Flight of Fate

Wings of Ink

Book Four

Angelina J. Steffort

Flight of Fate

THIS BOOK IS PART OF THE ALCUNAIRE

First published 2025

Copyright © by Angelina J. Steffort 2024

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead,

is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

ISBN 9783903357914

Cover by Fantastical Ink.

www.ajsteffort.com

Join the community!

Also by Angelina J. Steffort

Can’t get enough of Angelina’s worlds? Scan this code to find all books by Angelina J. Steffort.

Wings of Ink

Fall of the Wild Ray: A Wings of Ink Prequel

Flight of Fate

Realm of Crows

The Quarter Mage

The Quarter Mage

The Ever Mage

Shattered Kingdom

Shattered Kingdom

Wicked Crown

Shadow Rule

Lost Towers

Dark Refuge

Two Worlds

Blood of Two Worlds

Breath of Fate

Torn

Wings

Gray

Spark

Fire

Ashes

Flames Like Darkness (co-written with Belle Manuel)

Praise for the Wings of Ink Series

“… perfect for fans of lush, romantic fantasy with a gripping adventure in a magical world fraught with danger and desire.”

— G.K. DeRosa, author of Crown of Light and Shadows

“Steffort once more delivers a pulse-pounding journey with a stunning blend of romance, magic, and intrigue. Her books always leave me breathless for more, and this series is straight fire.”

— Sarah M. Cradit, USA Today Bestselling author of Kingdom of the White Sea

“… this gripping, adventure-filled world and pulse-pounding, slow burn romance consumed me.”

— Jesikah Sundin, multi-award winning author of the Bound by Ravens Novel series

“I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work.”

— Thomas Edison

Map

Map of Eherea

One

Ayna

Mist creeps through the narrow streets in the western district of Aceleau, wafts rising on a chill breeze and glittering in front of my face as I watch the fairy capital from my perch up on a chimney. I was hoping to find the air warmer up here, but the hearths in the building below have gone cold a hundred years ago, and the ruins that are left serve mainly for rats and the occasional thief to hide for the night.

Across the cobbled street, hues of soft gold and orange glow in the windows—orbs of fairy light illuminating the homes of magical inhabitants. Handsome fairy males and females sit by the fires, books in their laps or late-night meals on their tables, their clothes as elaborate and beautiful as if they were visiting the palace at the heart of the city.

I shudder at the sense of loneliness sliding into my bird heart at the sight of so much life and contentment. None of them know there’s an army preparing south of Askarea. None of them are afraid.

I ruffle my feathers and hop off the edge of the chimney, landing on the plain roof tiles.

In my bird form, no one pays me any heed in this city. Not even the other crows circling the dark alleys. I’m invisible the way I might once have hoped to be—before I met Myron and fell in love. Before he loved me back and the curse on the Crow Fae broke.

Claws slithering over the slippery roof, I take flight, peering down at the fairies in their thick coats, wincing at the clopping of the occasional hoofed fairy hurrying along the alley. The air tastes of spices and pending winter, a combination I would have appreciated in my human form. However, all I ever crave these days is meat. My tiny crow stomach grumbles as I circle above the abandoned house, waiting, my eyes trained on the end of the alley where the lights from the windows don’t penetrate the thick darkness.

A part of me feels empathy for the Crows who were trapped in their half-form, their instincts those of birds when they so desperately tried to become entirely Fae once more, but those instincts have kept me alive these past days of sneaking out of the Fairy Palace to explore Aceleau on my own.

Between the ancient walls of crooked houses, a tall, cloaked figure moves so fluidly I barely spot him at the edge of the shadows. About time. Every night around this hour, the male with the black hair ventures to this part of the city, and I’ve made it my task to follow on silent wings.

If he looked up, he’d spot me, a feathered sliver of night gliding above, but he never tips up his head, never as much as glances to the roofs and what lies beyond, between the stars. A part of me is grateful for his ignorance while the other part wonders what he’d do if he spotted me following him. If, perhaps, he knows on instinct I’m here as he sneaks off into the night.

On fae-quiet feet, he slips from shadow to shadow as if that could shield him from the prying, immortal eyes of the creatures roaming this realm, his gait sure and confident like that of the king he is, even when he’s dressed in simple dark pants and covered his thick woolen tunic with a cloak of deepest black.

I barely recognized him that first night when he slipped out of our room after he thought I’d fallen asleep on the pillow next to his and I woke to an empty bed, panic clutching my little bird heart and instincts driving me out the open window and into the night.

He climbs over a fence, taking a shortcut back to the towering walls of the palace, the moon painting his outline with silver as he crosses the empty market square a few streets down, while I glide from roof to roof, never getting close enough to be detected, but never falling far behind either.

I’m not sure what he does in the small temple near the abandoned house every night, and I don’t have the courage to find out. All I do is make sure he doesn’t get into trouble when he leaves the protection of the palace walls. Not that there is much I can do in my bird form, but what else can I do? If I stay behind, I won’t be able to close my eyes for a minute from worry.

Just as I land on one of the colorful canopies spread over the abandoned market stands, clopping footsteps approach the corner he’s turning, and he freezes. His hands casually hover by his sides within reach of the knives he carries everywhere.

I cock my head, sniffing the air for danger, and get a whiff of alcohol and cinnamon pie accompanied by laughter and out-of-tune humming.

The male shrinks into the shadows and out of sight a heartbeat before the two-horned and hoofed fairies stumble past, oblivious to the predator lurking in the darkness. I can almost see the curl of disgust on his mouth, feel the tension leave his body as the night dwellers dawdle toward the tavern down the side street, one arm slung around each other’s shoulders for support and their colorful cloaks swaying with each unsteady step.

I want to caw my relief as they reach the drinking hall and the door swings open, letting the sound of fiddles and drums escape just long enough for the tune to be bent by the near-freezing air before the fairies disappear into the merriment.

When I turn back to the shadows, the male in black is gone, and my heart lurches into my throat at the flutter of wings behind me.

Before I can take flight, the crow lands next to me, cocking his head with a mixture of accusation and exasperation, and I wish I could shift the way he does, turning into the massive male who’s spent too many hours keeping me company in my misery. His dark brown hair sticks out of its tie at the back of his head where the wind has torn at it, and the scar on his cheek quirks as he lifts a questioning brow at me.

“Been following Myron around again?” Royad folds his arms over his broad chest, more to contain the warmth that’s trying to escape through his simple shirt with no cloak to protect him from the icy air.

I don’t exactly relax at the sight of him perching on the edge of the roof, peering down at me with those eyes that are too similar to Myron’s to be comfortable.

Someone has to look out for him, I want to retort, but I don’t have a voice in this form, so I simply stare him down with all the dignity that a queen trapped in a bird’s body can muster.

Royad shrugs as if reading the words right from my mind. “He’s been sneaking out every night,” Royad reports, bracing his hands on the stone tiles. How he doesn’t flinch away from the cold, I can’t even begin to wonder. I’m shaking from the icy, humid air, and the protection the slanted roof gives from the wind is the only reason I’m not shivering in my feather coat. “But you’ve been following him almost as often.” He doesn’t need to guess. I’m certain he’s been watching over his cousin and king as thoroughly as always. Only, being born with the reflexes and powers of a Crow Fae combined with centuries of training make him superior in stealth. “Any particular reason you avoid him during the days but can’t peel yourself off his heels during the nights?”

A loaded question, and one I really don’t wish to discuss with anyone. It’s bad enough that I have been stuck in this bird form for two weeks.

Two weeks, during which the others have been refining their combat skills and working with King Recienne of Askarea’s general to develop fighting techniques that would allow them to work around the magic suppressant that’s now coating the weapons and armor of our enemies.

I cackle a sound that was supposed to be a sigh, and Royad lowers his head, chest expanding as he heaves the breath I can’t seem to get down. “Any idea what he’s up to?”

I don’t dare get close enough to risk exposure, I want to say. A caw is all that comes out.

We both glance down at the shadows where Myron disappeared like a shadow in the mist, already on his way to the palace.

Rubbing his hands up and down his arms, Royad points his chin toward the towering, gray structure of the royal residence at the city center. “Let’s get back into the air before he runs into trouble.”

That, we can agree on. I don’t wait for him to shift before I take off and soar into the freezing night, eyes scanning the darkness for the one creature I can’t live without.

Two

Ayna

I’m up before dawn, fluttering my wings a few times before hopping across the cream-and-blue pattern on the pillow, one eye on Myron’s sleeping form. He didn’t bother to change out of his pants and tunic when he returned to this room last night. I can still smell the faint scent of incense clinging to the fabrics. Myron is lying on his stomach, one hand tucked under his cheek, hair tangled around his head. The winter dawn paints him in grayscale, the contrast of his black lashes against his skin so stark he could have been a painting.

It’s the only time during the day when I allow myself to appreciate the beauty of the male I’m supposed to hold in my arms. The one I’m supposed to kiss and love and never let go of. But I’m a bird.

In his sleep, Myron has shrugged off the covers, his tunic exposing the strong column of his neck corded with muscle and covered in faint scars. There should have been whorls of black ink peeking out from under the collar, but our mate mark is gone since Erina tried to un-mate us with a torch to my shoulder. Phantom pain singes my shoulder, right where my wing is attached to my bird body, and I shake it off with a powerful beat, propelling me right for the window, which Myron always keeps open for me to come and go as I please.

Even now—even when there is nothing I can give him, he makes sure I feel comfortable in what he still calls our room.

The sound of my wings rouses Myron from sleep, and I glimpse a flicker of blue as he opens his eyes; then I’m out the window, fluttering toward the window of the room next door where my sister sleeps with a weapon under her pillow. I caw my greetings before clicking my beak against the glass, the sound making Kaira leap from her bed, knife in hand and a sour expression on her face as she spots me instead of an enemy army.

“How many times have I told you not to do this?” She scrambles to the window, half-asleep even in her readiness to kill, and unlatches it so I can hop inside. “It’s too early.”

“It’s never too early,” I protest through our mind connection, nudging her outstretched hand with the side of my head when all I want to do is give her a hug. I haven’t embraced her since the battle when she was sprawled on the ground, a gushing wound in her thigh and life fading from her eyes.

“Oh shut your grumpy beak, and I’ll get us some breakfast.” Dropping her blade on the rumpled bed, Kaira grabs a set of fleece-lined leather pants and a thick woolen shirt and disappears inside the adjacent bathing room only long enough to have cleaned her mouth and washed her face before changing into her attire. When she reappears, fully dressed, her brown hair falls over her shoulders in tangles. “I know, I’m a hopeless case,” she says as she combs her fingers through her waves, knotting them even more, wincing as she gets stuck in the lengths. “Maybe I should cut it off.”

I shake my head at both statements, wishing I could use my hands to brush out her hair, to braid it for her, but my claws are good for hunting and killing, not for showing affection.

When I merely give her a look, Kaira rolls her eyes and sets off for the door, grabbing her knife from the bed on the way out. I follow, ignoring the looks of the guards spaced out along the hallways. It’s not like they mind seeing me in this form; they all know who I am and what I am, and Recienne has ordered them not to harm me even if I land on their shoulders on occasion. But I mind. Every day I flutter through the palace, I’m painfully reminded that I’m stuck in my bird form. “Are you musing the merits of kicking Vala’s ass again?” Kaira prompts in my mind.

“I don’t think you can kick a goddess’s ass.” Even when that’s exactly what I want to do for her putting me in this position.

At least Kaira treats me like a normal person, ignoring my feathers and lack of human … well, anything … entirely.

“Do you regret it?” She asks that question every day, and every day, I have the same answer for her.

“I will never regret buying you a chance at winning that battle.” That godsdamned battle with the Flames that got us where we are now. “I’d do it all over again.”

“How long do you think she’ll let you be stuck in this form?” Out of all my new family, she’s the only one with blind faith in my recovery from Vala’s newest curse.

“Eternity, probably. Good thing I’m not immortal.”

That costs Kaira a morning-grumpy chuckle. “If there’s one thing we know, it’s that you’re a Crow now—literally. I’d be surprised if the Brother Guardian hasn’t thrown in a few benefits for you when making you his creature.”

“Don’t remind me.”

After the initial shock of my being stuck in bird form, Kaira and Tori made sure they spent enough time with me to get the full story and translate it to the others. The fact that Vala unveiled to me her identity as the Sister Guardian and Shaelak her brother, both Eroth’s children, was the milder shock where my Crow court is concerned.

When he learned I couldn’t shift back, Myron immediately shifted to see if we could communicate when we were both in our bird forms to the only effect of my tearless crying when that tiny hope was smothered by the absence of his voice in my head as he cawed at me.

We turn the corner into the hallway leading to the kitchens, a path Kaira walks more often than the rest of us, it seems, with her affinity for at least two breakfasts before starting the day. I duck behind a glimmering green column, tucking my wings in tight as I dive through the narrow space and, when Kaira shoots me an alarmed look, I call it flying practice.

“You need to stop doing that,” she scolds in my mind. “You’ll scare the guards into eventually putting a spear through your wings.”

She’s not wrong, but there’s little I can do in this form. I can’t even use my Crow abilities, that silver power remaining dormant the way it does with all Crow Fae while in their feathered form.

Only, I’m not fae. I’m human at my core—and I want to feel my arms and legs again. Want to walk so long my feet hurt, want to sit on my ass and complain about a too-tight belt after a filling meal.

The tip of my wing brushes the shoulder of the guard standing at attention by the next door, and he does flinch and grab for his sword, ready to attack.

“It’s just the Crow Queen,” Kaira calls at him as she darts after me to where the scent of freshly baked goods and fried bacon beckons from the door at the end of the corridor.

“Apologies, Your Majesty.” The way the guard bows as I speed past and sheathes his sword at his hip is almost comical. There’s no humor in it, though. I traded my promise to pay any price to be able to bring the force of the clouds down on a burning battlefield, and Vala named her price: my human form.

I’m a crow now for good, and even telling myself that things will be all right, that I can contribute to saving my family and this kingdom won’t change anything. I’m useless without my daggers and my magic, and not even my sharp claws can help any of them when we face Erina’s armies.

Second breakfast is crowded. The long oak table in the Fairy King’s dining room is loaded with plates of breakfast meats, cheeses, and fruit, and baskets of breads sit at the center. Clio, already in her fighting leathers, is digging into a helping of eggs, monitoring Silas and Herinor, who sit next to each other, talking about the strengths and weaknesses of our fairy allies. They’ve been training together for the past weeks, each day one of bruises and minor cuts when both fairies and Crows fight without their magic to get a taste of what it will be like to face Erina’s soldiers without their supernatural abilities.

Next to me, Myron is eating quietly, his gaze on me as I hop around my plate, picking at the slice of bacon Kaira dumped onto my plate after I asked her for it in my mind. He hasn’t uttered a word about how unfair it is that I can’t talk to him without Kaira or Tori translating. He hasn’t complained one single time about my avoidance of him. All he’s done is tell me again and again that, if there is a way to trap a Crow in their bird form, there is a way to set them free, that I proved exactly that when I saved him from Vala’s ancient curse.

It’s not the same. Even with Vala’s curse, he was at least mostly in his fae form when I first met him. He could speak through his own mouth and touch me with his hands, talons or no, whereas I… I am a bird. No words, no hands, no lips. What’s the use of having Kaira play messenger about how much it hurts to not be able to wrap my arms around him? How much it pains me to see him waste his time on someone he can’t be with? How it agonizes my heart that he’s bound to me through the mating bond? Perhaps it would have been a blessing had Erina’s attempt to burn him out of me worked.

Tori’s warning look from where he sits next to Recienne by the head of the table is enough to tell me he heard every thought and is disapproving greatly.

“I’m not going to abandon him.” Reassurance that will lead nowhere but the truth nonetheless. I won’t abandon Myron. I won’t abandon my family.

Kaira nods and reaches across the table from her place next to Clio and shoves a piece of bread onto my plate. “Honestly,” the fairy princess drawls. “Stop having those silent conversations when I’m around. It’s rude.”

“It’s none of your business,” I snap in my head, but she doesn’t hear me. Tori, however, grips his fork harder, clearing his throat as if to smother words he’s trying to hold in.

At the head of the table, Recienne lounges in his chair, a cup of tea in one hand and a missive in the other, seemingly oblivious to our conversation. As the expression on his face darkens, Astorian leans over his loaded plate, reading along with the Fairy King, brows knitted in an auburn line of concentration and almost crushing the bread roll between his fingers.

“Bad news?” I ask into his mind, waiting for a little tell that he’s heard me. He doesn’t as much as blink.

Royad plucks a slice of bread from the basket closest to him, his leathers whispering with the movement. “Another message from the border?”

Too many of those have been coming in lately, all of them reporting the same disconcerting quiet in the borderlands. I guess it’s a good thing Erina isn’t sending in the brunt of his legions before we’ve had the chance to prepare. If our victory against the Flames was enough to buy us a few weeks, staying in this form forever is worth it.

I tell myself that, but a selfish part of me yearns for my human form anyway.

“No new sightings at the ruins of Jeseida’s estate.” Recienne’s golden eyes lift from the missive to meet the male’s gaze. “The army gathering in the borderlands hasn’t grown.”

“Why the worried face then?” Silas prompts, the Crow warrior spearing a piece of apple and popping it into his mouth.

He’s right. Recienne has been staring at the paper in his hands for much too long for such a short message.

Slowly, deliberately, Recienne leads his glass cup to his lips, sipping from his tea then sets it down. “This”—he holds up the paper—“is a list of potential names for my child.”

Before any of us can comprehend what he said and take a peek, he folds it away and tucks it into the breast pocket of his black velvet jacket.

