Chapter 34
By the timefootsteps sound in the hallway again, the room is dark, the torches having burned out and the smoke of their extinguishing lingering in the air. I wish it wouldn’t overpower every last trace of Ayna’s scent, but there is little I can do with my chest pinned to the table with a knife and my limbs restrained by leather bonds.
My healing power strains to get to work around the steel piercing my lungs, sealing the wound until it hits metal and every breath makes the blade tear deeper into my tissues again. It’s a fucking mess.
Ephegos gave me back my senses, but not most of my magic. Yet, I feel stronger than I have in weeks. The vastness of my fae powers doesn’t matter when I know Ayna is alive. At least she might have a chance to survive.
I stifle a groan, having long given up on trying to keep my focus with the constant pain, the shallow breaths that never provide enough air, and the smothering sensation of the deep sleep Ephegos injected me with. If Ephegos returned to finish me off, I don’t know if I have any fight left in me.
“Wake up.” A harsh whisper combined with a slap brings me back from the momentary merciful darkness in my head, and I stare at Herinor’s familiar features behind a hand wiggling in front of my face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
I try to count, but everything swims in the torchlight. He brought a torch—not an everlasting one like in the palace at the Seeing Forest. Those were convenient.
I wonder how my mind is capable of going there when I have more urgent matters right in front of me.
“Fuck off.” It comes out weaker than I’d intended.
Herinor laughs. “The correct answer is three, but I’ll let this one slide since you are obviously not your full self.”
Without warning, he grabs the knife in my chest and yanks it out with a sloshy sound that makes me wonder if there’ll be any blood left in me if my heart continues pumping it out so frantically.
“Don’t faint. We have to get you out of here before they return.”
I try to obey, but darkness is already tugging at the edge of my consciousness.
“Myron,” Herinor hisses.
My eyes snap open as he presses his hands to my wound, applying his own power to speed up the healing process. He might not be as powerful as me, but he isn’t as magically chained as I am right now either, so, for the moment, his healing power outmatches mine by far.
As if in response, my body gathers final resources to help knit my tissues back together.
The pain subsides little by little, but with the urgency of a life-threatening wound to keep me alert, I become even more drowsy.
“You’re getting out of here, Myron. Do you hear me? I haven’t given up my loyalty to you. Not in the way it counts,” he amends because we both know he has made a bargain with Ephegos that won’t allow for the same level of loyalty—not where it counts—no matter what his morals say.
“I’ve never taken you for the sentimental type,” I croak, wasting my energy on a lost cause. “I’m not getting out of here, and we both know it.”
“A little faith?” He pulls back his hands and tugs on the leather bindings at my wrists, opening them one after the other.
Gods, it feels good to be able to touch my blood-soaked chest—where my battered heart is calling for Ayna like a primal song I have no chance of escaping. It’s that thought pushing me to grasp onto the flecks of light dancing along the walls as the torch flickers in the slight draft coming from the open door.
With a soft snapping sound, the leather gives at my ankles, and Herinor grasps my arm, sliding his hand under my shoulder to help me up.
“Can you walk?”
I can’t even stand without my legs shaking so violently it feels like I’m weathering an earthquake.
“Guess not.” Herinor assesses the situation and leans me back against the table.
Not the table,I try to say, but my mouth is so dry I barely get a sound out.
Herinor seems to understand anyway. With a few efficient movements, he has me slung over his shoulder, grunting under my weight, but never faltering as he marches for the door, torch abandoned by the table covered in my blood.
Ignoring the pain racing through my body as I’m jostled with every step, I close my eyes and pray to our Maker that he’ll pave our way out—or gift me a swift end if I’m meant to never see the light of day again.
Ayna, the song inside my chest reminds me.
I keep my eyes open.
Ayna is not the only one I should be thinking of, even when she’s all my body and mind want to make space for. I have a cousin and two other males I’m responsible for down there in the dungeon.
“We need to get Royad and Silas out, and Astorian,” I remind both Herinor and myself.
“I need to get you out first.” He doesn’t slow when we pass the door leading to the cells where the others are locked up, oblivious. “Now, shut up so I can focus. If you do, I promise I will kneel to you when you’re out and coherent and have your queen by your side once more.”
There is no mocking in his words, no sarcasm. I think he means it.
My fae senses rush ahead to distract myself from the constant agony of being hauled around the uneven corridors of the royal Tavrasian dungeon. If this is supposed to be a normal prison, I don’t want to know what Fort Perenis is like, where Ayna spent months awaiting her fate.
A shudder rakes through my body, and power rises in my blood, the first hint of it since the Flames captured us. Gods, how could I have been so naive? How could I not have seen that Ephegos would know I was alive? He used all the assets he could get his fingers on to trap me.
The corridor ends in a set of winding stairs. My head hits the rough stone wall. Herinor doesn’t apologize. A head wound and a concussion are nothing compared to what I’ve been through.
