Chapter 29
I’m in a cage.I’m-in-a-cage-I’m-in-a-cage-I’m-in-a-cage, and I can’t breathe. I-can’t-breathe-and-I-can’t-see. Can’t see and can’t hear. Can’t hear because I feel everything at once. The cool humidity settling on my skin, the scratch of something hard against my arm, the fabric sliding over my body like a shroud, the leather cutting into my wrists and ankles.
My wrist. My mangled wrist.
I try to yank it free, but the bonds won’t give.
Then I smell him. Like a gust of warm wind, his presence envelops me. Wind and pine. Not only pine but an entire forest of evergreens and blossoms. Earth and moss and the salty tang of a coastal brine.
Myron, I form his name with my lips, but my voice won’t respond. Or I don’t hear myself speak as my senses fail me.
“Ayna.” I hear him, though. Recognize his velvet voice even through the strain making it sound like it’s been dragged across glass shards.
My head snaps in his direction on instinct, and my eyes open. No … they have been open for a while, but I couldn’t see because I’m on sensory overload. It’s all there, yet I can’t process it the way I’m used to.
“Myron,” I try again. This time, he hears me. His ocean-blue gaze is on me, his pale features drawn and tired.
And there is blood on his face. It’s smeared around his mouth, dripping from the corner of his lips.
“I’m here, Ayna.”
I can’t tell if he’s whispering or shouting, everything is revolting inside my body at the sight of Myron injured. The bruises I’d already seen earlier fade from my perception at the sight of fresh blood.
I will kill whoever did this to him. I will rip out their hearts and feast on them.
The thought is as startling as it is satisfying.
“Who—” I don’t get to finish asking him who hurt him so I can make my list of people to eviscerate, for a sharp pain shoots up my arm as something etches into my skin, and I scream, the sound reverberating through the stone chamber. Ephegos’s face appears, blocking out the view of Myron as he leans in, his champagne-scented breath assaulting my nose.
“Welcome back, Ayna. Or should I say, welcome to the world of fae?”
“Breathe, Ayna.” Myron’s voice anchors my soul as the rest of me seems to become unraveled. Like a spool of rope on a ship, I come apart. Like a cloud tossed into the wild storms above the ocean. My heart is a pounding, painful lump in my chest, reminding me that I’m alive, that I can’t escape the agony of the blade slicing into my arm.
I smell my own blood now, little tendrils of rust and salt that aren’t strong enough to tune out the song of Myron’s scent.
“In and out. You’re strong. You’re capable. You are a survivor.” Myron’s words carry me through the blurring world even when they are glazed with the bone-grating texture of fear.
The knife reaches my shoulder, cutting away the fabric of my dressing robe.
“I have a theory I’d like to test, Ayna,” Ephegos murmurs as he leans over me again. I haven’t had a chance to process the meaning of his words from before, what he meant with the world of the fae.
“What are you doing to me?” My voice sounds off. Too smooth for the agony in my body, too rich for the way my dry throat is tormenting me.
The blade pauses, lifts from my skin, and I wait for the pulling agony that a knife wound is—I’ve experienced enough of them to know, and this one runs along my entire arm. Nothing happens. Where I expect blood to gush from my severed skin, my arm remains unusually dry where a pair of hands runs over it like a cat over a carpet, careful not to hook claws into the torn tissue.
“Let’s see how fast you heal.” Ephegos lowers himself a few inches until his face is level with mine, then lifts one hand from my arm to wave behind me. “Adrian?”
I have less than a breath to comprehend that he signaled to Katrijanov to step forward, which he does. There is no warning other than the gleam of malice in the general’s eyes before he strikes me in the face.
Pain explodes in my cheek, leaving something wet trickling along my jaw. Blood. He split my skin with that punch. From the corner of my eye, I notice the spiky, silver ring on his middle finger.
“Take your hands off her.” Myron’s roar fills the stone chamber like a strike of thunder.
“Or you will kill us,” Ephegos finishes for him in a singsong voice. “I’ve heard it all before. And guess what.” He whirls on Myron, turning his back to me, which allows me a moment to breathe while his attention isn’t lingering on me with the promise of more pain, but it’s on Myron. And I can’t bear the thought of Myron taking the next blow just because he doesn’t want to see me suffer. “You’re bound by magical shackles and injected with a serum that suppresses your magic. Your strength won’t help you here, King of Crows. Your tantrum will only cause her more pain.” Ignoring Myron’s horrified expression, the fury in those beautiful eyes, Ephegos turns back to me, examining my cheek with a probing finger. I try not to wince at the searing sensation running through my bones.
It might be broken.
“Perhaps I’ve pushed her too far with the drug,” he says to Katrijanov as if I’m not even here. “I should have waited a day or two to let her recover so the serum kicks in faster.”