Herinor almost chokes on the mouthful of bread he’s chewing, and Royad’s eyes grow as large as the blue-and-gold saucer Recienne’s teacup is now sitting on. Beside me, Myron shows no reaction, so I control mine, too, even when I’m bursting with curiosity.

I haven’t seen the pregnant queen since I ran into her before we set out to intercept the weapons delivery in the borderlands, but my entire body chills at the thought of new life growing to be born into this world of terror and war.

Shoving the thought aside, I focus on the small smile spreading on Recienne’s lips that I’ve learned to interpret as a sign of happiness.

“Have you decided on a name?” Silas asks, and I’m surprised the usually sarcastic warrior is showing any interest.

“She’ll be named after her aunt, of course.” Clio folds her arms, and Tori leans back in his chair to drape his arm over her shoulders.

“Your brother and his mate will decide on the name of the child, the gender of which we don’t know.”

If looks could kill, Tori would fall off his chair at the way Clio peers at him. At least that draws a soft chuckle from Myron, the sound running through me like summer rain, and my entire soul ignites at the sudden awareness of my own mate so close—and me in my bird form.

I only realize I’ve been staring at him as his ocean eyes meet mine and my heart stutters.

Three

Myron

Ayna flies straight for the training grounds when we all disperse to get ready for practice. I’m not sure if it was me who sent her bolting from the dining hall or if she’s restless in general; it’s hard to know with Crows in their bird form. Everything is driven by instincts and so much harder to control. It’s a miracle she hasn’t tried to tear anyone’s face off when Silas, Royad, and Tori get at it, discussing the best fighting techniques and strategies for battle.

Allowing my boots to make sounds on the stone floor, I make my way toward the back door—better to announce my presence than startle the fairy soldiers we’re training with today and risk getting a blast of magic in my face.

“You all right?” Royad joins me halfway to the arena, dressed for battle and ready to kill on my behalf, as always.

I shrug. It’s not a secret I haven’t been all right since the moment I learned Vala locked my mate in her bird form. The Goddess of Water has taken enough from me already. Centuries and centuries under her curse are more than any Crow should be able to bear. Yet, here we are.

When I don’t say anything, Royad clasps my shoulder in a familiar gesture of comfort. “You went to the temple again?”

“Did she follow?” I don’t want to ask, but since Ayna won’t stay in the same room with me to broach the subject, I need to rely on my cousin to know if she’s getting herself into trouble.

He squeezes my shoulder. “What do you think?”

Of course she did. When I first spotted Ayna circling high up above the streets, peering down from roofs, hiding behind chimneys, my heart all but seized, and it took all the self-control I have mastered over centuries of being cursed to not confront her and send her back to the palace when she so obviously doesn’t want me to know she’s following me on my nightly trips, and I’m still not over the absolute terror of anything potentially happening to her when she’s out there on her own. I didn’t spot her yesterday, though. Luckily, I have the most loyal cousin to watch my mate’s back while I sneak into Shaelak’s temple in a narrow side street at the edge of the city—the only temple of Shaelak, or the Brother Guardian as they call him here. All the other temples are dedicated to both Guardians, but I need only the God of Darkness. He’s the creator of Crows, and if anyone holds the power to change Ayna back, it’s him, no matter that it was Vala who cursed her.

No—Ayna isn’t cursed. The goddess merely informed her there would be repercussions to using her Crow powers and her water magic at the same time; she didn’t voice an actual curse.

The others are already there when we arrive in the arena, Silas sparring with Clio, the fearless fairy princess, Herinor chatting with the part-Flame, Kaira, who seems to be the only one who can leash his ever-loving bastard of a temper, and Recienne is poring over a map pinned with magic to the stone wall near the stack of logs at the side of the entrance.

My eyes skip over them all, though, searching the space for the small, beautiful black bird that is my mate.

She’s perched on the highest point of the construction, far above the top benches of the auditorium where a small group of soldiers has assembled to watch and learn before they leap into practice of their own and carry the proven techniques to their legions.

“Any success last night?” Royad asks when he notices the direction of my stare.

I shake my head. “I thought the gods had merely abandoned Neredyn, but it seems they hate Eherea enough to leave it behind as well.” Neredyn—my chest aches at the thought of wild forests and clear blue oceans. One day, I’ll return to the place I was born.

“Have you tried?” Gaze dropping to my leather-clad forearm, he sniffs the air for traces of my blood.

“Of course I tried. I try every night.” My fingers absently rub the small incision I made there last night, even when the wound has long healed without a scar to tell the tale. How I wish it hadn’t, leaving a reminder of my efforts at convincing the God of Darkness to release my mate from the hold of her feathered form.

Squeezing my shoulder once more, my cousin gives me a pitiful glance. “Don’t give up.”

“Never.”

As I watch him stalk toward Herinor and Kaira, I blow out a slow breath to steady my heartbeat.

All those days of hoping that the fairy healers would find a way to transform Ayna back… My hands are shaking at the mere thought of the nights I spent hoping as they fed her tonic after tonic to force her out of her crow body. The pain and fear she must have gone through. Ire blazes in my veins, and I struggle to keep the silver power from rushing from my blood in an all-consuming blow.

It’s not the fault of these people—our allies—who are willing to expose their weaknesses to become stronger together. It’s nobody’s fault.

So I force down another breath and shift into my bird form, ignoring Tori’s call to fucking drag my ass over to the map so we can talk strategies, and join my mate on her vantage point instead.

Four

Ayna

The wind ruffles my feathers with an icy kiss. A little over two months until the turn of the next year. The clang of steel against steel sings those words to me as I ignore the sparring in the arena below to gaze out into the distance where the oceans east of Eherea lie with their turquoise and blue depths. Maybe, if I fly and keep flying, I’ll reach the lands beyond and forget about the family I found and the mate whom I can’t bear to lose.

Perhaps, I’ll forget about the Queen of Crows and the Queen of Tavras and become one with my bird self.

Wingbeats from behind catch my attention before I can finish that thought, and Myron’s proud crow lands next to me, claws gripping the stone so hard that part of it splinters away, plunging into the moist grass outside the arena.

He cocks his head at me in a silent prompt, but there’s nothing I have to say to him. Nothing I could say to him even if I had words. I’m empty and cold despite the hearty breakfast and the people who haven’t once made me feel like I don’t belong.

Myron’s soft caw is a lament neither of us can speak, and I want to cry, but this body holds no tears.

Perhaps, I won’t follow him tonight when he returns to the temple. Perhaps, I’ll be able to let go.

With a small flap of his wings, he hops closer until his side brushes mine, providing warmth and protection from the wind. His depthless black eyes bore into mine, and through our bond, a wealth of emotions floods me, so strong I nearly slip off the wall. It doesn’t matter if I manage to let him go. He’ll never let me go.

With a caw, I push off the wall and glide down into the arena, Myron following suit and Kaira waving at me like I’m her favorite bird in the world.

“Done sulking?” She raises a brow at me while simultaneously managing to give Herinor a disgruntled look as he hands her the dagger he’s been sharpening for her.

“I’m not sulking.” I’m merely debating the option of stealing myself away so Myron can move on and find a female who isn’t stuck in feathers and whose claws are metaphorical.

“Call it what you want. I recognize a sulking Crow from five miles away.” She’s probably referring to Herinor, but I don’t have it in me to reprimand her, so I settle on the logs next to the broody male who’s still holding out Kaira’s weapon and caw my disapproval.

With a shrug, my sister grabs the blade and marches into the sparring ring, facing the fierce warrior fairy whom we saved from Jeseida’s estate. Tata greets her with a smirk and a wave, readying her own sword.

“Good to see you’re up and fighting again,” the female says, positioning herself in a defensive stance.

Kaira gives her a challenging smile. “Your healers are incredibly gifted. I can’t even tell where exactly the wound was.”

Beside me, Herinor flinches ever so slightly. By the time I turn to him, he’s composed his features, though.

“He still not over you almost dying?” I throw at my sister since I can’t tease the male next to me about it.

Kaira’s first strike slips on Tata’s sword, and the fairy needs to pull back to keep her blade from landing on Kaira’s shoulder.

“Guardians, you really like him.” It’s not a question, and for once, Kaira doesn’t deny it.

“Again,” she says to Tata, lifting her blade over her head and striking without a pause.

Steel meets steel at the other end of the arena, too, where Royad and Myron are getting at it, the latter back in his fae form and the wrath of the Guardians on his features as he attacks his cousin over and over again. Royad takes it in stride, blocking and parrying with expert skill. Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s offered himself as a buffer to absorb Myron’s frustration, and the urge to apologize surges through me.

“Did anything happen between the two of you?” Herinor asks with that unfiltered manner of his. His light green eyes peer right into my bird soul, digging up more than I care to share, yet he can’t hear the words I want to speak.

Nothing. Nothing happened. And that might be the problem.

“You know you could make this easier for him if you didn’t make yourself scarce every time he musters the courage to approach you.”

I didn’t expect any deep conversation from Herinor, but it seems he has been observing more than I’d like for anyone to notice.

He’s not approaching me. Not in that sense. He’s merely trying to… What exactly is he trying to do? To give me a sense of support? To let me know he’s not faltering.

He’s approaching his doom holding on to me. I’m glad I can’t speak those words out loud because, if I heard them—if anyone heard them—I’d break apart, but in my mind… I can whisper them there so softly that not even Kaira and Tori pick up on them.

“At least, you haven’t given up on training,” Herinor rolls on. “I thought you’d be the weak type who runs when things get complicated. You know, like you did in the Seeing Forest, but it seems I need to give you more credit.”

He plants his hands next to his hips on the wood, cocking his head in that birdlike manner reminding me of the feathered guard in my old rooms at Myron’s palace in the Seeing Forest, and I can’t stop the shudder running through my body.

He’s wrong. I am weak. Weak because I want to run and weak because I’m letting my selfishness get in the way. It’s not to set Myron free that I want to run. It’s to protect myself from seeing his perfect face every day and not being able to smile at him. From not being able to speak with him or feel his skin beneath my fingers the way my memory likes to play back to me. Perhaps, if I’m far away, it will no longer be torture, and I’ll quietly settle into my new self.

Oblivious to the conflict raging in my chest, Herinor rolls on, “You better pay close attention. They are working on some evasion techniques today that even you could benefit from.” The double meaning in his words doesn’t elude me.

When I glance back toward Myron and Royad, the arena has populated with fairy soldiers, and Tori and Recienne are demonstrating blocks and twists that look more like a dance to me than swordplay, but I never truly learned the more subtle and artful side of fighting with steel, so I can’t be sure. What I learned from Ludelle and the crew of the Wild Ray is how to kill fast and effectively and how to stay alive. That’s why I pay close attention when Tori explains how to lure an opponent to attempt getting past your guard then strike with a pierce through the jaw from right under the chin.

Thank the Guardians for Tori’s centuries of practice and the Fairy King’s absolute trust in his general, or we’d have some royal bloodbath going on. The tip of Tori’s sword remains poised beneath Recienne’s chin while the latter holds so still I wonder if he’s even breathing.

“Your turn!” Tori lowers his blade, and Recienne claps his hands to get his soldiers moving. Within moments, the arena is a blur of fairies and Crows testing their speed and control over their weapons without the aid of magic. It’s a beautiful and brutal display, and my Crow heart sings at the sight of contained violence.

As if reading my mind—or perhaps simply savoring the same aesthetics of lethal grace—Herinor says, “Those fairies are well trained, but they lack discipline.”

Of course, a critique from him. You’re a millennia-old bastard, I want to fling at him, but he is already speaking again. “If they make contact with the magic suppressant, they will probably suffer from the same side effects as we did on the battlefield.” The memory of Myron, Royad, and Herinor on their knees before Jeseida on the wagon drives a new shudder through me. “Even the Fairy King barely managed to keep upright when the drug first hit him. I doubt his untested soldiers will do any better.”

I want to ask him why the Crows weren’t vomiting when Jeseida ambushed them with the drug on the wagon, but Herinor has the same train of thought, and I don’t need to brood over another question unspoken and unanswered.

“Those of us who’ve been exposed to the substance often enough seem to be dealing with the nausea better than the first timers.”

And he would know. Ephegos tested the drug on him in the very beginning.

I’m still uncertain if I should pity the warrior for the choices he made or be upset with him. However I feel, it doesn’t change a thing. He’s still bound by his oath to the traitor Crow, and whatever he does, it can’t be to aid me or he’ll suffer the consequences of the ancient magic of binding fae promises.

Wiping his hands on his leather pants, Herinor gets to his feet. “Time to join the fun.” And with a wink, he sets out to the back of the arena where Myron has Royad at the tip of his blade. “We don’t want our king to accidentally slit Royad’s throat.”

His chuckle lingers, even when he crosses the arena, sidestepping sparring pairs and twisting out of blades’ paths like that’s all he’s done for the past millennium. I remain where I am, cold and empty once more, and wonder if there’s any part of this war I can be of use in.

The following night, I don’t sleep on the pillow next to Myron’s. I don’t sleep at all. Instead of following my mate to the temple of the Brother Guardian, I make my way out across the palace grounds and the small forest at the edge of the premises on my own. Cold wind presses down on my wings as I make it past the city walls and the army encampments there. Tori mentioned that they are gathering south of Aceleau, but I hadn’t imagined a camp large enough to make a village of its own. It makes sense, though. They all need to train, and if Erina makes an unexpected move, the capital will be protected.

The water surrounding the city walls shimmers in the firelight of the camp like a rippling gilded mirror, tempting me to land and beg it to respond to the magic I once held, but I push forward, making for the layer of clouds higher up, the cold creeping through my coat like fingers of ice.

A caw rips from my beak as I shout my frustration at the goddess who has done nothing but protect and warn me.

Vala doesn’t respond, no matter how frantically I flutter through the cocoon of frozen droplets as I beg and pray and caw, caw, caw, the wind carrying me higher and higher until the air becomes thin and my head fuzzy and I need to submit to my limits.

Muscles aching and strength draining, I glide downward, harnessing the winds to carry me back to the city.

I’m nearly above the army camp once more when a gust of icy air pushes me off course, and I tumble through the skies in a wild roll before I manage to spread my wings once more, bracing against the current. It’s no longer running toward Aceleau but north, away from the lights on the ground, toward the outline of mountains against stars.

I beat my wings hard, fighting the draft, but I’m caught, and my tiny body is nothing but a leaf in a tossing ocean. Fear has an iron hold on my chest, my heart racing as I work to steady my course, but control has slipped from my claws like a fish from bare fingers, and I’m adrift on the whims of the storm.

It’s when I think my strength is failing me that the air abruptly stills and I’m suspended in a web of energy that seems to be holding me from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. With a last effort, I manage to stabilize myself enough to notice an orange dot in the distance.

The energy falters, nearly letting me plunge to the ground, but I’m a crow now, and my instincts are stronger than in my human form. Pain sears through my back as I spread my wings wide, catching myself on an updraft and circling toward the copse of pines near what I identify to be a campfire.

Not an army camp, though. This is too far from Aceleau and Recienne’s legions gathering in the southeast. This is the north, and the size of the fire indicates there can’t be more than a few people. Forest fairies, perhaps. I’ve heard about them from Clio—about the creatures who live in the wild and turn into big-eyed deer even when their teeth can kill. Have heard the stories from Silas, too, how they faced those in the last war. There’s so much I need to learn about this realm, so many dangers I haven’t even considered.

The fireside being one of them.

I land on the top of a pine, panting and shivering as I wait for my straining heart to slow. That’s when I see them.

Through the branches, I notice three figures huddled against the fire. Blankets cover their broad forms, drawn up to their necks, but I spot the pointed ears peeking out from under their hair. Light packs sit behind them against a man-high boulder, the light making their shadows dance on the pale rock. Something inside me screams danger.

I should fly away, get out of here before they spot me spying, but a part of me—the human part—pushes to sneak closer, to hear their murmured words.

So I do.

Ignoring the ache in my muscles, I hop a branch lower so I can see more of their faces, one dark-skinned with short black hair, the other two lighter in skin tone with brown, shoulder-length waves—all beautiful the way only fairies are. But what sort of fairies are they?

Another level down, my claws dig into the bark as I lean to the side to see more details of their attire, but the only parts sticking out from under the ordinary gray blankets are their boots, and those are nondescript and functional.

Whoever they are, they aren’t advertising their allegiance. No coats of arms on their packs or their blankets. If only I could see the rest of their clothes.

One of the brown-haired males laughs at something the dark-skinned one said.

I use the moment where his laughter covers the sound to hop even lower.

“I’ll take the redhead,” the one who laughed says in response to what I hadn’t picked up before. “Her tits seem to be worth the wait.”

“Only if you let me watch,” the other one says, and I notice the similarities in their features—twins.

“Watch, join, do whatever you like, brother, as long as I get to fuck her first.”

The third male chuckles and shakes his head. “The two of you are a particular brand of gross.”

“Just because you never get laid doesn’t mean we need to abstain from all merriment,” one of the twins says, leaning back against his pack and closing his eyes. “When we get back from this mission, I’ll happily find you a female to entertain—or a male if you prefer.”

Taking a swig from the flask in his hands, the other twin bobs his head. “We’ll get you all the males and females you want as long as you don’t get us killed on this mission.”

The third male shakes his head. “Just shut up and sleep. We’ll set out to Aceleau tomorrow. If we want to get to the palace before nightfall, we’ll need to be well-rested.”

Neither of the twins objects as they all settle back and get as comfortable as the cold ground allows. The dark-skinned male reaches beneath the blanket to draw a bundle from his belt. That’s when I see it:

Intricate ornamentations on the clasp holding his cloak together. Even in the orange tint of the fire, I recognize the Tavrasian pattern I spent my childhood and the better part of the past months staring at.