“Not far,” he mutters, breath labored as if my weight is actually affecting him. “Try your best not to draw attention to yourself.”
A painful chuckle bubbles down my throat, and I swallow it. “Hard not to while draped over your Shaelak-damned shoulder,” I retort, pulling myself slightly to the left so his bones stop digging into my barely healed wound.
“My Shaelak-damned shoulder will save your royal ass.” Herinor was never one for court protocol and courtesies, but, gods, he’s taking the whole don’t-give-a-shit attitude to a whole new level, given the circumstances. “Now shut up and pretend you’re dead.”
While it’s easy to just dangle down someone’s back when you’re physically intact, what people tend to forget is that fresh injuries will keep you from relaxing enough to pass for deceased. I do my best anyway, biting back the grunts of pain as I drop my arms, my shoulders protesting when they tug on the bruises spreading along my sides. And the knife wounds crisscrossing along my skin… I’m not even going to mention those because they are not Herinor’s fault. No matter how he failed to remain loyal to me, he wasn’t the one slicing into my skin over and over.
My healing powers will slowly take care of those.
A door blocks our path, and Herinor stops, unlocking it with one hand while he keeps the other one on my legs to keep me from sliding off. Then he’s moving again, swiftly and with determination.
“Why?” I whisper as we get to the end of another hallway where he stops yet again to unlock a more elaborate door.
“Because I’m forbidden from helping her,” he snaps in a hiss, adjusting me so I don’t slide off his shoulders. “So I need to help you instead. Now shut up.”
I do. I’m quiet as we make it through an empty hallway that leads us from the dungeon, Herinor’s steps slower than I know what he’s capable of without carrying an extra weight, then past a set of windows with a view of lush gardens. Herinor doesn’t stop until he gets to a plain wooden door, where he fiddles with a lock while my heart races at the sound of footsteps approaching in the distance. Not so far distance… They are just around the corner, and we barely make it into the narrow pathway before they make it around the corner. Herinor braces his hand against the wall, controlling his breathing as he patiently waits for them to pass.
Their voices are hushed, but my fae senses are alert, picking up every single word.
“Lord Ephegos ordered for an additional set of guards in the hallway on the third floor,” one of them says. “I wonder if something happened with King Erina’s betrothed.”
“He wants to make sure no one steals her away in the night,” the other guard responds, his tone annoyed enough to inform me of what he thinks of the King’s choice.
My stomach tightens at the mere thought of anyone finding Ayna unworthy of anything, and I almost leap off Herinor’s shoulder, but the sharp pain in my side reminds me why I’m up here.
“Did you hear what happened in the throne room?”
The guard with the deeper voice makes a noncommittal sound, so the other one explains. “Apparently, the king had an additional guest invited to his table. A stranger no one knows anything about. They say he needed Katrijanov to keep the guy in check.”
“Why would he invite a dangerous man to his table?”
“Not just any man… A fairy.”
“A fairy?” The shock is obvious in the man’s voice.
“One of the prisoners, I assume. I heard rumors he has someone down there. Some fairies he’s been experimenting on. Maybe it was his way of showing his new bride he has the power to defeat even a magical kingdom. What a king…”
I block out the rest of the conversation in order not to make a mistake and let my rage take over. If that’s what people think, they are closer to the truth than they actually know. Erina is working on weapons to defeat fairies. He has managed the first steps, all he needs is to make the process faster so he can produce larger amounts. If he achieves that, Askarea is fucked.
I blow out a slow breath. At least, no one guessed who I am. Certainly, Erina didn’t advertise Ayna is already married to the King of Crows. That would make it a lot harder to lay claim to her.
It takes me all I have not to growl at the thought of him even wanting to lay claim to her.
“Easy,” Herinor whispers, shaming my primal fae side into silence while I stop myself from moving.
We weave through dark hallways, Herinor’s steps steady while my strength is fading even when I’m free and the drugs should be wearing off with time. My body is at its limits.
But my mind is not. It’s racing like a Crow mid-flight when we turn the corner and Herinor abruptly stops, almost letting me slip from his shoulder. His hands circle my leg as he holds me in place, and my head hits the wall all over again. I try not to notice the pain and remain as still as a corpse, the way Herinor told me to, not that I care for following anyone’s orders—only when they make sense, and Herinor made a point.
“Where are you going?” a deep male voice demands. I don’t recognize it.
Herinor shifts his weight to hide my torso from the man, moving me a bit higher on his shoulder, his bones digging into my ribs.
By the time he responds, my lower lip is bleeding from biting it to hold in a grunt. “Disposing of a prisoner who didn’t make it,” Herinor says matter-of-factly, probably featuring his signature grumpy face that will scare off anyone lesser than a powerful Crow. “You know how the general likes the dungeon clean of any traces of…” He pauses as if waiting for the other man to fill in the rest of the thought and, when he doesn’t, continues, “Of what they do down there with them.”