Katrijanov inspects my face with a shrug. “She’s breakable as any human prisoner for now. Perhaps we should give her more.”
I don’t even want to know what that means—what they do to their prisoners—but the bruises on Myron’s face—Guardians, the red lines crisscrossing along his bare torso and arms?—
The pain in my cheek is forgotten as my vision finally manages to focus on something other than Myron’s features.
They tortured him. They cut him open over and over again on different occasions. The various degrees of scabbing and healing tell a whole tale of violence and misery that I’m not ready to know.
There is no unknowing what is obviously the map of torment during his captivity in this dungeon. If I thought I’d been bad off with the drugging and being forced to marry a cruel man because of my father’s crimes and his last name, Myron has had it a million times worse.
“What serum?” I demand. If I can get him to leave Myron alone, I will be able to breathe more easily.
Fragments of memories come back to me… The table, the tray, the note. The note. I manage to tear my gaze off Myron to whip it to Herinor, who’s been suspiciously quiet. He wasn’t there when Ephegos and Katrijanov came to pick me up for torture. But was he the one who sent the note? Don’t eat the bread.
His face yields nothing as he stares back at me with unreadable green eyes.
Whatever was in the bread, I ingested at least parts of it when they forced me to eat.
“An antidote to the original drug.” Ephegos’s smug expression is the last thing I want to see right now, but he forces himself between Herinor and me with a graceful step. “You’ve been drugged since I collected you at the palace in the Seeing Forest. Theories say that the effect can last quite a while when a magical creature is being sedated with it for longer periods of time and in high dosages.” He gives me a pointed look. “And you, dear Ayna, have been requiring unusual portions of the drug. I would say I’m impressed if you weren’t such a nuisance.”
Antidote. They gave me an antidote. Grimacing at Ephegos, I reach into myself, but there is no hint of my powers.
“Excuse me for raining on your little plan, whatever that is.” Every word hurts like fuck, and I don’t care if I can keep him engaged enough to forget Myron even exists. Who knows how long until the serum he gave Myron wears off and he regains access to his magic? There is hope?—
And hope is foolish and the only thing that can truly break us. I know it when Katrijanov takes his place next to Myron’s table, wiping my blood on the thigh of Myron’s pants. At least, they didn’t strip him down completely to carve him up. Again with that hope… I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from shouting out all the curses I have in store for the general as he grins down at my Crow.
“Oh, Ayna…” Ephegos shakes his head, stepping closer to my side, revealing the view of Herinor once more.
The male shakes his head infinitesimally as if in warning. I have no idea what he’s trying to tell me. He can’t help; he’s made that clear hundreds of times, and I don’t expect his help, even though it would have been nice if one thing in life was easy.
“Ayna, Ayna. You’re too smart to be a pawn in this game, but you’re a pawn all the same.” False pity drips in every word Ephegos speaks. He doesn’t seem to be having any regrets though as he lifts another syringe to my arm.
On the table across the room, only a few paces away, Myron is thrashing as he tries to get to me without success.
“King Erina made a clever move, sending you to the Seeing Forest at last Ret Relah. He saw an opening to make his enemy bloodline disappear for good. But you survived. You, clever girl, survived and won the heart of the Crow King.” He seems to be musing more than explaining, and it has nothing to do with the syringe—at least nothing I can fathom, yet. “When both Myron and you survived, he saw an even better plan form before him.” He gives me that look I used to find endearing when I still believed he was a decent male who had my best interest at heart. The look that reminds me of a concerned friend. “Erina has been experimenting for a while, and with my help, he made great progress with his collection of anti-magical substances. Tavras is thriving, but Erina wants to expand his reach. The Southern Continent isn’t interesting enough to conquer, and trade has been good, so that would weaken rather than strengthen Tavras’s position. In the West, Cezux has been stronger than ever with Dimar II on the throne in Jezuin and the ties to the Askarean rule.”
I try not to let my mind wander to the many questions threatening to pop to the surface. I need him to speak, need him to spill all those secrets he’s been hiding. Even Myron has gone still now that Katrijanov has sheathed his blade, his pointed ears listening, his ocean eyes finding mine across the room like he could touch me with a gaze.
“That leaves Askarea itself. The wealthiest realm in all of Eherea, or so they say. I wouldn’t know. I was never invited to King Recienne’s palace in Aceleau.” Bitterness laces every word as Ephegos pauses with the syringe right above my arm. One more inch and he’ll prick my skin. “Askarea has never been an option for conquest. But the serum changes things.”
Clio’s words come back to me from our conversation after Erina informed me Myron is alive. Erina had used her… To create a weapon. Something that will take out fairies the way a punch to the nose can take out humans.
And he wants to use that weapon to conquer the fairy realm. Guardians above. Erina is even more devious than I’d thought.
“And what role do I play?” It’s all I can think of to ask to keep him talking as he starts moving the needle closer to my skin.