He covers himself in the blanket too fast for me to spot weapons or pieces of armor, but unless he bought this clasp from a Tavrasian merchant, he has ties to Tavras. And if they are planning to visit the palace in Aceleau tomorrow⁠—

My head spins at the hundreds of possibilities of what mission brings them here.

Traveling too poorly for diplomats, a voice warns. Assassins, another one claims. Soldiers. Merchants. Traveling minstrels.

I shut down the cacophony in my mind and force a breath down my throat.

Whoever those people are or who sent them, I need to warn the others.

It’s no coincidence the storm has carried me in this direction, and I don’t know which deity to thank. I’ll make a trip to a temple tomorrow and leave a feather as a sacrifice anyway. But first I need to get out of here unnoticed.

Five

Herinor

Myron’s a mess, and that’s putting it kindly. Since he returned from his own nightly trips around midnight and Ayna still hadn’t settled on her pillow, he’s been pacing a trail into the carpet of the common room, right in front of the silver brocade couch Silas is occupying. The frown on his features is the least of our problems if our queen doesn’t show up any time soon.

“You sure she wasn’t following you this time?” Silas prompts. His hair is even more unruly than I’m used to, and he could have bothered with putting on a shirt. At least, he opted for pants before joining us for the commotion.

“I would have seen her.” It’s Royad who responds even when Myron could have given the exact same response.

Bad enough that Royad now spends his nights as a bodyguard for both Myron and Ayna when he’s supposed to rest and gather enough strength to kick Erina’s army the next time we run into them.

Folding my arms over my chest, I lean back in the armchair and glance out the window. “She could be out there right now.”

“Somewhere out there,” Myron agrees, a bit frantic. “Anywhere.” His head whips around, painfully blue eyes meeting mine with that punishing glare I’ve come to expect whenever he looks my way. “She could be anywhere between here and the Southern Continent.”

“Aren’t you a bit dramatic?” Silas picks my line right from my mouth. “I thought Clio was the drama queen here.”

Wrong thing to say. Wrong moment to joke and tease. He should know it. He’s the one who knows what it means to be mated—and to lose her.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think,” Royad snaps, stepping between Myron, whose gaze could kill, and Silas, who has the good sense to straighten and show a modicum of respect. “Ayna disappeared. And I don’t mean headed-to-the-kitchen-for-a-midnight-snack disappeared but disappeared.”

“She never came back after training,” Myron adds so softly I wonder if he’s spoken at all. With a shaky hand, he fingers off his cloak, tossing it next to Silas onto the couch. “I thought she might have avoided me again and that she’d show up later, but when she wasn’t in our room when I returned…” He stops. Braces his hands on the back of my chair for a heartbeat. Continues pacing.

“You panicked?” Silas supplies. I grunt a warning at him, which he dismisses with a hiss. “He is panicking, isn’t he?”

“Of course I’m panicking,” Myron confirms. “I missed dinner because I wanted to try something new at the temple, so I only realized she was missing when I returned a few minutes ago.” He heaves a breath. “We should be searching for her. I should be out there. She’s been off all week. Colder than the first days in her bird form. What if she forgot who she is.” Where she belongs, is what he doesn’t need to add.

It’s a horrible thought, but not as far-fetched as Myron might hope. It’s happened before, even to seasoned Crows, that they stayed in their bird form so long their instincts took over entirely and they forgot⁠—

At least, now we have Kaira and Tori to speak with her through the mind link. As long as she keeps talking with them, she won’t lose herself—at least, I hope so for Myron and all of us.

“She’s not forgotten you,” Royad says, and I want to call him out that he must be a fool to believe it not to be a lie, but I’m wise enough to hold my tongue.

“She’s been in her bird form for a few weeks. That’s long enough to submit to your instincts. You, better than anyone, should know,” Silas reminds the devastated king of the months he tried to escape the curse by turning into a bird and roaming the Seeing Forest in that form so long it took his father’s most accomplished soldiers days to hunt him down and bring him back. I never learned how they forced him to shift back, but the memory seems to bring enough pain for Myron’s mouth to twist into an agonized line.

“What if someone took her?” It’s not a better option, but at least, that would mean she didn’t choose to leave him behind, and that’s all I can hope for when I watch Myron’s expression of defeat turn into one of ire.

“Then I’ll hunt that bastard down and tear him to pieces—slowly.”

He means it. And I’ll be right there with him. Avenging my queen doesn’t count as aiding her where the oath to Ephegos is concerned, so perhaps that’s my loophole. Tucking that theory away for later, I get to my feet and stroll over to the window where the moonlit night has turned into smudges of clouds torn by heavy winds.

“It’s not flying weather out there.” Again, the truth. It’s all I have to offer. “If she set out by herself, she might have sought shelter in a tree or a cave and will be back by the time the storm dies down.” As if to emphasize my point, a gust of wind rips a twig from a tree and smashes it into the window.

Even Silas flinches, hand twitching to the hatchet he’s discarded beside him on the silver brocade.

“I don’t know what thought is worse, taken by enemy or taken by storm,” Royad muses while Myron’s face reassembles into that expression he only wears when he’s coming up with plans no one else dares consider.

“Don’t even think about it,” Royad warns before Myron can even voice what he’s decided. “It’s too dangerous to go after her.”

“It’s too dangerous not to,” Myron objects. “If I wait until the storm dies down, whoever’s taken her might have dragged her all the way to the Tavrasian border.”

“If someone took her,” I correct. “We don’t know that for sure.”

“And we don’t want to risk the outcome of Erina’s men having found her. Askarea is huge, the borders wide, and not every inch of land can be patrolled at all times. It’s possible someone snuck through and found her.”

“Unlikely if she didn’t leave the premises,” Silas says with the serious tone I so rarely hear from him. It’s the male I remember from before the curse—from before he lost Dahlia. “And where else should she have gone in this city if not follow you to the temple? It’s what she’s done every damn night.”

He’s got a point.

“Does Recienne know anything?” Royad’s question puts the fear of the gods in me. The Fairy King is still a male-pretty sentimentalist in my opinion, but he’s also powerful enough to snuff out a life with a flick of his fingers. With this power, why he bothers to do his hair every morning, I still need to understand.

“I’m not ready to alert the entire palace,” Myron murmurs, frantic gaze back on the window while he stands so still I wonder if he’s still breathing. At least, he’s given up pacing. “We should inform Tori first.”

As if making the decision as he speaks, Myron starts for the door, his movements a blur as he uses his full fae speed for once. Good. I’d been wondering when that would kick in.

He’s a Crow male after all. A Crow king. His strength and power should be putting mine to shame even with the centuries I have on him.

A part of me begs for it to be true because, if it’s not, that would mean that, when it comes to it—one on one—I’d defeat him. And I can’t let that happen. Murderous, uncivilized bastards that the Crows are, we deserve a king like him—someone who will lead us into a prosperous future. If we ever find times of peace and a realm to call our own.

With a sigh, I watch Royad and Silas file out the door, ready to aid our king, and I’m about to do the same, but the door to Kaira’s room opens, and the part-Flame, hair tousled and tangled around her head, gives me a damning look that drives a knife to my gut.

“I didn’t do anything.” I have no idea why I even bother if she thinks whatever happened is my fault, and I’m far from ready to examine the sensation as she narrows her eyes at me and I feel like I’m waiting for her to decide my fate.

“If the others are running and you’re still here, I assume it’s about helping Ayna.” Tugging the chocolate-colored woolen blanket over her shoulders, Kaira trudges to the sofa and plops down in the exact same spot Silas was lounging in earlier and pulls her bare feet under her.

“If it’s about Ayna, I’m surprised you aren’t right behind them,” I counter, waiting for the blow to land, but Kaira merely shrugs.

“She needed some space.”

Godforsaken fuckers of Hel’s realm. “You know where she is?”

Another shrug. “She doesn’t simply disappear without informing me—intentionally or not.” She glances at the window, at the trees bending to the force of the weather. “She should be back by morning. I didn’t think Myron would notice with his own nocturnal prowls through the city.”

“Nocturnal what?” I nearly spit at her.

“Prowls.” She makes that face—the one that makes me want to grab her by the throat and shove her against a wall.

“Violence doesn’t suit you.” I’m not imagining the challenge in her tone, am I? And⁠—

“Get out of my head.” I lean against the windowsill, bracing my hands next to my hips, and listen for signs that Tori is sending a search party into the night.

“Gladly”—she smirks—“if you stop thinking about squeezing the life out of me.”

If that’s what she picked up on, she’s not nearly as deep in my mind as she thinks. Ignoring the blush trying to creep up my neck, I growl a warning. “You’re practically begging for it.” Not in the way she means it, though.

Kaira sticks out her tongue and nestles into the blanket until the fabric covers her from her toes to her chin.

“And why are you not concerned about the wellbeing of your kin?” A lame attempt at pushing her fiery focus away from me, but it’s worth a try, or I’ll go down a path neither of us is ready for.

“My kin is a traitorous pack of fire-spitting monsters, in case you haven’t noticed. But if you’re asking about Ayna, she is a big crow. She can take care of herself, in any form.”

Ouch!

“She’s defenseless in her bird form. No magic, no weapons⁠—”

“And about a thousand chirping and cawing creatures out there away from being recognized to be anything other than an actual bird.” Kaira throws me a glare that could cut through my skin if I allowed her close enough. “Not everyone is out for our blood, Herinor. This is the palace of our allies, and we’re safe here.”

“As safe as anyone can be with at least three different species out for their blood.” Erina with his human soldiers, whatever is left of the Flames, and my own traitorous kin who are now fighting on Ephegos’s side. Before I allow her to drag me further into this discussion, I ask, “Don’t you think it would be smart to inform Myron that you know the whereabouts of his mate? It might save some random person’s head tonight.”

“Or yours.”

Gods, is she taking the fire of her kind to the next level.

“My head is forfeit. The moment I act out of line, Myron will have it with a smile, and if I toy with the deal I made with Ephegos, my death will be the smallest inconvenience within the repercussions of old magic claiming me.”

I’m not certain what shocks me more: the horror in her eyes or the pity it transitions into so quickly I want to rage.

For a heartbeat, she weighs my words. “Perhaps I should.” There’s no spark left as she gets to her feet, padding across the room and out the door to where the voices of the fairy general and the Crow King are finally drifting toward us.

Six

Ayna

I’ve made it to the top of the pine, one small flutter at a time, ears on the whisper of the wind stroking the trees and the snoring of one of the twins. The male who’s keeping watch is scanning his surroundings too vigilantly for a simple messenger. He knows the dangers of these lands, and judging by the way his hand wanders beneath his cloak every time a twig snaps when the wind decides to kiss the treetops with brute force or a forest animal scurries along the leaf-covered ground, I know he’s ready to take out whoever dares come close to their camp.

I don’t dare breathe as his eyes slide past me over the next tree. I need to get out of here. Warn the others someone is coming to the palace.

If I had my powers, I could shift back and pin them to the boulder until I have answers, but the way things are now, all I can do is flee.

So I scramble farther up and take off into the night.

At least, I try to. One moment, I’m up in the air, the treetops shrinking beneath, the next, a sting of hot air loops around me, trapping my wings against my body, and I drop like a rock.

Faster, faster I plunge, the sensation as familiar as the panic coming with it, heart racing out of my chest and breath coming without a rhythm. My bird instincts set in full force, wiping away any thought but that of survival as I brace for the impact, but before I meet the ground, the twigs and branches I’d used as a perch whip my feathered form as I tumble and tumble.

Fly. It’s not as much a voice as an instinct shouting at me.

With all the strength I have left, I push my wings away from my sides, spreading them enough to break the speed of the fall, and I can tell up from down once more. By the time I catch a weak twig with a claw, my head is spinning, but I feel more in control. Now all I need to do is beat those wings and lift back up into the skies.

So I try again.

It takes about five heartbeats before the loop of air catches me again, and this time, it’s only a few feet fall, and when I hit the moss-cushioned ground, I barely remember why I was even in that tree to begin with. All I know is I need to get out of here before a predator spots me.

I’m small and slow on the ground—defenseless. Even my claws, which can kill small animals, don’t provide much protection when I’m dependent on them for balance. The dull ache in my side isn’t a good sign, though, making spreading my left wing nearly impossible.

I caw what I suppose is a curse, but no more words form in my mind as the worst predator of all appears in front of me.

Large hands reach for me, grabbing me before I can even attempt to flutter out of reach—not that there is anywhere for me to go. The fingers trapping me enclose me hard enough to make breathing a challenge, but then, I haven’t taken a breath since I hit the ground, and I realized that whatever the reason I chose this particular tree, I chose wrong, and the cruel black eyes peering at me from a foot away are proof that this is the last time I’ll see the stars.

“What do we have here?” The male’s breath smells of ash and spices as he sits back on his haunches, lifting me from the ground to inspect me from every angle. “A little bird caught on a current.”

Keeping me tightly in his grasp, he walks back to the campfire where two other males are sleeping. I think I’ve seen them before, but my instincts are screaming at me to flee, and that’s all I can think about. I claw at him as best as I can, one of my talons finding purchase on his fingertip, and he curses so violently I remember hues of turquoise waters and men singing foul songs, but before I can put a name to the faces, they’re gone, and I’m back in the forest, straining against the hold of my captor.

“Don’t fight, little bird. You have nothing to fear from old Gus.”

Old Gus looks anything but old. If I were human or a fairy, I might consider him outrageously handsome and place him perhaps in his early thirties. But I’m neither, and crows don’t consider the looks of fairies at all. We try to get away from them as fast as possible.

I wiggle and caw, beak snapping at any part of him I can reach—which is the hem of his sleeve and has as little an impact on him loosening his hold as a bug biting a horse. How I know this, I can’t remember as my bird instincts take over. What I know is that being trapped means death.

“I won’t hurt you.” The male brings me closer to the fire, the two other males rousing from their sleep at their companion’s uttering.

“What’s this?” One of them says, bending out of his blanket to assess my frantic fight against the iron vise that is his fingers.

The second male leans in, his face so similar—twins, I realize, and it feels like I’ve had the same realization before, but I can’t remember. Blood is pounding in my ears, drowning out the soft voices as they discuss something … something about me, about what to do with me. I caw my lungs out in screams for help, but why I thought anyone would come, I can’t remember.

Flee. Fly. The sky is safety. The ground is death.

The ground is death even when I’m not in the hands of these people who are now staring at me like they can read a truth from my feathers.

“Are you a bird, or are you one of those creepy shifters?”

Shifters. There was something… Far away in the darkness that my memory is becoming, a flicker of truth rings at the word. But am I a shifter? I’m a crow. A bird. Wings and all. I can’t remember the last time I’ve shifted into anything other than this form. The feathers are my clothes, and the wind is my companion.

A companion… The colors of the ocean flicker before me, but I can’t tell how they are connected to me and why they make my chest ache.

So I caw and caw and struggle to free myself.

“We’ve seen enough of them shift to know their tells,” one of the twins says.

Them… I wish I knew who they were talking about. And shift…

“This one is too small to be one of the Crow Fae,” the other twin assesses. “It’s impossible to tell the gender of these birds, but if it’s a female, it’s definitely not a shifter.”

The dark-skinned man gives him a sideways glance, the cruelty in his eyes turning into curiosity as he tilts me upside down as if I had any external organs indicating my gender.

“It was spying on us, though,” Gus points out. I wonder what he means by that.

The twins chuckle.

“I mean it. This bird has been hopping up and down this tree”—he points at the pine I plunged from—“for a while. I swear it was trying to sneak away when I caught it.”

“You caught a bird?” One of the twins laughs. “Is our mission so boring that you need to catch yourself a bird to torment?”

Gus growls at the male, and my blood runs cold. I stop fighting at the authority in the wordless warning.

“Tie it up and throw it in a bag. We’ll take it to the palace tomorrow. Perhaps it will make negotiating a bit easier.”

I hear the words, but I don’t understand their meaning until one of the twins pulls a string of leather from his pack and ties a part of it around my neck then wraps it around my body inch by inch as Gus slides down his hand to expose my wings. When those are thoroughly bound, he ties a knot around my legs, rendering those sharp talons useless.

I can’t breathe, can’t move, but Gus laughs as he tosses me into the light jute bag and holds it up like a trophy. The world is a dark, airless void, but I pant through it as something shimmers deep down inside of me. A thread of silver and gold so thin it barely casts light into my panic, but the thread doesn’t end with me. It’s a long, barely-there connection to a world out there, one beyond my feathers and my meek and desperate caws. I tug on it. And it tugs back. A promise. I’ve made a promise I can no longer remember, but it was a binding one, and no matter how my instincts are telling me a bird is all I am, the thread is holding me to this promise.

So I count my heartbeats as I wait for the males to deliver my fate.

If I die not fulfilling my oath, the person on the other end will be free.

Seven

Myron

My words still echo through the hallways as my chest tightens at the sight of Kaira’s tears. I can’t remember when I’ve last shouted at someone like this, but when the part-Flame came up to me earlier, informing me that Ayna told her she wasn’t going to return to the palace after training or for dinner, or even to sleep, I lost my temper so thoroughly I couldn’t even remember my own name.

Now, I’m a solid case of remorse.

“At least, now we know we don’t need to send half an army out to comb the woods,” Tori says quietly. If his tone is anything to go by, he’s being cautious not to set me off all over again, because next time, words might not be the only thing spraying from me, and he is really fond of this sparkling joke of a palace.

All I do is throw him a dark glance. “Would you sit tight if it was Clio out there?”

The answering look he gives me says it all.

