Chapter 46
Soft light filtersinto the room in hues of buttery yellow and whipped cream when I open my eyes. It’s nothing compared to the clarity of my senses when I woke after being infused with the antidote to Ephegos’s drug, but it’s better than my pure human senses used to be. The smell of flowers, earth, and rich, expensive wood blends with the odor of sweat, blood, and fear, and my body is heavy like rock—just not as durable. The pain in my shoulder where Katrijanov stabbed me has reduced to a dull throb, a reminder of what happened, and the ache in my chest sets in instantly when I realize where I am.
Hardwood supports my weight, and fresh air fills my lungs, enhancing the soreness in every last muscle and the gaping hole where my heart has been ripped out—because, no matter that I begged Herinor to take Myron and run, I’m still here. I’m back in my room at Erina’s palace, my dirty, blood-caked shirt and pants proof of the battle we fought—and lost.
I’m here, discarded on the floor like an item to be used later. And my magic is gone. Not one flicker of power responds when I reach into the depths of myself to draw upon Vala’s water magic or the Crow powers Shaelak gifted me. An unnecessary glance at my arm confirms that my shirt has been shoved up and I’ve been injected with the drug once more—as does the nausea rising in my stomach. It hits like a wave, and I don’t make it to the bathing room in time, so I dry-heave onto the polished wood, braced on my hands and knees—and curse when the wound on my wrist breaks open with a stinging pain. I sink back on my haunches, waiting for my body to stop revolting before I scramble to my feet and sway toward the door.
If I’m lucky, the guards will have mercy on me in my state and let me go.
I place my good hand on the door. Who am I kidding? If any of them had a heart, they’d have helped me flee long before. They’d have let me go when I tried to sneak past them in my early days at this palace.
Retrieving my hand, I stagger to the window. There is no room for tears when I need to find escape. A blurred vision would only make it more difficult to aim at their hearts when I eventually face them on my way out. Because I will. Find. A. Way.
I’m not staying in this palace to be used. I’m not staying to pop out little royals for Erina and most definitely not to be a tool for Ephegos’s vengeance.
I’m the Queen of Crows, and what’s left of my people needs me—as does my mate.
“I’ll find you, Myron. I’ll get out of here, and then I’ll find you.”
The door creaks open as I reach the window just to find guards with bows and arrows stationed beneath it—and around the gardens as if they expect me to hop onto the windowsill and fly away.
If I had access to my magic, I just might.
“She’s awake,” the man in a sepia palace guard uniform who enters the room reports through the open door, stepping aside to make room for three more guards … and Erina.
I’m sick all over again, hands flying to my sides for weapons that aren’t there, and that new sense of panic floods me at the sight of King Erina of Tavras, an expression of deepest dismay on his features. He runs a hand across his short-cropped hair then along his perfectly shaved jaw as if searching for imperfection.
His polished boots are too loud, his theatrical sigh too deep, his stare... His stare is that of a man with vengeance on his mind. He pulls up a bland smile so fast I almost believe I imagined the rest.
“Welcome back, Wolayna.” He inclines his head in a mockery of respect, and it costs me not to spit at him. I grab the edge of the windowsill with my good hand instead, ignoring the blood trickling from my injured one.
I’m back at the beginning—one hand useless, locked in a room with a man who believes I deserve worse than death, and this time, there is no getting out.
Not unless I heal and get off the drug they injected me with.
I settle for sneering, unsure if I would get out a single word if I tried to speak.
“Ephegos informed me of your … lovely company last night. I must say I regret losing our other prisoners, though.” He makes a dramatic pause as if waiting for me to ask, but I don’t need to. I know exactly who he’s talking about. Myron got out. Royad, Silas, and Astorian got out. They all got out, and there is nothing he can do to hurt them. “I hate for them to miss the wedding.”
“I won’t marry you.” The words are out before I can make a conscious decision to speak them, and they sound exactly as scratchy and hoarse as I feel. He no longer has leverage over me.
Pulling his smile wider, Erina stalks toward me, assessing my state with the distaste of a king born with a golden spoon in his mouth. “See, this is where you’re wrong, Wolayna. I may no longer have your mate to control you—yes, I know everything about who he is to you.” His smile turns into a smirk, into something more evil. “But I have something better.”
He lifts a hand, and one of the guards makes way, allowing Odja to enter the room. The man meets my gaze with a mixture of pity and disgust and starts reading from the piece of parchment in his hands.
“To the people of Tavras. I, King Erina Latroy Jelnedyn, am delighted to inform you that I have found and retrieved the lost heir to the royal Milevishja line. After the unspeakable acts of violence of past generations, I have decided to pardon Wolayna Milevishja and take her as my bride instead.”
Odja lowers the parchment, glancing at the king, who nods then paces even closer until he’s mere steps away.
“I don’t care if the people of Tavras know who I am. If anything, it will hurt you if they support me.” I mean it.
Erina merely shakes his head. “I thought you should know… The pamphlet was sent to every last corner of my kingdom. There is no place you can seek refuge without people recognizing you now that I’ve distributed your portrait”—he gestures to Odja, who holds up the page so I can see, and I find myself staring at my own face—“and when your mate hears that I’m still going through with the plan, he’ll rush right back to save you.”
“He won’t.” Because Herinor and Royad will make sure he stays alive and safe. And he isn’t safe trying to peel me from the claws of a man who owns a weapon that can send his powers to sleep. He’d need an army to get me out.
My stomach folds into a knot.
“Oh the things fairy males will do to save their mates…” A knowing smile on Erina’s lips that seems to be actual amusement. He meets my eyes, expression going cold. “No one escapes my dungeon and lives, Wolayna. I’ll make sure the same applies to your friends and your mate.” He tilts his head, scanning my appearance once more. “The wedding’s tomorrow, dove. I’m sure we can patch you up enough to fit you into a wedding gown. And to make sure you say yes, we don’t need Myron the Valiant.” He nods at the guard closest to him. “She’ll do.”
The man signals out the door, and a tall, slender figure in servant clothes and a blindfold stumbles into the room.
I gasp, but her name I think only in my head. “Kaira.”
Before she can turn toward the direction of my mental call, the guard pulls her back out the door by her bound hands until not even my physical shouts can reach her.
He turns on his heels, retreating from the room with the guards following suit, while I stare with horror, unable to produce one single word.
The door closes, a lock clicks, and the chasm in my chest tears open so wide I think I might fall apart.
The scream I loose rips through the room like a sharp blade through a curtain. Birds flee from nearby branches, and on the chandelier, a single crystal shatters.
WHAT’S NEXT?
Want to know how Ayna’s story continues?
Claws of Death is coming November 30th, 2024.