I can’t escape. No matter how hard I pull on the leather, it holds fast. Besides, if I start thrashing now, I might accidentally touch the needle and speed up the process.
“You?” Ephegos asks as if he’s forgotten I’m here, his gaze finding mine with loathing and malice. “You are my means to keep Myron in check while I watch him go insane with the yearning for his mate.” His eyes cut to Myron, and I want to scream just so he returns them to me.
“And the others?” I prompt, the only way now to divert his focus from my Crow—I don’t dare repeat in my mind what he said, what they’ve all indicated: my mate.
Ephegos’s laugh cackles like a caw as his features start shifting into bird form the way they used to when the curse was still active, but his arms remain tucked into his sepia finery. Only his hands turn into claws, the syringe nearly slipping from his grasp. “Royad and Silas will find their end before long. As for the Askarean general… He’ll be quite useful in the months to come.”
He leaves it at that, not elaborating, but it’s not difficult to put two and two together even when my face is still hurting like Eroth himself struck me with his wrath.
“You are intending to use him as a bargaining chip,” I conclude with all the horror my body is capable of.
On the table across the room, Myron shakes his head an inch, his eyes hard as if steeling himself against the truth Ephegos shared with us.
Katrijanov flashes a cruel grin from behind Myron. “A bargaining chip and a tool to keep our real bargaining chip in line.”
“Clio.” It’s a whisper, but the Crows in the room pick it up while Katrijanov reads it from my mouth.
“I assume the King of Askarea will be willing to negotiate faster when he learns who we hold captive, and said captive will not set a toe out of line when we keep her mate for torture.” Ephegos tilts his head, bird-like mouth opening as the rough hiss of his Crow voice escapes. “Just like you won’t try anything foolish, Ayna, because you know I could end your mate at any moment. I could strap him to this very table.” With a few slow strides, he crosses the room until he stands behind the metal Myron is strapped to, and traces a claw along his prisoner’s muscled arm. A thin, crimson line follows in its wake, but smart as he is, Myron isn’t moving for the same reason I didn’t try to wriggle out of my bonds while the syringe had been hovering over my arm—avoiding worse damage—but the rapid rising and falling of his chest is proof of the agony he’s so expertly hiding behind the mask of his unreadable face. Unreadable, except for those eyes locking on mine, filled with fear not for him, but for me.
“You will marry Erina, Ayna. You will bear his children—yes, multiple. A king can never have enough heirs, just in case—and then you’ll live out your days at his side, knowing that one wrong word is enough to put your mate on this very table and have him carved open. Over. And over. Again.” He enunciates each word. “The new serum allows for the fast fae healing and the vivid perception of all sensations—including pain.” His features shift back to his human face, and the cruel smile turns even more pronounced as he exchanges a look with Katrijanov, who’s drawn his blade once more, setting it to Myron’s shoulder and stabbing him without warning.
The searing pain in my tattoo tears a scream from my throat, and I could swear Herinor takes a step forward, hands lifted as if he’s ready to pull me off the table and carry me away, but he lowers them and turns back into a statue. The room blurs as tears shoot to my eyes while the rest of the room remains silent.
Why isn’t Myron screaming? Why isn’t he fighting?
The panic his silence evokes makes me manage a deep breath, allowing me to pack away the pain for a heartbeat or two, just long enough to see Myron lie still on his table, eyes shuttering as he fights a toneless war against the agony. No tears run down the side of his face where his blood is pooling under his hair, dripping over the edge of the table.
They won’t let him bleed out. They won’t. They need him alive in order to control me.
Ire replaces the despair constricting my chest, bursting through my veins like molten steel—no, like water, boiling, raging waves ready to eat up the world.
My Crow. They hurt my Crow. And they will all die for it.
What was a cacophony of images and sounds before has turned into a crystal clear scene, no blurriness, no haze. The world is a precise array of colors and textures, of tastes and scents, of emotions and … wrath. Endless wrath.
Whatever Ephegos injected me with, it lifted the damper on a part of me I hadn’t been aware of. What did he say? Welcome to the world of fae.
Just as I’d felt my magic when Vala gifted it, I feel my entire body light up with a new sort of strength. It’s not magic, that’s still fast asleep, but something different. Something more. I’m no longer human.
The sensation prickles across my skin like a dark melody, rushing along my bones like an echo of purple-glazed night. My fingers tingle, ache, break. One by one, they crack, and I cry out—but not in pain but in delight at what I realize is happening.
One after the other, my fingernails expand, lengthening in both directions, eating up my bones, my skin as they turn into talons, my hands into claws, my arms shrinking and shrinking as my body implodes into an unfamiliar form. A small, powerful form with beating wings and shiny black feathers.
I’m out of my shackles, and the world has turned into a kaleidoscope of possibilities as I flutter off my table right at Ephegos’s face.