Never in his right mind would he sit tight if his mate was unaccounted for and potentially in danger. But he’s had to, so he expects me to do the same.

“If she doesn’t show up by morning, we’ll send out scouts.” He ushers Kaira along the corridor back to our rooms but falls into step beside me as I make my way back to gather more weapons and set out to find my mate myself.

“Not soon enough. By the morning, she could be so far away we can no longer track her.” Not that we can properly track her now. If only she’d tug on our mating bond, I could find her, but since she’s stuck in her bird form and our bond hasn’t been the strongest since Erina tried to un-mate us, I can’t even count on that—if she even remembers she has a mate.

This is so messed up I can’t find words to describe it.

“The storm is still raging out there,” Silas points out, his presence behind me more calming than I would have expected. When he shared his story of losing Dahlia, I learned that there is so much more to the broody warrior than I could have ever imagined. He has compassion for Ayna and for me when all he ever shows is that dark and sarcastic side. “If you fly out there, you might get caught in the current, and you won’t be of any use to Ayna if you get yourself injured in a fool’s attempt at a rescue she might not even need.”

I hate that he’s right.

“I’ll fly with you,” Royad offers, ready to get beaten up by the weather if it means I have some peace of mind.

It’s that readiness to sacrifice that gives me pause, and I halt on the threshold, considering Kaira draped in her blanket and how she huddles unusually close to Herinor, who’s now sitting on the sofa as she swallows her now silent tears. A pang of guilt eases me back across the threshold, making me head straight for the window instead of my room.

“A few more hours until dawn,” I clarify with a glance at Tori.

The male nods. “If she hasn’t shown up at first light, I’ll send scouts, I promise.”

Not a binding promise the way fae promises are binding but a promise nonetheless.

“If she hasn’t returned by first light, I’ll be the first one out the door.”

Time passes in a nightmare of agonizingly slow minutes. I sip the tea Tori conjures from thin air, but I never leave my spot by the window. Royad takes it upon himself to check my room regularly for signs of Ayna, and even if the wind carries in leaves and dirt, we keep all windows open, lest we miss her approach and she’s locked out.

When at last the wind dies down, the first ray of sun is tickling the retreating clouds, and my patience has come to an end.

With a few efficient movements, I strap my weapons to my belt, my back, and pause in front of the fairy general only long enough to tell him I’ll scout the palace grounds first, and if I don’t find a sign of her there, I’ll set out south. If anyone caught her, they would be coming from that direction.

Royad is right there with me as is Silas, now dressed in battle black with his hatchet on his belt and his sword sheathed across his back.

Herinor remains seated beside Kaira, who tried reaching her sister through that mind connection they share and found only disconcerting silence. Whatever calm the Flame held before has long vanished, and she hasn’t stopped pestering Tori to take her along when he site-hops out to search for her sister; her own leathers are covered in a cloak, bundled up against the cold even with the spark of fire in her.

Tori has the good sense not to attempt to stop me. Dipping his chin once, he says, “Come back and report when you’ve searched the premises. I’ll put together a group of strong soldiers who can site-hop out to comb the lands.”

Silent understanding passes between Royad and him as my cousin burns a warning toward the general.

If we are too late because of Tori’s hesitation, there will be consequences. He knows it; I know it. We all know it, and I beg all gods who will listen that Ayna has been simply hiding in an alcove along the palace walls and waiting for the night to be over.

Shifting in a flash, we’re out the window, fluttering into the biting-cold morning. Adrenaline surges through my blood as I finally allow myself to hunt for my mate, bird instincts meeting those of the Crow male I’ve been keeping on a tight leash since Ayna got stuck in bird form.

Silas takes the north side of the palace while Royad turns west, circling above the towers before banking hard and scouting the yard and the area of the gate on the other side of the building. My own course takes me southeast. One caw from the others and I’ll know to return with hope in my heart.

She could be anywhere, in any tree by the edge of the gardens or hiding beneath the roof, so I take my time, screening every nook and cranny as I circle higher to have a better overview.

No sign of Ayna. Just like Shaelak is lending me a helping hand, there is no flock of crows either that could make my heart surge with hope just to drop back to the depths of Hel’s realm when I realize she’s not with them.

It takes an efficient quarter-hour to finish my search of the gardens, and I only return to the palace because I know we have higher chances of finding Ayna if we properly coordinate, but the roaring in my head gets louder with every minute I don’t know where she is.

Tori is already waiting with twelve soldiers, one of them Tata, who looks ready to kill. “Half of us will start east; the other half will take the west,” he announces.

I dip my chin in thanks and confirmation. “Then we’ll take south and north.”

Herinor is ready and armed, standing with Kaira a few steps from Tori. If he’s planned to help, it might kick off a disaster.

“You’re staying.” It’s not a suggestion but an order from his king. Much to my surprise, he doesn’t look relieved.

“If I make it to help you, I could get away with it.”

Like he’s done so many times before. Help me so I can help Ayna. Help everyone else so he can disguise his intentions to aid his queen.

“No.” Not this time. If she returns while we’re gone, I’ll need someone who can deliver a message. Someone who knows how to find me.

Herinor understands immediately the task I’ve given him and bows his head. “I’ll fly like the wind the moment she returns.”

I don’t care that he’s phrased his statement in a way that could mean anything. Returns from wherever she is now to any place in this world she’s been before. It’s all right because I know he’d rather peel off his skin than disappoint me.

“We’ll meet back here at noon,” Tori says before he holds his hand out for Kaira, and together, they disappear.

One by one the other fairies fade out of the room as they set out to find my mate when they should have been in the arena, practicing to function without their magic—a sacrifice, I realize, that might cost us in the long run should Erina decide to attack today.

But what’s a kingdom in comparison to my mate’s life? I’d trade all and any of them just to know she’s safe. If that makes me a ruthless bastard, I’ll own the title.

Royad is already shifting, Silas at his tail as they disappear through the window. I follow suit. We’ll spread out south and north.

I want to go south. Try to bank and follow Royad, who is already headed in that direction, but something inside my chest is calling north. It’s not the familiar tingling I was used to when we still had the mate mark but something more subtle, a call of an entity so much bigger than the connection between Ayna and me.

I haven’t felt it since the first night I visited Shaelak’s temple and lit a candle beside the altar, but it’s definitely the same energy, vast and unyielding as it beckons for me to follow the slight current floating in the opposite direction of my cousin.

Silas is already headed that way, and I merely give a long-stretched caw to inform Royad I changed my mind. He’ll know to continue south without me.

With a few strong beats of my wings, I’ve caught up with Silas, his head tilting slightly to the side in acknowledgement I’ve chosen to fly with him instead, but I don’t slow to his pace when that tingle in my chest keeps urging me to go faster, faster, faster like my life depends on it.

So I fly like the wind itself, and in my heart, I harbor hope and dread in equal parts as I head away from the direction of Tavras against my better knowledge.

Eight

Ayna

Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe what traveling tied up in a bag feels like. My feathers get caught on the rough fabric every other step the male takes with the bag clutched tightly in his hand. At least, he didn’t throw me into his pack. I’d be lost for breath there. Out here, at least a modicum of fresh air streams in through the loosely woven textile. The leather string is a whole different story. I can’t open my beak enough to caw for help, and my claws are practically immobile. I tried wiggling around enough to slice the fabric open to the effect of my talons getting tangled in the fibers of the bag—magically reinforced—but that only made the string cut painfully through my feather coat, all the way to my skin.

The only positive about the situation is that hours in a bag make panic the new normal, and I start thinking clearly enough to remember I have other options than submitting to my captors and allowing them to carry me to Aceleau. Yet, I can’t remember why they’d need me specifically. I’m just a bird.

They said something about shifters, a warm, male voice whispers at the back of my head, and I nearly startle from it—nearly because moving is impossible right now.

Shifters. They did mention shifters. If I’m one of them. But what that means, I can’t tell.

Ayna, the voice murmurs, shooting tingling darkness through my mind.

The word means something.

Ayna, he says again.

“There are the city walls,” the male carrying me announces. The fact that I can understand him should tell me something, but again, I’m at a loss. “We’ll arrive in an hour.”

One of his travel companions says, “With the bird, we can walk in the front door and have a ticket to get out alive in case they catch us.”

“If it’s a shifter, yes. Could still be a normal crow,” the other throws in.

Gus says, “So far, it hasn’t given any sign it is more than a usual bird. Unless it’s a smart one who knows how to pretend.”

Pretend what, I want to ask.

The voice in my head answers, You’re their queen, Ayna. The Queen of Crows.

A caw tears the air as birds fly overhead so fast I hear their wings only for a few heartbeats, but the echo is loud in my head, so, so loud my ears won’t stop ringing. Inside my chest, a tingling that could be from the leather string cutting into my flesh, or from something else, spreads like honey sneaking through my veins. It’s not a familiar sensation, but it’s powerful enough to make my breath ragged and kick my heart back into that state of painful panic that won’t allow me to gather a clear thought.

You’re the Queen of Crows, Ayna, the voice in my head repeats.

The caw sounds again, a warning, a summons. I want to respond, but I’m a weak thread in a tapestry of doom, and when I wiggle my claws, they cramp from being stuck in the same position for hours.

Strong wingbeats whip the air, and they are coming closer, closer, until my captors fall silent, the swaying of the bag stopping.

“Have you come to play?” Gus’s shout nearly makes my heart stop, so close to my ears. He must be holding up the bag like a trophy toward the crows circling above.

I tell myself it’s instinct knowing those are, in fact, crows out there and that they have come for me. It’s something more, though. The tingling in my chest grows stronger, like an ancient song of power and violence, of destruction and retribution.

“Come here, Crow. We have a little something for you.” Pain blooms along my back as I’m jostled around in the bag like a rag doll.

Wake up, Ayna, the voice in my head sings. Listen.

Listen to what? I want to prompt, but the bag is being torn open, and before I can make out much of the green and gray blur that is my surroundings, I hit the ground. Stars dance in my vision, threatening to take my consciousness, but at least, I can breathe again—once the force of the impact stops holding my chest in iron claws.

For a long moment, all I can do is gather my breath, blinking into the pale morning light tinting the seam of the forest in harsh, sharp shapes. And there above me⁠—

Wings spread wide as it circles out of reach, a majestic crow surveying the scene. A few feet above it, a second bird flutters, its movements less graceful but laced with the same sort of power.

“Have you come to get this one back?” The toes of Gus’s boots nudge my side, flipping me over, and fresh pain sears through me.

I’m bound. Helpless. I’m on the ground. And the ground is death.

You are death, the voice in my head objects.

I want to ask him who he is and what he wants, but the part of me alert enough to pay attention knows better than to expect answers.

Get up and fight, the voice orders.

I don’t bother pointing out I’m bound into a useless bundle and there is no part of me that’s still able to fight.

Gus toes me again, and this time, his boot traps my head, bending my neck so hard I believe it will snap, but when he releases me⁠—

The leather string shifts on my beak enough for me to open it a fraction of an inch. Not much, but when I give a pathetic caw, the sound hatches into the world.

Like struck by lightning, the circling crow flattens its wings against its sides, and I fear it will shatter if it hits the ground at the speed it’s gaining. But before it might have splattered on the leaf-covered rocks, its form flickers, expands, larger, larger, stretching into a tall, powerful male.

A beautiful, terrifying male, feathers flying from his arms as the last of his wings retracts. Smoke curls at his fingertips like ink in water, and his eyes are black from the pupil to the lid. Nightmare given form, I think for a breathless moment as I take him in, the angular features, heavy brows, black waves streaming around his head like on a phantom wind. Plain dark leathers cover him like a second skin, showing off the powerful muscles in his thighs, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the strong arms, and slender hips. The silver hilt of a blade peaks out from behind his neck as he cocks his head to the side, all predator.

I know I should be terrified of this male. Of death incarnate, the unadulterated rage rippling through him like a wave across the ocean.

The ocean.

Turquoise blue waters. The wind on my face. The sun on my skin. Freedom. Like flying.

“Hello, my little crow.” His voice clangs through me like a reckoning, clearing the haze in my head.

Myron. This isn’t just any male. This is Myron. King of Crows. And my mate.

I’m faintly aware of Gus and the twins drawing their weapons as they take in the horrible beauty of the male facing them with the wrath of the gods.

My wrath, the voice in my head corrects, and I recognize the Brother Guardian for who he is.

Nine

Myron

There’s such emptiness in my head—solid, black emptiness—at the sight of my little crow bound and broken on the ground. I barely see the three males standing around her, slender silver blades drawn and horrified at the sight of me keeping them at bay.

My Ayna⁠—

That darkness spills into my vision, tinting everything in black ink while I peer out into the world with death on my mind as her feeble caw slips into the morning air.

“Step away from that crow if you value your life.” Not a threat but a promise. I will happily tear them to ribbons if they dare get in my way.

Two of the three males look near-identical, their ruddy brown hair not shiny enough to be all fairy, and the third one, the one who kicked Ayna over like she’s a rock in his path, is summoning a semblance of fire to his fingers while he believes I’m focused on the bird in front of them.

Flames, then. Fire Fairy bastards—or half-breeds. Not that I care. Their heartbeats were numbered the moment they decided to tie up my mate and put her in a fucking bag.

“Give me a reason, and we might,” the dark-skinned Flame says with more composure than I expected. A smirk spreads on his full mouth, and I only realize what he’s doing as he sets his toes right upon Ayna’s rapidly lifting and falling chest.

“Don’t you dare.” I don’t mean to say it, but I’m already shaking under the strain of containing the all-consuming power threatening to burst out of me.

The same power that destroyed Jeseida’s estate when Erina pushed a scorching torch into Ayna’s flesh.

One slow breath in, one breath out. I need to find my own composure before I accidentally kill Silas and Ayna. Even when my power didn’t hurt the ones I care for in the battle against the Flames, I don’t dare risk it now. Not when I’m half out of my mind at the sight of my mate under the boot of this male. He could crush her in a heartbeat.

“What, Crow? No threats?” one of the twins taunts, his grin broader than I like to see. He noticed my hesitation, realizing I’m afraid of that power ready to consume me.

“I don’t need to make threats.” Because they won’t save Ayna. My magic won’t save Ayna. Not if I don’t manage to leash it. The coiling smoke in my palms isn’t half as precise as the silver power I usually summon. This is something different.

“You know we were on our way to the Fairy Palace, but now that we’ve come across you…” He turns left and right to the twins now flanking him. “Ephegos will be delighted to hear at least one of his friends is still alive.”

The sharp breath I inhale tells him enough about the fact that he’s hit home with this piece of information.

Ephegos sent them. And they have Ayna.

I’m trembling now, each heartbeat a battle of its own.

Ayna under his boot… The muscles in his thigh are tight enough to prove he’s holding the weight of his leg instead of bracing it on my mate’s fragile bird body, but that can change within a blink.

“Let her go,” I hiss … and only realize the mistake I made when recognition flashes across the Flames’ faces.

“Your Crow Queen? This is your Queen?” The tip of his boot presses into her neck, and I can hear the grating breath she’s drawing, claws wiggling weakly as the male readies to destroy her.

Shaelak help me⁠—

The darkness grows denser in my vision at the thought of the god who made my species.

A part of me picks up the flutter of Silas’s wings a few feet away. He’s circling behind the three males, ready to attack at the smallest sign.

“What a pathetic creature.” The one who seems to be their leader laughs. “But she’s stubborn not to shift. Not even now. I have to give her that.”

Thank the gods he’s unaware that Ayna is incapable of returning to her human form.

“Nobody asked what you think,” I growl, and the smoke drips from my fingers like thick, black ink.

The Flame lifts a brow as if wondering if this is a new parlor trick.

“And I’d advise you to take your stinking boot off her face. She doesn’t particularly enjoy the stench of sweaty feet.”

I shouldn’t be taunting him, not when my mate’s life is at stake, but something tells me that pushing is better than waiting for him to take control of the conversation.

The Flame laughs without humor, but his foot doesn’t move.

At least, it doesn’t move down, is what I should be thinking, but I’m done being grateful for minor mercies.

“All right, you don’t want to play by my rules? Then you don’t play at all.” My power shoots from me like night-black spears, twins to Silas’s silver ones curving from the thicket at the seam of the forest, embedding into the Fire Fairy’s ankle and pinning it to the ground beside Ayna’s head. The yelp of anguish as the Flame struggles to free his leg doesn’t come without satisfaction, and as he hurls a lash of steaming heat at me, Silas’s silver spears have already impaled the creature on the ground by his shoulders.

“Who’s pathetic now?” I don’t bother drawing my sword as the twins charge in unison, silver weapons lifted above their heads. I merely will the smoke to become a blade, meeting the first twin’s sword in a thundering blow.

He stumbles aside with a grunt, and I’m raising my weapon to strike at the other twin—but he has stopped next to his writhing and cursing companion, not to aid the Fire Fairy, I realize too late, but to pick up Ayna from the ground and set the tip of his sword to her neck.

By everything that is holy⁠—

My power stops dead, and my heart hammers in my throat at the scent of my mate’s blood.

Ten

Ayna

Slow down-slow down-slow down, I beseech my racing heart. The faster it pumps, the faster it will spill my lifeblood on the forest ground.

There is no escape from the iron hold the Fire Fairy has on me and with the steel at my neck. Myron’s expression of horror tells me he knows it, too.

If only I could shift back. Even if the twin sliced deep into my neck, it would give us a moment of surprise, and I’d be able to use my healing powers to seal it back together.

“One wrong move and she’s carrion,” the Flame behind me growls, and I could swear the air goes thick with Myron’s ire as he beholds the male while, in the background, his brother has freed Gus, and the screams of pain have turned into murmurs. I can only assume the other twin is healing the injured male, for I don’t dare turn my gaze away from my mate, who has gone so still he could be hewn from that glimmering rock the fairy palace is made of.

