
The nausea lifts from my stomach as I realize that, while my powers might have been subdued, my body has changed under the blanket of the drug. It is only beginning to lift, and I already feel strength humming in my muscles where they have been weak for weeks, small changes that I yet need to learn to interpret, but the effects are clear. I bent a fork with my bare hands, and it wasn’t even intentional. What if I channel that new sort of power, put it to use? Could I stand a chance against the general at least? I’m not hoping to defeat a creature capable of magic, and Ephegos proves me right as his power snaps around me like iron bonds, immobilizing me, and he plucks the bread from my hand and shoves it into my mouth while Katrijanov holds his blade to my throat.
“Swallow,” he orders, and I do because Ephegos’s magic is now cutting off the air supply through my nose, and I need my mouth free to be able to breathe. It’s the oldest trick in the world, yet it works. The bread slides down my throat, scratching and pushing at the tissues as I swallow the half-chewed bite.
“Good girl.” Ephegos’s smile makes me want to puke into his face, but my head is swimming—from lack of air or the drug taking effect without delay the way I’m used to—and I sway in my seat.
Ephegos’s magic holds me upright, but I don’t manage to keep conscious long enough to know if he eventually drops me—or does something worse.