There is some mumbled agreement, then feet shuffle aside, and a door swings open. Herinor rolls me over so I’m draped over both shoulders instead of dangling down his back, and I swear I’ll hurt him for how ungently he handles me, no matter if he’s the one getting me out into the sweet, humid night air.
“Soon,” Herinor grumbles. “Just a bit more patience. I’ll set you down soon.”
“I’ll hold you to that promise,” I murmur, words weak from pain and exhaustion.
Herinor musters a small chuckle. “I know you will. Trust me, I’m counting the heartbeats ’til I can set you down.” He pauses, taking a long step across a segment of uneven ground, thoughtful and out of breath. “And you’ll probably have my head for my betrayal. Perhaps that will be a mercy.”
I’m not ready to respond to that. Even knowing how he’s chosen Ephegos’s side before, I’m not sure I have it in me to kill him for treason the way I would easily kill Ephegos if given the chance.
Not true… I have it in me to kill without remorse if the situation demands it. I did so for a hundred years, watching my brides die one after the other; even when I wasn’t the one to kill them, I was still the reason for their death. I’m not any better than Herinor when it comes to the amount of blood on my hands.
For a while, he strides in silence, his heavy breaths the only tell he’s struggling as we follow a gravel path toward a pit where I assume they dispose of real deceased prisoners. Instead of throwing me in, he ducks past the narrow wall shielding it from one side, and crouches, rolling me onto the cobbled ground on the other side of the wall.
I can’t help the groan of pain as my shoulder hits the stone, and I sag in a heap of weak bones and shredded flesh.
“You’ve seen better days, Myron.” Herinor studies from above, sweat beading his forehead and scar-flecked face unreadable the way I remember him.
“If you believe putting me out of my misery will save you, now would be your chance.” I hold his gaze, ignoring the way my healing power strains to catch up with all the injuries, visible and hidden.
Herinor’s chin dips, the light-brown scruff on his chin shimmering in the moonlight as he draws his blade—correction: one of his many, many blades—but instead of slitting my throat, he lays it down next to my head like an offering.
“I believed in your way, Myron. I truly did, or I wouldn’t have guarded Ayna for you—in the Seeing Forest and now. But I wasn’t patient enough to wait for you to succeed. I lost faith. With trusting Ephegos and following him, I lost all hope for a place in your court, I understand that.” His features turn grim as, overhead, a cloud shifts in front of the silver moon. I try not to interrupt the male as he pours out his heart while I decide what to do with him—not that I can do anything much with the way my body still needs to recover. If I kill him, it will be because he allows it, not because I could possibly outmatch him in the state I’m in. “I understand if I’m too big a risk to take with the bargain I made with Ephegos. I understand if you need to dispose of me before I can cause actual damage.”
“You don’t call what you’ve already done damage?” I interject, my dark chuckle turning into a cough, and Herinor flinches.
“We need to get you to safety before they start looking for you.” His eyes snap to the corner where the wall turns into a dark alley framed by run-down houses.
“We need to fucking get Ayna out of the palace. And Royad and Silas and Astorian,” I bite out. My head is clearing up enough in the fresh breeze carrying in from the seaside to think straight. “If Ayna is still in the palace, there is no way I’m leaving.”
“I know.” Herinor shakes his head as if he doesn’t, but I see in his eyes that he understands better than anyone why I can’t leave without her. “She’s with Clio and … a friend.”
My heart thuds wildly, defying gravity as it forces me to roll to the side and push into a sitting position, ready to shove to my feet and run in whichever direction Herinor points me. I know it’s stupid to trust anyone with the many betrayals that have led me to this point, but I can’t help it. My shoulder tingles where the tattoo is etched into my skin, heat creeping through my arm, and the heaviness falls away long enough to grab the male’s collar in an actual threat as my other hand grasps his knife and sets it to his throat.
Herinor doesn’t flinch now. “Since I can’t help her directly, I made sure she had all the help she could get.” The look he gives me is nothing if not convincing. “If things went according to plan, she should be not far from here, recovering and safe.”
My entire body is tensed to strike, fingers still like the dead as they keep the knife under his chin, ready to slice into his skin at the sign of the slightest lie. “I swear, if you’re lying, I’ll make sure they can’t decipher which male’s corpse they’ve found.” The malice in my voice has nothing to do with the fear for my own safety. It’s all for my mate. My fucking beautiful mate, who I will die to see free. And I will take down anyone in my path, friend or foe, to protect her.
“Put off killing me a little longer, and I’ll take you to the meeting point.” Herinor’s gaze is full of acceptance for whatever choice I’ll make. The tug in my shoulder might very well drag me across the entire city without his help to where she’s hiding.
I shake my head. “It’s not like there are many Crows left in this world—fewer even whom I can trust. You got me out of the palace. Now, take me to her, and prove that you got her out, too.”