“Good Crow King,” the twin purrs, shaving off one of my feathers as he moves the blade a fraction of an inch up my throat. Biting down on the caw of pain, I hold still so I don’t push the sharp edge of the blade deeper into my skin. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll accompany us to King Recienne’s palace and support our mission.”

Myron doesn’t hesitate to ask, “What mission?”

That costs the male a dark chuckle promising nothing less than violence and pain. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

“If I am supposed to support it, I probably should know.” He means it. He’s ready to consider whatever they suggest just to spare me because that’s how ruthless Myron is when it comes to the people he loves.

“Something small, really. An offer to spare his realm if he decides to step down and hand it over willingly.”

My blood turns to ice.

No. No-no-no. If Recienne hands Askarea over to Ephegos as Erina’s general, there won’t be a war on the fairylands, but he won’t stop at that. He’ll take Cezux in a heartbeat by utilizing the magic-wielding armies he’d gain in the bargain. And Recienne—I doubt Erina would let him live, even if he abdicated to make space for the human king and his magic-suppressing weapons. Who knows what Erina would do to keep those fairy powers in check; perhaps poison the water supply of Aceleau to make sure no one could rise against him… My stomach turns at the mere thought of it—and what Erina would do if he found out Queen Sanja is pregnant.

“If you think Recienne gives a damn about the Queen of Crows, you are making a mistake.” Myron’s gaze is cold, composed the way I knew him during those first weeks when I was brought to the Seeing Forest, no trace of the male who advocates to save the lives of civilians in a war that will claim too many casualties on either side.

His words don’t even sting because he’s right. I mean nothing to Recienne DePauvre of Askarea. I’m the Queen of Crows, and not even very capable at that. If anyone could be persuaded to step down, it’s Myron.

My chest seizes as I realize this might very well be where things are headed.

“He might not care about her, but you do. And you are his ally.”

“If you believe he’ll give up his kingdom for my queen or me, you believe wrong.” Smoke still curls around Myron’s fingers, his all-black eyes so close to those of the monster I first met that I need to convince myself with a glance at his featherless arms that he hasn’t turned back into that creature. But he has turned into something.

Before I can wonder why he’s able to command darkened strands of air like ink in water, the twin says, “You are merely our ticket in and out of the palace, Myron the Valiant.” His voice changes enough to make me wonder if he’s musing about why they call Myron that. “I don’t need to threaten your life to make clear how easy it is to sneak into King Recienne’s realm. If we got in that easily, others could, and they might not come to negotiate but to douse the royal Askarean family in magic-nullifying serum and slit their throats before moving on to the rest of their people until Askarea’s rivers run red.”

Shaelak be damned.

“I don’t need to emphasize that King Erina, soon-to-be-king of these lands, has an army gathered at the borders who is ready to march at a moment’s notice.” I try not to shudder at his words, at what they imply: that we might have intercepted that one delivery of Erina’s magic-sedating serum, but he has managed to supply his army otherwise. He hasn’t attacked, not because he isn’t strong enough but because he wants to give Recienne the opportunity to hand over this kingdom without shedding soldier blood. Not because he’s noble, trying to spare lives, but to save up his army to wage war on other territories.

Cezux, the Southern Continent—who says he’ll be satisfied once he holds all of Eherea? If Ephegos has shared with him that an entire continent lies east of these lands, he might take these armies and sail across the oceans to conquer what no Eherean creature has ever set foot on.

Myron’s calculating gaze darts behind me and my captor, and I don’t think I imagine the infinitesimal nod that must be meant for Silas; wherever he is, he’s no longer fighting, frozen probably just as Myron by the sword at my throat.

The twin shifts an inch, nearly squeezing the air from me as he adjusts his grasp. I don’t dare move.

“You’ll make sure the Fairy King doesn’t kill us on sight, and you and your queen get to live.” What he doesn’t say is that living doesn’t equal freedom. As long as Ephegos lives, in his insane obsession with his sister’s death, he’ll strive for vengeance. And he won’t hesitate to use that vengeance as an excuse to grasp power left and right. Who says the males aren’t here on Ephegos’s behalf entirely, already bypassing the orders of the Tavrasian king?

From the corner of my eye, I spot movement—Gus, the second twin supporting him, is limping up to our side, blood soaking his clothes around the holes Silas’s magic pierced with one well-aimed assault.

Myron and Silas are strong enough to take them down, but they are hesitating because of me.

Attack, I want to yell at them. Attack and let me die if the gods are ready to claim me. I’m of no use to you in this form.

Find a way to make yourself useful, Shaelak whispers in my mind.

Think, Ayna-think, Ayna-think. It used to be my strength, coming up with crazy plans that might buy me a chance at survival, but my mind isn’t working the way it does in my human form, bird instincts backing me into a corner where the line between life and death is thinner than I care for.

“Think it through, Crow King. You might not believe in the sway you hold in the Fairy Court, but we’ve heard about who you shared a dungeon with,” Gus takes over the talking now that he’s back on his feet, bleeding stinted and no longer leaning on the second twin. “Think of all the lives you could save—including your own, of course.”

That’s where those males underestimate Myron. He doesn’t value his own life above that of others—especially mine. When it comes to a choice, he’ll choose my life over his—just as I will always choose him.

That’s the sacrifice I realize I need to make. My way of making myself useful.

Even if Silas and Myron could take those three Flames in a normal battle, they aren’t attacking because they don’t want to risk me. But if I take that choice away from them…

Dying won’t make you useful. It will only make you dead, Shaelak points out, and I hate-hate-hate him—for his gifts, his meddling, his unbidden commentary.

So how can I be useful if not by helping them make a decision so they can kick those Flames’ asses?

Not that that’s the way to speak to a god, but Shaelak seems to have a sense of humor because his chuckle trickles through me like black honey as he tells me, You will only be of use if you step into your destiny and accept your role in this world.

I don’t dare look Myron in the eye as his gaze lands on mine for a heartbeat before wandering back to the male’s weapon at my throat and the crimson trace across the shiny silver of the blade.

And what destiny is that? I’m no longer sure if I know anything about who I am and who I am meant to be. Crow Queen, Queen of Tavras, bird or human, lover or friend. A part of me whispers that it would be easiest to find a ship and hide there until it lays anchor by the coast of a foreign land where no one knows I once had a human body.

That’s for you to find out.

I want to throw a retort at him that being a god doesn’t make up for being cryptic and that his hints truly don’t change anything about the situation we’re in, but an invisible finger slides down my back so gently I nearly shiver. I instantly recognize Myron’s power, the strength that could shatter the world if he so pleased.

It’s the only warning I get to keep still as that same power wraps around the Flame’s blade and rips it away from my throat only to shove it down the male’s. Blood rains on me as he loosens his grasp, and I drop like a rotten plum, still wrapped in those leather strings. Before I can hit the ground, that invisible power slices through the strings, and my wings snap free, spreading enough to cushion my fall.

Pain barks through my entire body as my claws hit the ground, but I ignore it, flapping those wings enough to flutter out of the falling male’s path before he can smother me. Gus and the other twin are fighting Silas, who is upon them with his hatchet, delivering blow after blow while Myron’s power envelops me in a shield so thick not even the gods could penetrate it.

A wet, crunching sound fills the air as Silas takes off the second twin’s head, and he lifts his hatchet again to give Gus the same courtesy.

“Keep him alive,” Myron merely growls, and Silas stops his weapon mid-blow. Such control. Such strength hidden in the Crow warrior despite that grumpy sarcastic facade he likes to show us all.

“As you wish.” With a few efficient moves, Silas disarms the dark-skinned Flame who is readying to stab the Crow in the stomach, while all Gus can do is stare death in the eye.

Death—but not just yet.

“What do you want to do with him?”

Myron’s mouth splits into a dangerous grin that has my blood running cold, and the black of his eyes extends to thin, creeping veins around them. Not one look at me, whom his power is still protecting like that doesn’t cost him half a thought. “Recienne will want to know everything about this mission, and when the Fairy King is done with him…” He stalks toward the now trembling Fire Fairy, scanning. His features, the sheen of sweat covering his brow, the streaks of blood that must have made it all the way from the twin who held the sword to my throat—and who now lies barely twitching in the dirt, a puddle of crimson forming around his head where the blade runs straight from his mouth to the back of his neck and farther. “Then he and I will have a talk.”

He rips the cloak from the male’s shoulders, tossing it on the ground, and extends a hand to his face. Talons sprout from his fingertips, black and sharp like those of a crow, and his grin widens as he drags his index finger along the Flame’s cheek lightly enough not to cut deep but hard enough to draw blood. “We’ll have fun, you and I.”

A chill creeps into my bones at the sight of this side of my mate—the one who will torture and kill on my behalf, and I want to beg him to look at me, but his focus is honed on the male who dared touch me, dared capture and tie me up. Like a predator going for the throat, Myron swipes his talon down the side of the male’s neck, and Guardians help him, a dark stain spreads on the front of the Flame’s pants.

“He’ll die of fright,” Silas says with a dark chuckle, but I recognize the concern in his tone despite the clever disguise. “Let’s tie him up and get him back to Aceleau. I’m sure Recienne is eager to meet him.”

Myron snarls at the Flame’s face once; then he pivots, stalking for me and lifting me into his palms.

“Tie him up and fly to the palace, Silas,” he orders without looking at him. “We’ll need someone to site-hop that bastard back.”

He doesn’t look at me, chest heaving as he gulps down deep breaths of air like a male about to suffocate; his lids shutter, talons retracting, and when he finally, finally gazes down at me, his eyes are ocean blue once more and so, so weary. His thumb carefully brushes over my neck where the wound instantly seals, and he shakes his head, black strands falling into his face, covering the signs of exhaustion.

“What should I do with you, little crow?”

Eleven

Ayna

Silky black hair tickles my neck as Myron kisses the sensitive skin beneath my ear, sensual lips nipping, teasing until a trail of fire runs straight to my core. A moan escapes me, my fingers digging into the muscles of his back, nails scratching, claiming. Myron’s responding groan makes my body arch against his. My human body.

When I changed back, I can’t remember, and does it really matter when he’s worshipping every last inch of my human skin, hands roaming along my chest, circling my breasts, stroking my stomach, gliding lower until they coast my hips?

“I’ve missed you, Ayna,” he growls against my collarbone as he chases the fire all the way down to the heat between my legs, and when his tongue brushes up my center, I scream.

I scream so fucking loud I might have woken up half the palace, but nothing stirs in the darkness surrounding us.

Myron’s answering chuckle is a ghost of a touch as he waits until I settle back into the soft sheets. “If that’s your response to one touch, I want to know what you sound like when I have you teetering the line between bliss and desperation while I keep you on the edge of your release.”

He’s talking entirely too much, but every word—every breath—brings me closer to said line until my thighs are shaking and my hands are tangling with his hair, practically begging him to bestow upon me that magic touch of his tongue.

And when he does—Guardians, when he does, I forget I’m alive, or that I was wondering a moment ago how I returned into my human form, how Myron wasn’t surprised to find me naked in my human skin in his bed half an hour ago. I forget my name and where I am and what I might have been. The only thing I don’t forget is Myron’s name as I scream it when he closes his lips over that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs and I writhe beneath him, splintering into a million pieces.

Myron chuckles, the sound running through me like a dark summons melting my core so deeply all I can think of is that I need him to fill me or I’ll burst into tears for lack of words. Myron knows it, too, because he rises above me, kneeling between my legs and stripping out of his black pants. His shirt, I freed him of earlier, my hands eager to touch his warm skin.

“Please,” I moan as he hovers there, an inch from my entrance. “Please, Myron.”

Something snaps in his all-black eyes as he sheaths himself inside me, shadows spilling from his hands where he grabs my hips to lift them for a deeper angle. I nod at him, encouragement enough for him to thrust into me at a relentless pace that has me seeing the silver light of release beckoning on the horizon all over again. Guardians, I missed this. I missed the perfect fit of him when he slides in, the firm, yet gentle grip of his hands, the darkness enveloping him as he brings us closer to the edge with each thrust.

“Ayna,” he growls as I start rolling my hips in time with his, a warning that he won’t be able to hold back if I keep it up.

I don’t care. My hands are reaching for his face, pulling his mouth to mine. His tongue meets mine in a dance of devastation and delight as we both steer for a cliff I know there’s no coming back from.

“Not yet, Ayna,” he whispers as if he knows something I don’t. “Not yet.”

But I’m so close. And I want him to lose that final bit of control keeping him from letting go, from leaping into the unknown beyond.

It’s too late to stop myself as I rush into the oblivion of ecstasy, and Myron’s groan reverberates through me like an afterthought of my own pleasure as he follows suit, finishing with one final, mighty thrust.

“Ayna,” he whispers my name into the darkness now fully enveloping us, and his touch becomes a memory, my exhausted limbs heavy and distant, like this isn’t my body and I’m not really here.

“Myron?” My voice is swallowed up by the cold and empty space surrounding me, and there is no answer.

No answer when I scream his name into the void—and my scream becomes a caw.

When I open my eyes, I’m back in my bird form, panting tiny breaths as the dream puffs into smoke, and I’m not certain if it was a reprieve from the torture this form has become or a nightmare meant to be a torment by reminding me of what I lost.

“Are you eating this?” Kaira shoves my cookie plate toward me on the low table by the silver brocade sofa. “Not that you have to. I could get you meat pie instead. I’m sure the cook doesn’t have a problem delivering some of those tasty, savory…”

“Shut it, Kaira. I’m trying to think.” Clio lounges in an armchair, her copper hair a wild waterfall over her shoulder and in entirely too stark contrast with her vibrant pink shirt.

“I guess she picked the wrong spot for thinking,” I note, relying on Kaira to supply my comment to the Fairy Princess.

Kaira smirks at me as she drawls, “Ayna says you shouldn’t even try. It might hurt your pretty head.”

With my beak, I pick up a crumb of cookie and hurl it at my sister while cursing at her in my head.

Clio gives me a bored look. “You probably said the exact opposite and Kaira is being a pain in the ass,” she suggests, and I dip my beak so low I nearly get stuck in the cookie before me.

“I want meat pies. Now.” I don’t need to add that my bad mood isn’t exclusively because of what happened in the forest but because last night’s dream still clings to me like a sheen of the desperation Myron quoted. Even when he came to save me from Gus and the twins… Saving is all he can do. There is no version of this where I can be close to him like in that dream.

I’m still struggling to understand what exactly happened when my instincts took over in the forest, but from what Myron said when my tossing woke him after l couldn’t fall asleep with that dream still clinging to my thoughts, it must have been my bird nature taking over, shoving back all human remains. Apparently, the rush of adrenaline when Gus captured me combined with the fear for my life brought out the real crow in me, and had it not been for the connection through the mating bond, however thin it might be, I might have lost myself for good. Trust Myron to swoop in and save my ass while simultaneously messing with all sorts of emotions that can only be of human origin. Surprising heat rushes my neck, and I’m for once grateful for my feather coat.

Kaira only chuckles darkly but doesn’t comment as she unfolds herself from the sofa and makes for the door. “Anything for you, Princess?” She waves a hand at Clio, who shakes her head.

“Unless it’s about six and a half feet tall, extraordinarily built, and has hair almost as pretty as mine, no thanks.”

I cackle a half-hearted laugh.

In the past four days since Myron and Silas rescued me in the woods north of Aceleau, Clio, and Kaira have been taking turns keeping me company—or keeping an eye on me so I don’t disappear again.

After Myron personally delivered me to Recienne’s healers to double check every last injury had been healed, and a good day of rest, during which he hadn’t left my side, he’s been gloriously absent. He doesn’t tell me where he goes, but I can imagine it’s down to the chambers where Recienne holds the Flame spy captive. I don’t inquire about the smell of blood he carries with him when he returns at night. Both Kaira and Tori offered their translation services to make it possible for me to communicate with my mate, and I agreed to inform Myron about every last bit of what happened when I took off that night.

I’m not sure what I expected from him, but certainly not the cold, composed face as he listened to what Shaelak had said to me—a face I’ve come to recognize as the mask of the Crow King when he ponders laying waste to the world. It’s those little moments when I can sense him burning beneath the surface. Burning for the wrong reason. Not with passion but with ire—ire on my behalf.

Naturally, everyone in our little group knows all about it now. Relevant facts, Tori called it. Every last detail could help us when it comes to winning this war. If the gods are still meddling, then perhaps we could use it to our advantage. Ever the calculated, planning general, he had analyzed what happened from all angles.

Myron hasn’t visited Shaelak’s temple since the incident in the forest, though, so I don’t wander about the city during the nights either. Whether it is because he doesn’t dare leave me alone or because he’s given up on whatever he was doing there, I don’t know. I blame it on his wind and forest scent that my brain is inclined to play tricks on me during sleep, making me believe I’ve shifted back only so reality can hit me in my beaked face with full force when I wake.

Clio stretches her arms above her head like a cat. “How are you feeling?” She doesn’t wait for me to respond. “Myron must be beyond relieved you’re safe and sound once more. Not that you can’t take care of yourself, but you fell into the hands of Erina’s spies without magic to save you.”

And without a sword or even hands to hold such an item, I shout at her in my head.

“It’s a miracle Myron found you. Did he use your mating bond to locate you? Did he tug on it?” Her jade eyes linger on that spot over my left wing where, in my human form, the mate mark was once inked. “Or was it coincidence?”

I don’t know. I wish I had an answer. Tugging on the frail remains of our bond hasn’t worked in a long time. If Myron did somehow use it, that means our connection is stronger than it feels.

Warmth spreads in my chest at the thought of how Myron’s lips twitched into a half smile the last time he caught me watching him, how his hand absently twitched toward me, a finger gliding over the top of my head in a gentle display of affection.

I miss him. Even now that I know he can’t be more than a few staircases away, my heart is aching.

“I will have to ask him myself,” Clio muses. Her black leather pants squeak as she crosses one leg over the other, letting them dangle over the rolled arm of the chair. “Or I’ll ask Tori to translate when he’s back from⁠—”

She cuts herself off.

From what?

Clio shakes her head. “Recienne has dispatched more patrols to comb not only the south but all strategic locations in Askarea systematically for spies. Not that there’s a chance of truly catching every danger, but it’s better than before. If there are more enemy forces closing in on Aceleau, he’ll find them.”

Because he won’t let anyone near the palace and risk Erina knowing the Fairy Queen is pregnant. When Tori brought in Gus for questioning, the male had been blindfolded, and a layer of solid magic had enclosed him, shielding all external sounds. I haven’t heard a word of his whereabouts since.

“Never mind. Here comes food.” Clio unfolds herself from her chair as Kaira returns with a tray of meat pies and reaches for the one sitting on top of a meat pie pyramid. How she managed to get them so quickly is beyond me.

“Cook had them ready,” Kaira chimes. “Apparently, Myron dropped by this morning and asked to have a snack prepared for you for the afternoon.” Setting the tray down right in front of me on the table, she surveys the amount of food. “Or for all of us, I guess.” She ceremoniously swipes a pie off the plate and takes a generous bite, chewing and moaning as she plops back onto the sofa.

Even now, he thinks of me first, making sure I am taken care of despite my inability to turn back into the woman who once held him through the night. I want to cry so badly my eyes hurt.

Perhaps there is something I can do. Something of use I can contribute to this war that isn’t dying. I could spy. Soar across the realm and spot enemy troops. Or I could⁠—

Kaira throws me a sharp glance. “What’s our plan for the afternoon?” she prompts with her mouth still half full.

I am not certain it’s a good idea, but I think it at Kaira anyway. “I’d like to go to Shaelak’s temple.”

For a moment, Kaira stops chewing. “Are you sure? Myron will probably skin us alive if we let you out of the palace.” From the undercurrent of her words, it’s clear she doesn’t mean just the temple but my earlier idea as well.

Ignoring Clio’s confused expression, I roll on. “It’s not like I’ll be alone if the two of you join me. Maybe the Brother Guardian will be more inclined to talk to me when I make an effort to visit his sacred location.”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I should find Myron. I’m sure he’d want to go with you.”

Clio sets down her meat pie. “It would be nice to be included in the conversation, you know. It’s bad enough my mate does this all the time with my brother. I don’t need my friends to do the same.”

My heart warms as she calls both of us friends, and Kaira positively beams. “She wants to visit the temple.”

A knowing look crosses Clio’s features. “Definitely get Myron. The dark realms behind Eroth’s Veil will look like a tea party compared to what he’ll do to us if we don’t tell him you’re leaving the palace.”

“Why does it feel like I’m a prisoner and you’re just keeping me company to make sure I don’t get antsy?”

Kaira relays my thoughts to Clio, who frowns. “Just saying. I don’t want to get onto the Crow King’s bad side.”

And she doesn’t even know about the changes in him—the dark power and black veins around his eyes. The all-black spreading from his irises.

Perhaps they are right. Perhaps I should be taking one of Shaelak’s creatures with me when visiting the god’s temple.

“Can I ask you a favor, Kaira?”

My sister lifts her head, waiting for me to continue.

“Do you remember when you pulled thoughts from Herinor and projected them into all our minds?” I still vividly remember the day when Myron was ready to kill the male and Kaira stepped in to save him.

A shudder rakes through my sister as her mind seems to drift back to that moment, and she nods.

“Could you do the same with me? Could you project my thoughts into someone else’s mind?”

She tilts her head, considering, and utterly ignores Clio whose gaze is bouncing between Kaira and me in a silent prompt to include her in the conversation.

“I can try.” Without warning, she grabs for me, picking me off the table so fast I loose an uncrowish squeak, and sets me on her lap, palms lying flat against the sides of my body. “Hold still.”

So I do.

“Guardians, what’s happening now? Are you going to braid each other’s hair next?” Clio asks, exasperation brimming in every word.

“You can’t braid feathers,” I retort, and Clio’s eyes go wide.

“Ayna?”

“Oh my gods, it’s working.” My heart launches into my throat as I glance up at Kaira, who’s grinning broadly.

“I can hear you.” Clio sounds like she can’t believe it.

I don’t waste time on becoming emotional when my mind is spinning with what this means for Myron and me. I could talk to him—if I dared. Really talk to him.

“I need to get to Shaelak’s temple, and I need to get there today. If you are truly my friend, you won’t tell Myron a word about it.” Clio starts to object, but I cut her off before a sound leaves her mouth. “But you can tell Royad I need him.”

Circling above the roofs, I follow Kaira and Royad, who make their way on foot through the haze creeping into the streets this late in the afternoon. Their cloaks billow on the crisp breeze like black banners, but as fairies rush from door to door, no one pays them any heed, everyone too occupied with their own errands. I haven’t visited this part of Aceleau during the day, but it is only marginally less dark than on a moonlit night as we turn into the narrow alley leading up to the temple.

I’m still in shock that I spoke with Clio and she actually heard me, not Kaira’s translation. It was nearly impossible to convince the Fairy Princess to stay behind when Kaira, Royad, and I set out to the temple, but my argument is that someone needs to tell Myron when he asks for my whereabouts, and I’d rather it’s the Fairy Princess he won’t dare touch than one of the servants he might annihilate in a surge of panic.

Tucking in my wings, I descend from the height of the roofs, landing on Royad’s forearm, which he holds out for me, a grim smile gracing his scarred face. Kaira hasn’t linked us the way she did with Clio, but it’s not necessary yet. It was more important to actually get here first.

“Looks like no one really prays to the God of Darkness anymore,” the Crow male notes as he pulls open the age-worn oak door with a creak, revealing a small, high antechamber with four gray stone pillars carrying a decaying wooden ceiling.

Kaira follows us inside the building, her hand on her dagger out of reflex while Royad lifts his palm to summon a flicker of silver power.

“It’s a temple,” I groan into Kaira’s mind. “No one will attack us here.”

“Except for the Brother Guardian himself,” she retorts, pointing at the space beyond the antechamber where the marble statue of a tall male with two swords strapped across his back stands guard over a simple stone altar.

My wingbeats echo from the high walls as I flutter in a circle, assessing the carvings on the seam beneath the ceiling, the faded paintings of the night sky along the dome peaking above the altar.

It seems Myron was the only one using this temple in a long time, the single line of his bootprints along the dusty floor proof he was here, and on the altar⁠—

Royad’s nostrils flare at the same moment I pick up the scent, and I land on the cracked stone, inspecting the specks of blood that have dried in the symbols etched into the rock.

“Get off the altar,” Royad warns, but I’m too busy not panicking at the scent and the hundreds of possible scenarios it comes with.

“If anyone hurt him, I’ll hunt them down and eat their eyes—slowly.” I mean it. Kaira knows it, too, because all she says to me in her mind is, “I’ll hold the bastard down while you feed on them.”

Between Royad and Kaira, I have the two most loyal people in the Crow Court at my side. The best ones to aid me when the time comes.

“Please ask Royad what happened here.”

Kaira steps up to the altar, holding out a hand for me to land on, but doesn’t push when I prefer to follow the trail of Myron’s blood to the center of the spiral of symbols I can’t decipher.

“Ayna wants to know what, by Eroth, Myron was doing here,” she paraphrases, but I’m not mad because it puts a guilty look on Royad’s face that promises he’ll spill every detail.

Twelve

Myron

The Fairy King’s dungeon is all luxury suite compared to Erina’s torture house. Clean cells line the packed earth corridor leading deep beneath a side building of the palace, their doors made of steel-reinforced wood with barred windows. The walls are made of stone like the cells were hewn into the rock. Part of me wonders if Tori’s ancestors had the same gift as him since the walls are too smooth to be created by pure force of muscle, even immortal ones.

Recienne’s and Tori’s silent footfalls are the other reminder we’re in his palace, not in that of the King of Tavras, and that I’m not a prisoner. The first day I came down here, the walls were closing in on me, and my heart wouldn’t slow until I went back above ground. I told myself that it was because of the anticipation of torturing the male who dared lay a hand on my mate, but if I’m honest with myself, it was pure, rancid fear.

Neither the Fairy King nor his general commented when I’d turned around and rushed back that day.

Four days later, I’m used to the sight of cells, to the open doors showing no prisoners are being held down here. All but the last cell in the deepest level of the dungeon. Gus, the Flame in Erina’s service, is populating that one, and I’m not proud to admit I wish his cell wasn’t so damn comfortable. He’d deserve Erina’s uncivilized means of imprisonment.

That’s why I have no second thoughts when I watch Tori haul him from his cell and drag the stumbling male to the room across from it where he summons strings of liquefied rock from the walls and lets them snake around the male’s wrists and ankles before solidifying them. Only when Gus is secured to the wall does Tori step back, revealing the view of a male too well-fed, too little bruised, and too alive for what he’s done.

“It has occurred to me,” Recienne purrs with that cold smile on his lips I remember from centuries of being on the receiving end of his hatred, “that you haven’t shared the full story of how you got into Askarea.”

Gus’s dark features twitch as if suppressing his reaction. That costs Recienne a mere grin, and a flick of his fingers sends a caress of invisible power snaking through the room, tasting, assessing, calculating the best way to break the Flame, who has the good sense to speak. “Your borders aren’t as well protected as you’d think, King of Askarea.”

Standing a pace behind Recienne and keeping my face composed is a challenge, one I’m willing to take if it means I get to see the male suffer longer.

With an elegant tilt of his head, Recienne stalks closer, leaving Tori and me the muscle in the dimly lit chamber. Oh, what I would give to have the Flame’s face meet my fist. The pure male rage coming with someone having hurt my mate is real, and I’m beginning to suspect this is only the beginning. If she ever gets to shift back into her human form and a male as much as looks at her wrong, I will be ready to outdo my most creative of punishments.

“So where did you sneak in?” Recienne’s impressive calm puts me and my simmering fury to shame, but I blow out a breath, digging deep into my power and weaving little strings of darkness at my fingertips. Control is what I need to work on. Tori said so when he beheld me in the forest, Ayna clutched to my chest and murder in my eyes.

Flashing his teeth, Gus grins at the Fairy King. “When’s the last time you’ve checked on your troops stationed in the east?”

Recienne’s shoulders tighten ever so slightly, but Tori is already in the Flame’s face, a hand on his shoulder as he pins him harder to the stone. “Where?”

“Ansoli,” Gus grits out, and Recienne’s shoulders relax. A learned gesture, not caused by relief but an act. He knows as well as Tori and me that the port town in the northeast of Askarea has to be open for trade during war, even if in a limited, more controlled way, and the flow of foreign ships bears the risk of infiltration.

At least, with the cliffs seaming the rest of the eastern coast down to Tavras, Ansoli is the only true weak point—as the Flames so perfectly proved.

“How many other units are hiding in my kingdom?” Recienne’s voice is a purr of utter delight, not because he enjoys the idea of more enemy troops in his realm but because of the fear in the Flame’s eyes as the king stalks another step closer, Tori shifting out of his way even when the general levels a precautionary hand on Gus’s shoulder.

The male shakes his head, and the air stirs with a flick of Recienne’s fingers. “I don’t need to touch you in order to hurt you, Gus, but I’ll happily use my bare hands to break you if you don’t cooperate.” What he doesn’t say is that he’s already promised me I could do the breaking once all the questioning is done.

If Ayna knew how much I was looking forward to it, disgust would be the only thing she’d feel for me. Perhaps the wary expression in her crow eyes this morning was the first sign she’s starting to see the monster stirring beneath the surface again.

Thank the gods Kaira and Clio have agreed to keep her company while I join Recienne down here.

Gus shakes his head again. It’s enough to alarm all of us that Erina’s reach has extended well beyond the Tavrasian borders; the fact that we picked up Gus in the forests north of Aceleau is proof.

“All right, if you insist on going the bloody path…” Recienne gracefully shrugs out of his jacket, a bored expression on his face as he hangs it on the hook on the wall to his left that is meant for shackles or very heavy, very brutal torturing instruments. Then, he rolls the sleeves of his immaculate white shirt up to his elbows and returns to a shaking Gus, who has the good sense to break into a sweat of fear at the too-calm expression on the Fairy King’s features.

Without a warning, Recienne punches the Flame in the mouth, bones cracking with a crunch and crimson spraying all over the Fairy King’s shirt. He shakes his head at the grunt of pain, earning a smirk from Tori, who’s seamlessly slipped into the role of the blood-lusting general I remember from times at the opposite end of this war.

“You sure you don’t want to talk?” Tori asks in a practiced dance of violence and threats. “The King of Askarea will gleefully take you apart.” He measures the Flame’s pain-drawn face, the tooth clanking on the ground as he spits. “And what he’ll do to you will make this punch look like the work of a child.”

He means it. The Flame realizes it, too, because he tugs on the chains like a mad person, whimpering at the steel cutting deeper into his flesh. The air reeks of iron and salt, of sweat and decay—and fear.

With an elegant sweep of his hand along the thigh of his pants, Recienne wipes away the blood on his knuckles, flashing a grin at the Flame. “Ready to talk now, Gus?” He doesn’t wait for the Flame to respond. “Gus isn’t possibly your full name, is it? You know what they say in my lands about the length of a name.” His golden gaze grazes the length of Gus’s body in that oily manner that is as practiced as the rest of his cruelty—and as convincing—and I have no idea how I should feel about calling such a gifted actor my ally. His eyes snag on the male’s crotch, and just when the tension couldn’t become any thicker, Recienne shakes his head an inch in dismissal. “It has nothing to do with the pathetic length of your cock, even though such a short name would be fitting.”

I let my own gaze wander to confirm the Fairy King’s assessment and find the wet stain on the front of Gus’s pants is growing wider.

“It’s about your rank in fairy society, and with a three-letter name, you’re lower than in the gutters.” A hint of delight plays on Recienne’s features as the stench of urine and embarrassment fills the room. “But those three letters are enough to take control of you and make you do whatever I want you to do, Gus.”

A flash of power zings through the room as he does exactly that, and Gus’s hand lifts in a wave, bloodied mouth shaping into a smile despite the horror in Gus’s eyes.

It’s in that moment that I realize how blessed the Crows are that name control doesn’t work on us. It’s worse than the punch in the face because free will is taken away.

“Tell me where the King of Tavras is hiding his troops,” Recienne orders, waving an idle hand, which delivers enough power to make Gus’s feet tap-dance while he’s fighting that grotesque smile of his.

“They land in Ansoli and cross the lands north of the Seeing Forest until they reach the mountains north of the city.” Recienne drops the control, and Gus’s smile slips into a mask of disdain. “By the time you find them, you’ll be overrun,” he adds out of his own volition, and the threat rings true in his words.

Recienne and Tori share a glance that shouldn’t alarm me, but centuries of knowing the Askarean Fairies as my enemies has honed my instincts, so I see it for what it is: a silent command to ready forces to meet whatever Erina has infiltrated the lands with.

Tori laces his fingers, cracking his knuckles with a sickening sound before he yawns and stalks for the door. “Call for me if he comes up with something we don’t already know. I have better things to do than wait for a common Flame to spill a human king’s secrets.”

Honed to perfection, those skills of deception make me fight a cringe. Had I not seen Tori smile and joke and cry with my own eyes, I might have believed the lie, but I’ve met the true Astorian Remanier Alves DeLoor. I recognize the slight twitch of his mouth for the shock it is, and I know that the moment he leaves this room, he’ll go into planning mode to protect those he cares for the most before planning how to protect the kingdom.

At least, this leaves an opening for me to finally throw my first punch at the Flame, and when Recienne nods at me, I take Tori’s place close by the Flame and let my hands turn into talon-tipped claws and the black haze to fill my vision, the one that promises blood and pain.

Thirteen

Ayna

“He’s insane.” It’s not the first time I’m repeating myself, and it won’t be the last.

The surprise in Royad’s expression at hearing me in his mind through the link Kaira graciously provides has eased into one of acceptance at my opinionated caws.

“He can’t offer Shaelak his blood. Blood sacrifices have never led anywhere good.” Not that I have much experience with them, but I’ve read stories and heard tales the way any Tavrasian child does about what happens when people offer their blood to Eroth. “And why didn’t he tell me? Why sneak out every night?”

Royad gives me a sideways glance, assessing the tension lacing my bird body, the slightly angled wings, cocked head. “Perhaps he didn’t want to give you hope only to see you crushed if he fails.”

“Hope for what?” There are so many thoughts I have on how it’s not Myron’s place to decide what I should or shouldn’t know, how much hope I could bear without breaking if it’s in vain, that I swallow all of them rather than spitting and cawing at the male who has nothing to do with Myron’s false sense of protection. So I launch right back into the topic of the other bad choice Myron has made by offering blood to a god.

“At least, he wasn’t offering it to the God of Death,” I amend, the threatening panic drifting a bit farther away at the reminder that Myron sacrificed his blood to Shaelak instead. “Or he’d either be surrounded by the vengeful dead, or Eroth would open his eyes to him and bring him right behind his veil.”

While Royad gives me an incredulous look, Kaira nods her agreement. She’s heard the same stories.

“What was he even trying to achieve with his morbid sacrifices?” Trust Kaira to ask the hard questions.

Luckily, Royad isn’t Myron, who would try to hide whatever he’s up to, spilling his king’s secrets instead.

With a sigh, he sits on the stairs in front of the altar, waiting for me to flutter down from the stone table and land on his knee, while Kaira remains standing in front of us, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like a mother waiting for the explanations from a naughty child.

“When it became clear that Vala wouldn’t release you from the bird form, Myron decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.” Dread pools in my stomach at the look on his face when he studies me—then the few spots of dried blood beside him on the stairs. “He decided a blood offering was the right way to get Shaelak’s attention and that Shaelak is the right god to address since he’s the creator of our kind.”

“The god’s attention…” I repeat, trying not to remember, exactly, that god’s attention. Useless creature spitting cryptic comments.

Strands of brown hair come loose, swaying as he shakes his head. “I wasn’t there to follow the ritual, but I’m certain the request was his blood for your ability to shift back. The god apparently never deigned him worthy of his response.” What he doesn’t need to say is that Myron would probably have given so much more than his blood had Shaelak demanded it.

Part of me uncoils with relief that I’m the only one Shaelak has been talking to, and I whisper a silent order in my mind for the god not to get any ideas and ask for Myron’s life instead.

The responding quiver running through the temple tells me Shaelak isn’t done with me, and the way Royad and Kaira both reach for their weapons, then drop their hands once more when the temple remains empty, tells me they’re ready to fight whatever threat Shaelak sends my way.

“I doubt Shaelak would go for something as simple as that,” I eventually respond to Royad’s revelation. “If his behavior from the forest is normal, then we can’t expect a straightforward solution.” I’m still thinking the word solution when I realize that, for the first time in weeks, I actually believe there might be one.

Fluttering from Royad’s knee to the edge of the altar, I survey the tall candles along the back wall, covered in dust from what must be decades. “Can you light these for me?” A few wingbeats have me perching on the shoulder of a carved figure with swirls of what looks like wind rippling from his palms, my beak pointing at the gray wax.

Royad is on his feet before Kaira can ask, forming a small orb of silver power for her to siphon a flame from, and I watch her float the flickering orange form from candle to candle, sparks flying as the dust catches fire, burning away the layers of forgottenness. Within moments, shadows are dancing along the temple walls with the sway of the flames, and what looks like a small space expands into a realm of light and darkness, of contrasts melting together at the center of the room where the altar sits like an island frozen in time.

Myron might be a fool, offering his own blood, but he was on the right track. Shaelak is the correct god to address. And I am the one who has a bone to pick with him. So I fly back to the carved stone soaked in my mate’s blood and caw my frustration at the God of Darkness, Creator of Crows.

“Careful what you’re saying,” Royad hushes, even when I’m not using words—not even in my mind—and he can’t understand them. It’s the way the air in the room seems to grow denser and the smell of dust and blood and melting candle wax is turning thicker, almost tangible⁠—

Until the form on the wall—the one whose shoulder I’d sat on a moment ago—starts moving and peels away from the carved rock to melt into a nondescript shape that’s neither human nor fae or bird but rather wind and darkness and the void between the stars.

Royad is on his knees so fast I can’t even turn my head to see it happen. Even Kaira is sinking to the floor, one knee touching the hard stone, head lowered and hands on her daggers.

I have the distinct feeling I should be terrified, but there’s something familiar about the smoke coiling and wafting around the edges of the creature.

“You have come to ask questions, mortal,” a deep, male voice reverberates through the temple, and I gasp for air as I recognize Shaelak—darkness given form.

“I have come to demand answers,” I blurt.

Behind me, Royad half chokes on a cough at my tone.

“Demands, Ayna, are for immortals. Who are you but a human stuck in the body of a bird?” Like ink in water, his voice carries on the dark smoke, quivering and spinning before it dissolves on a phantom wind, but the creature before me is sharpening, growing. He’s half the height of the temple now, eyes of onyx peering down at me like pits of eternity.

“You sounded a little different last time you reminded me I’m the Queen of Crows. Mate to an immortal king.”

Is it stupid to provoke a god like this? Absolutely. But I can’t help it. I need answers. I need to turn back into my human form.

“Queen of Crows, indeed. But still mortal.” He bends forward, bringing that otherworldly focus closer until I’m gobbled up in that darkness and Royad’s shout of warning frays like ash on a gust of wind. My heart leaps into my throat, beating so violently my little bird body might fall apart, but I hold my ground, staring down the deity who has forged my path as much as the Sister Guardian—Vala.

“Mortal or no, you’ve gifted me your power. You’ve made a Crow. It’s not you who got me stuck in this form; it was your sister.”

Perhaps a little quarrel among siblings might help him make up his mind.

In the background, Kaira’s calling my name, but I can no longer see beyond where Shaelak ends. I’m not even in the same room as I was before. The night sky stretches in the god’s eyes, silver stars glimmering in the darkness like beacons, and I understand that the power the Crows wield is the light of those stars given form.

“My sister didn’t get you stuck as you call it. You made a choice to use her power while in the form I gifted you. It’s the law of nature that requires balance. Only true immortals can wield their powers as they wish. Unless you step into your destiny, you will remain in this form. You will age in this form and die in this form, and your immortal mate will die of a broken heart once you do.”

My throat is too dry to even whimper a caw.

“My sister cannot help you, neither can I. You need to find your path on your own.” The darkness flickers around us as if Shaelak is beginning to withdraw back into the carving of his form, but I find my voice.

“So is this my destiny then? I need to become truly immortal?” However that is even possible. I hadn’t allowed myself to ponder the implications that being a Crow might have on my lifespan. Perhaps I’d assumed that already made me Myron’s equal in every way. That I’d at least have an extended lifespan if not immortality.

Apparently, I was wrong.

“Not wrong, Ayna. You are his equal in every way that counts, or I wouldn’t have made you into what you are. But it’s only you who can take that final step. It’s only you who can choose to leave the mortal world behind.”

His words clang through me like iron chains in a bucket of water, spilling and splashing and taking up entirely too much space in my mind.

As fast as he appeared, the darkness withdraws, and the candles wink out, leaving behind the thin afternoon light filtering in through the slits high up in the walls. I don’t even get to object before the carving of the male with whorls of what I now know to be the blackest night reappears on the wall, and the temple turns silent except for my thundering heart.

Fourteen

Ayna

Immortality.

“One doesn’t simply choose immortality.” Royad is brushing the settling dust from his cloak with his free hand, but in the other one, he’s tucked me to his chest in a copy of what Myron would do after the God of Crows, of Darkness, and whatever else anyone wonders Shaelak could be the god of, swallowed and isolated me in his cocoon of night.

I could swear, beneath his composure, he’s shaking.

“Especially not if two deities are refusing to actually help with it,” Kaira seconds his sentiment.

We still haven’t fully recovered from the shock of Shaelak’s presence, but apparently, I’m the only one still shocked enough not to have words to contribute to the conversation. Kaira and Royad are already in full-on troubleshooting mode, talking through eventualities.

If I age in this form and die… Myron will die. His life is tied to my lack of immortality. Of course there is a price for what I’ve become. He was willing to lay down his life for me when I broke the curse on his people. Of course now his life is tied to mine, if only in its mortality.

What a vicious pack those gods truly are.

“Couldn’t agree more.” Kaira, naturally, picks the thought right from my head while I’m still shaken from facing a fucking god in the flesh.

I barely dare ask, anxious Shaelak will come back to life, but I need to know. “You heard the whole conversation?” I already know the answer but still ask for that flicker of hope they might not have heard the full extent of the drama.

“Every last syllable,” Royad confirms, his expression grave as if he’s already bemoaning his cousin’s death.

Cautious not to disturb the silence that has settled over the temple once more, Kaira elbows the male harder than I’d ever dare, shooting him a warning glare. “At least, now we know how to get you back, Ayna,” she whispers to me with a too-cheerful expression that sets me on edge all over again, my poor heart kicking back into a gallop. If Shaelak decides to smite us for lingering after his appearance, there is nothing we can do to save ourselves, “You merely need to become immortal.”

“Piece of cake,” I think at her without humor. “Tell me when you find out how exactly that works.”

“He said you need to accept your destiny and give up on the mortal world,” Royad reminds us as if it were a recipe for that fateful cake.

Before I can full-on launch into panic about damning Myron to mortality with my inability to turn back into my human form, Royad brushes his thumb over my head in a soothing gesture. “You broke the millennia-old curse of a goddess; you beat the odds every day you survived at the palace in the Seeing Forest; you survived the battles with the Flames. You’ll find a way out of this, too.”

I’m glad someone has faith in me because, right now, vanishing in a void of despair sounds like a really great option to me.

Kaira slides her hand across the altar, tracing the symbols covered in Myron’s blood, eyes darting back to the carving of the God of Darkness every other moment, lest he come back to life. “How about a blood sacrifice?”

Royad sucks in a breath to object, but the door bursts open, splintering into a million pieces and revealing the view of Myron’s powerful form. Feathers float around his shoulders, slowly gliding to the floor as the debris settles around him, and his too-calm face is a mask containing the ire, the fear, the terror that he’ll unleash on the world if he finds even a scratch on my body.

“I’m fine, Myron,” I think, Kaira having the good sense to channel my words to the Crow King.

And the mask crumbles as he falls to his knees.

“Ayna—” His voice is hoarse, a tear sliding from his eye as Royad opens his hand and lets me launch into the air. “I thought…” He shakes his head, black strands dancing into his face. “I don’t know what I thought when Clio told me where you’d gone.”

“Nothing rational, I assume.” A hint of humor surfaces in my mental voice, but it’s as forced as the smile forming on Myron’s lips as he takes in the expressions on Kaira and Royad’s faces.

“How can I hear you?” He sounds as flabbergasted as Royad the first time I demonstrated, but the relief in his tone is genuine.

“Thank your sister-in-law for being amazingly gifted,” Kaira chimes, stepping away from the altar. “And, no, I’m not going to relay her sweet little nothings to you.”

Myron’s lips twitch marginally, as if physically incapable of a full smile, but that slight curve of his lips… That’s real.

“What by Hel are you doing here?” he finds his words again as I settle on his outreached hand, claws digging into the leather protecting his forearm.

“Long story,” Royad says before I can launch back into despair at the thought that this male will die if I fail to shift back, and I’m yet again grateful for the friend I have found in Royad.

“One I’ll hopefully hear.” Myron is speaking to his cousin even when his finger is brushing my neck, my back, the top of my head in gentle strokes, and the order is clear in his tone. Gods, how I’ve missed that sense of connection coming with him hearing me. How I’ve craved the understanding in his eyes as I speak to him in my mind. The tender warmth in his eyes speaks volumes of what this moment means to him, no matter my being frozen in this form, and my heart flutters in my chest like white dove wings.

Myron won’t force Royad to tell the truth, but as his second in command, he’ll be required to spill all secrets—the same way I asked Myron’s secrets of Royad.

It occurs to me in this moment that perhaps Royad wasn’t telling me as his friend but as his queen.

How I’m supposed to feel about that, I’m not sure, but I shove it into a compartment at the back of my mind where all those moving parts seem to be contained and save it for later.

“I was interested to see what Shaelak has to say about my being stuck in bird form. You know, since he was so talkative the other day in the forest. So I thought I’d seek him out—and before you ask, I took Royad and Kaira as a safety precaution.”

Kaira grumbles something unintelligible that sounds like she’s offended, but the grin on her face suggests proud is more like it. For so many decades, she was told she’s not good enough—not good enough to participate in the hunting trips of the Flames, not good enough because her magic supposedly wasn’t strong.

She is good enough in this court, though. In my court. Bird or no—I am its queen, and Kaira is one of my most valuable assets. And my beloved sister.

“I heard that,” she whispers into my mind, and I sense her invisible embrace like a physical touch as she steps to Royad’s side, looping her arm through his. “Let’s get out of here before that grump of a god decides he isn’t done with us.”

Royad leads the way, me flying overhead while Myron follows on silent feet, falling into a dangerous quiet when his demand for what that’s supposed to mean goes unanswered until we’re all safely back at the Fairy Palace and assembled around the dinner table with the others. This time, the Fairy Queen is sitting next to Recienne, taking my usual spot, while I simply perch on the edge of Myron’s plate, picking berries from his salad and dipping my beak into the red paste that smells surprisingly like spring and winter all at once, and which I’d promised myself before the battle with the Flames I’d inquire the origin of if I survived it.

“Winterberry,” Sanja says as if reading my mind when she watches me gobble down one beakful after another. “It took me months to get over the perfection of it when I first had it,” she amends, and her cheeks blush slightly when Recienne reaches for her hand, whispering into her ear that he remembers something else she couldn’t get over the perfection of for months when she first had it.

“I’m still not over that one,” she merely tells him with a wicked grin that makes me wish I were that bold, and the Fairy King’s usually so composed facade crumbles as heat fills his golden irises.

“Not again,” Clio groans. “One would think you’d be over it after a Guardiansdamned century.”

That costs Tori a laugh, and Herinor glances uncomfortably at the ceiling like a little, innocent flower. “You never get over it.” Tori’s fingers graze Clio’s as he reaches for the bread basket, and color stains her cheeks as he stares into her eyes rather than where he’s grabbing.

Silas clears his throat so loudly I almost choke on the winterberry paste, and Sanja rolls on as if nothing happened, “So what news from the prisoner have you gathered?” Her eyes are on her mate, curious and warm, and full of that silent expectation that tells me whatever she asks, the king of this realm will lay it at her feet.

Recienne composes himself, heat turning to warmth as he glances at Sanja’s belly, then to calculated cold as he meets Myron’s gaze, then Tori’s. “It seems this realm is no longer safe in the way we assumed it was.”

Not a surprise after the incident in the forest, but still⁠—

“Gus says about five hundred soldiers have infiltrated Askarea over the past weeks,” he continues, passing the word to Tori with a nod.

The thought of so many sneaking into these lands undetected chills my blood.

Features stone-like, the general says, “They slipped past our men in Ansoli, disguised as merchants and commoners.” Before anyone can comment, he adds, “I’ve already ordered reinforcements and port patrols to ensure we cut off the stream of soldiers.” Studying the Fairy King, he tilts his head. “According to the Flame, they are hiding near the mountains north of Aceleau. That alone is a problem in itself, but we also need to consider that Erina will be expecting a response from Recienne soon enough. If we kill Gus, Erina might give the order to attack before we’re ready. He might have already given it, knowing the negotiation was a suicide mission, and the troops are merely waiting for a given period of time to pass before they attack.”

“Can’t we find them and destroy them before they have a chance?” Kaira suggests over her plate brimming with greens and a thick slice of mushroom tart. “You’re already gathering your own army east of the city, so it would be easy to march them north.”

“And dangerous to attack an enemy hiding in the clefts at the foot of the mountains,” Tori adds, like he’s merely continuing her thought rather than dismissing it as not feasible. “Enemy forces wouldn’t be the only danger.”

“Besides,” Herinor interjects, leaning back in his oak chair and running his hand over the cream-and-pine colored napkin beside his half-full plate, “if they carry the magic-nullifying serum with them, there’s no way we can ambush them with a small force in a surprise attack. We’d need an army double their size to stand a chance, and still they’d easily pick us off one by one between the rocks and canyons at the foot of the mountains.”

Clio shoots him a sideways glance. “You know quite a lot about Askarean geography for someone supposed to have spent the past centuries confined in a forest.”

A shrug is all Herinor gives as an excuse. “It gets boring being among a pack of broody males night and day—unless you favor that type, of course.” A grin splits his lips as he scans Silas’s form then Royad’s, and, at last, his king’s with the interest of a male who could imagine acquiring such a taste. “Not sore on the eye, my kind, are they?” The last comment is directed at Kaira, whose own eyes are on Herinor’s broad shoulders as he turns to the side, staring directly into her eyes.

I can’t help cackling a caw, and Myron shifts in his chair like he’s having trouble biting back a comment, but Herinor isn’t done. “Ephegos is Erina’s general, and we know Ephegos enough to anticipate his preferred way of fighting.”

“With a knife in our backs,” Royad finishes for him, and despite all the good defining the male sitting to my mate’s left, I can see a hint of the monster he’ll become when he faces the traitor Crow again.

Silas nods his agreement, white-knuckling his dinner knife as he slices into the lump of butter on the side of his blue and gold plate. “If only we had made progress with the antidote.”

It’s the first time any of us has brought up the topic so openly since the initial discussion after the battle, and I’m surprised no one is voicing more frustration with the lack of an actual antidote.

“The healers analyzed every last part of the substance. Crow blood, some herbs, purified water. Nothing that would be difficult to acquire, and yet, it seems impossible to find something to break the magic on the substance itself,” Recienne explains, gaze on Herinor, who was there for the development of the drug when Ephegos and Jeseida initially worked on it.

The male shakes his head. “Ephegos never explained how he binds the components together, and when they were testing the different variations, I was too far gone from being constantly drugged to really tell anything that had been going on.”

A pang of sympathy for the male boxes me in the stomach, and I wish that I could break his oath to Ephegos for him so he could freely do whatever he wishes without fearing he’ll be forced to betray us all.

Herinor doesn’t meet my gaze, nor does he meet Kaira’s, who is staring at him from the side like she wants to throw her arms around him in consolation.

“Have you at least tried to replicate the serum if you can’t get an antidote out of it?” I ask into the silence following Herinor’s words, relying on Kaira to transport my question to the rest of the table.

All eyes snap to me as they actually hear me, only Clio, Myron, and Royad looking unsurprised.

“A little something I’ve been working on,” I tell them before they throw questions of their own at me, “and which Kaira is luckily capable of helping with. So what about replicating the drug to use it against Erina’s forces? Even if most of his army is merely human, we could still use it against the Flames and the Crows in their ranks.”

Silas raises his brows as if in confirmation that this, indeed, would be a smart move, but Herinor says before hope can flare, “We don’t know how to create the drug, and all our experiments so far haven’t led anywhere. If Gus was telling the truth”—his gaze flicks to the Fairy King, who gives him a look daring him to question his methods of interrogations—“then we have days before we can expect an attack.”

Not a threat but a fact assessed by a creature old enough to have outlived even Tori by millennia, with the experience of countless battles and the ruthlessness to win them at all costs. I’m not surprised when Tori nods at the Crow’s remark, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair as if there is nothing else to be said on the subject.

Despite the dire situation, it’s good to be part of the conversation, to be able to ask questions of my own without waiting for anyone to repeat them.

“We should have thought of this little trick much sooner,” Tori speaks into my mind as he follows my train of thought, my own shields barely existent with the absence of my powers, and his gaze drifts from me to Myron and back to me. “Hopefully, it will make things easier for the two of you.”

“Thank you, Tori.” It’s all I can think to say as I glance behind me at Myron, whose eyes find mine as if he could feel my attention on him, and his mouth tightens with held-back words, questions, accusations, I don’t care as long as I can respond to any and all of them with my own words. I still have to tell him the truth about what Shaelak revealed at the temple, and I’m not looking forward to the disappointment or, worse, resentment when he learns his existence is now bound to my brief birdlife. But the tenderness entering his eyes whenever our gazes lock remains, and I know he won’t give up on me—gods be damned, if they don’t help us, he will find a way, even if it means destroying himself.

“So what do we do?” Silas asks, surprisingly not grumbling any sarcastic comment for once, and I half-believe he’s responding to my thoughts, but his focus is on Recienne and Tori, the two males making the decisions about the Askarean armies. “If we can’t count on a magic-sedating weapon of our own or an antidote to the one Erina is using, it will be like the last battle with the Flames or worse when we clash with Erina’s forces again.” There is no doubt in his tone that it will indeed come to that. “So we need more soldiers.”

“If we could reach Andraya and Pouly in time, the rebels might be willing to fight at our side,” I offer, even when I know those aren’t trained soldiers, their cause an entirely different one from defending the fairy realm.

With a nod of appreciation, Recienne considers, but before he can come to a conclusion, the Fairy Queen announces with a grave tone, “I think it’s time to contact my family in Cezux.”

Fifteen

Ayna

It hasn’t occurred to me until now that Sanja still has living relatives in Cezux, but when Clio joins me in the common room of what I now call the Crow residence in the Fairy Palace, she explains that Sanja Zetareh Lazar used to be Princess of Cezux and she handed over her right to the throne to her aunt and cousin when she returned to Askarea as her queen. There’s something oddly comforting about the similarity of our stories, even when Sanja grew up at court and I ended up on a pirate ship as an outlaw—and lawless—instead, oblivious to my royal blood.

“You’ll need to ask her for the details of her background. It’s not my story to tell,” she finishes when I give her an inquisitive look, prompting her with a click of my beak to tell me more about a woman who has been gifted a fairy lifespan by the gods. She doesn’t need to look to Kaira lounging in one of the armchairs in order to read the question from my mind.

On the silver brocade sofa across from her, Myron shifts his legs, gaze on the outline of pine trees swaying in front of the window. He’s been suspiciously silent since dinner, following the conversation with that tight, unreadable expression and his focus on everything and nothing, like he’s not truly in the room with us, and I wonder if he’s living through his own nightmare of fears of what happened at the temple. I’ve got to give him credit for his patience, though. Had it been me in his place, I’d have clawed my way to answers by now.

Picking up on my attention, Myron’s eyes snap to mine, the ocean depths cloudy with whatever worries wander in his mind, and Clio finds an excuse to make herself scarce. Kaira is about to follow when Myron says in a low, dark tone, “Stay.”

It’s not a command, but the part-Flame freezes mid-motion like she’s ready to obey anyway. Slowly, he turns to face me where I perch on the armrests at the other end of the sofa. “You owe me an explanation.”

My throat bobs as I swallow all the words I truly don’t want to speak, about Shaelak’s demand I choose immortality, what it means for Myron’s existence if I don’t—then I remember that it’s all in my head, and Kaira can access my thoughts freely, and by the way Myron’s features turn to ice, I know he heard every last thought.

“So much for privacy, Kaira,” I shoot at her, ready to slip out of my skin at the unnerving stillness Myron falls into. I’ve seen him like this before. When he went to that cold, unfeeling place within himself where he can kill without batting an eye. The feathers on the back of my neck stand up as my instincts tell me to fly-fly-fly while deep down, a nearly forgotten part of me aches to embrace him, to shield him from ever needing to feel that way again. Not for anyone, and least of all for me.

Kaira merely gives an innocent shrug. “Someone had to tell him. I’d rather it be you. He won’t bite off your feathery head for it whereas…”

“I’m not going to kill the messenger, Kaira.” Myron’s reassurance is anything but.

Part of me is grateful the others have already retreated to their rooms for the night, or they’d witness the ire of the century burning in Myron’s eyes as he stares me down as if it’s my fault what Shaelak wants from me.

“I’m sorry, Myron.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t as much as breathe as he takes in every line of my bird form.

And the ire turns to disappointment, shoulders hunching ever so slightly, then to hurt. “Why didn’t you come to me the moment you realized?”

“Realized what?”

“That I could hear you. That Kaira could link our minds and we could have an actual conversation.”

The look Kaira gives me says she wishes she wouldn’t need to be in the same room to bear witness to these words.

I don’t have an answer, thoughts and feelings a jumble in this body that doesn’t function the same way as my human one. I’m not the same person—I’m not even sure I am a person.

“You are to me. In every way that counts.” Myron’s unwavering faith in me, even in this moment, both warms and chills my blood.

He’s dying. Every breath, every heartbeat one closer to Eroth’s door if I don’t find a way to choose immortality.

“What exactly did Shaelak say?”

As Myron holds his breath for my answer, Kaira slides deeper into her armchair, probably hoping to become invisible while she carries my words through her mind into his, and as I tell him everything, from the moment I understood that Kaira’s gift is my key into all the conversations I’d been excluded from, and how I don’t believe Vala is the one who’ll save me this time—how Shaelak confirmed I alone can forge my fate this time—Myron’s ocean eyes grow sullen. For a long time, he just sits there like a beaten male, until Kaira clears her throat, and he remembers we’re not alone.

When he finally finds his voice again, it’s not delivering the words I’d been hoping for. “I’ve lived a long, long time, Ayna. Finding you and having these few months with you—despite all the horrors we’ve endured—is more than I could ever have asked for. If I die a week from now in a battle or in a few months or years from now when your crow body succumbs to old age, I will be ready.”

The vastness of the despair hitting me right in the chest almost makes my instincts flare, telling me to flee from a danger I can’t fight. A danger that is slowly eating away at us both.

Time.

I can barely look at him, scanning the wood panels of the walls instead, the carvings on the simple chair next to the sideboard in the corner of the room.

“How does one choose immortality?” I know the question is in vain because, if immortality was something one could simply decide for, people would have done it. Erina would have been the first to find a way of immortalizing himself and his rule.

Myron shakes his head. “I wish I knew.”

He almost leaps off the sofa when Kaira sits up in her chair, brown eyes bright with excitement. Before Myron can hurl the silver power swirling at his fingertips at her, the Flame says with conviction, “You stupid, stupid bird.” Before I can caw my upset, she rolls on, “Solstice night is coming in six weeks. You need to perform the ritual.”

“Ritual?” Myron beats me to it, but he’s not the only one. Herinor is standing on the threshold to his room, studying the dying silver sparks hovering above his king’s open palm like splinters of stars suspended mid-air.

Kaira rolls her eyes. “You know eavesdropping isn’t an attractive trait.”

Shoving his golden hair out of his face, Herinor prowls closer, bracing his hands on the back of Kaira’s chair and peering down at her with light green, amused eyes. “Who says I want to be attractive?”

Kaira opens her mouth to object then closes it when she realizes there isn’t a thing she could say that wouldn’t make this situation more awkward than it already is. Trust Herinor to find the one thing that can unnerve the usually so solid Flame.

When nothing leaves Kaira’s mouth, Myron repeats, “What ritual are we talking about, and how does it apply to … our situation?” He must have shielded the conversation because Herinor doesn’t seem to have a clue of the significance of truths that were spoken in this room mere moments ago.

“Do you trust Herinor enough to include him in this?” Kaira asks both Myron and me in our minds, her expression remaining that slightly unsettled one with her eyes still locked on the tall, hovering male.

Myron dips his chin and drops the shield. “I trust him enough not to run to Ephegos with the news,” he responds, gaze like steel cutting at Herinor while I am pondering what the point of telling Herinor anything is when he’s bound to keep whatever may help me to himself.

“Promise you won’t shed a word of what is spoken in this room to anyone outside this court,” I demand from the Crow who still struggles to grow into his place in our midst—a traitor, yet a friend.

Herinor’s fingers curl into the silvery upholstery of the chair right above Kaira’s head, but he nods, face solemn.

It’s not enough for me. “I need you to speak the words.” Because I don’t know how exactly those fae promises work, and I need this to stay between us, not transgressing the borders of our circle of trust, even under duress.

Herinor lowers his head in a bow. “I promise not to share our secrets with anyone outside this court.”

“Who does this court include,” Myron demands, a test, perhaps, to find any loopholes Herinor might create for himself.

With two slow strides, Herinor steps around the chair, a dark woolen shirt stretching taut over his bicep and chest as he places a fist over his heart, lowering himself to one knee. “This court, my king, is whoever you deem worthy, and I’m still hoping that I’ll have a place here when all this is over.”

I’ve never seen him so reverent, so sincere as when he holds Myron’s gaze, willing each last word to sink in.

Myron merely extends a hand to me, and instincts command me to take the hint and flutter to perch on his wrist. “It’s not up to me alone who is part of this court, Herinor.” His gaze lands on me, a silent invitation for me to define who is in and who is not.

“Royad, Silas, and Kaira.” My list is short, but I mean every last one of them. From the corner of my eye, I notice moisture collecting on my sister’s lashes, but my gaze lingers on Herinor, who holds his breath. “Whether or not you are part of this court depends entirely on you and your actions. You’ve aided your king, have secured his freedom, and are willing to support him. As long as you don’t intend to betray us, I’ll consider you a part of this court. But unless you find a way to break free of your bargain with Ephegos, your intentions can be noble, and you could still do us harm at his bidding.”

My demand isn’t fair, but was it fair when Herinor left me behind in the dungeon at Ephegos’s mercy? Was it fair when he stood guard as I was paraded around Erina’s court? Was it fair when he marched me back to my rooms when I tried to escape?

The male doesn’t object, head bowing low. “I promise I’ll keep your secrets, my queen. I promise I will prove myself worthy of this court.”

Pride shines in Myron’s eyes as our gazes meet for a brief moment, and he nods his approval. I know it then that he meant every last word when he said I was his equal. That I could rule the court in his stead, not as a consort but as their queen.

Something dark and powerful I have no name for coils in my veins, humming and flexing as it comes to life.

For a heartbeat, the warmth of Myron’s power envelops me like an embrace; then he turns back to Herinor, the steel of a merciless ruler in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re choosing this side of the line, Herinor, because if you betray us, Ephegos will be the least of your problems.”

At his words, ice replaces the new sensation in my blood, and I need to remind myself to breathe as the weight of his threat falls over the room like a promise of its own. Without missing a beat, Myron turns to my sister, his expression clearly demanding answers. “Tell me about the ritual.”

Sixteen

Myron

Ayna’s crow sprawling on a light blue pillow in deep sleep is a sight I need to get used to, but it’s better than the nights she kept following me to the temple. At least, here I know she’s safe.

That she agreed to join me when I went to sleep last night is something I can only convince myself is real because I haven’t closed my eyes. I can’t help the sense of protectiveness rising within me at the sight of her small feathered form sprawled on the soft pillow next to mine, chest rising and falling evenly with deep sleep.

After she shared that we will both die when her natural lifespan as a bird is over, I have a quarrel to settle with the gods. Staying calm and giving her the impression it was all right if that happened nearly took all my self-restraint, and it’s not even about my life ending so soon. I’ve had enough centuries of suffering and those few blessed months with her to go quietly. But that Shaelak is taking away her life… Even as a human, she’d have had more time. More years to see the world, to taste her freedom, to enjoy herself. And now this war will likely be the end of her because, in her bird form, she won’t last a day in battle.

How I’ll convince her to stay away from the killing fields has eluded me. Ayna does whatever she wants. She should do whatever she wants. She’s a queen after all.

Then there’s the ritual. The gods bless Kaira for her quick thinking. The Flames’ solstice ritual might be just what we need to push the odds in our favor when it comes to Ayna’s immortality. But the solstice is weeks from now. By the time we’ll be able to start a bonfire and perform the ritual, we might be on a battlefield.

At least, there’s hope. A tangible thing, something to prepare for, no matter how ridiculous it might seem to dance around a bonfire and praise the Sister Guardian for the rest she grants the earth over the winter and the Brother Guardian for the darkness of the months to come—when the fire burns the brightest.

It’s a ritual to celebrate Flame life—that long, long life that isn’t the same immortality as that of the Askarean High Fae or the Crows, but it’s an extended life, which they believe is connected to that one annual ritual.

It’s worth a try. Anything is worth a try for Ayna.

It’s a long two weeks filled with long days of spending every spare moment with Ayna, of learning the tells of her bird form and waking up to her pitch-black eyes scanning me with too much alertness for the late hours of the nights. I can’t count the hours of pondering what Shaelak could have meant by choosing immortality or how, precisely, that should work, or the times I’ve reassured Ayna I’m ready to die with her when our time comes. The tension between us has grown from both the frustration of the god’s crypticism and the ache inside my chest whenever memories of Ayna’s human form fill my dreams, only to find her still in her bird form when I open my eyes. One of these days, my chest will break open from the gratitude for her having survived the fall from the skies battling my need to find a way to turn her back.

Those two weeks are also long because of too many reports of new Tavrasian spies caught and executed after torture, none of them yielding anything of value.

The watery light of dawn creeps in through the windows in the east as we all sit around the long, oak dining table, a map of Askarea sprawled between us, when Recienne announces his spies reported the Tavrasian soldiers are advancing from their hideout at the foot of the mountains. Tori and Royad are shifting around little figurines representing the Askarean legions while Clio, Silas, and Kaira both weigh in their thoughts about formations, tactics, and which of our powers might work best against them if they are wearing magic-repelling armor.

Herinor is merely sitting in his chair, lips pressed into a tight line like he is keeping himself from commenting. He’s been surprisingly quiet since he declared his loyalty on his knees, promising he’d prove himself worthy. I’ve been waiting for him to show some of that determination now, to help with planning for the coming attack, but he’s withdrawn into himself, and not in his usual grumpy way. He’s become serious, stoic. Even Kaira’s frequent glances seem not to divert his focus on whatever he’s brooding over in that thick skull of his.

When I turn back to the map, Ayna’s eyes are waiting for me, her small form stalking along the path from Aceleau’s northern gate to the location the soldiers were last spotted like she’s part of the war board.

“It’s a surprise it took them this long,” Tori notes. “But this at least gave us time to prepare our own forces.”

Indeed, Recienne has called in additional soldiers to Aceleau, the men now patrolling the streets in anticipation of an attack. After Gus and the twins snuck into his lands with Erina’s offer, he doesn’t want to take any risks of anyone else slipping through; especially with Sanja’s pregnancy, he can’t risk anyone getting near the palace.

“I say we meet them by the river,” Silas says, pointing his index finger right by the bend of the strip of water waving from the mountains to split around Aceleau’s walls. “It will give us an advantage, having the forest at our backs and the river in front of us to slow them down.”

Tori nods his agreement. “We could easily take cover from arrows, and the water will allow us to put out fires if they still have Flames in their ranks.”

“We can use the water from the river to douse their fire before they can hurl it at us, and we can thin their lines with arrows if our magic doesn’t work,” Kaira suggests, earning one of Herinor’s rare looks. Whatever changed in him caused him to glance at her less often, but when he does, a whole new level of intensity lives in those light-green eyes. I’ve yet to decide whether it’s a good change.

“And shield from their attacks with magic as long as possible,” I add. “Who knows what new innovations they have come up with since we dumped Gus’s corpse at the Tavrasian border.” Recienne kept his promise to let me carve the Flame up before we ended him to make a statement, but the rage in my blood hasn’t remotely calmed even knowing Gus suffered, even having instilled that suffering myself—he didn’t suffer long enough for what he did.

Recienne’s gaze meets mine in silent understanding between two kings that it had been a necessary message to Erina: Askarea is not for the taking. Her ruler will certainly not hand her over like a piece of cheap jewelry. A message that will earn us the wrath of the human king. And we’ll weather that storm.

“Sanja sent a letter to Cezux a while ago, but Dimar II hasn’t sent word of his intentions to come to our aid,” Recienne says out loud, his finger tracing the southwestern border of Askarea all the way to where both human territories meet the fairylands along a mountain range by the coast. “My guess is they are concerned to leave their own lands defenseless in case Erina decides to take the human neighbors first.”

“Is that even an option?” Ayna asks through that link Kaira provides with all of us, and across from me, Clio visibly shudders at the thought. “Isn’t he too busy threatening and infiltrating Askarea?”

Tori lays a finger to his chin, weighing the situation from all angles while Royad studies that small triangle where it would be possible for Tavrasian armies to cross into Cezux.

“It’s a possibility. An unlikely one but still a possibility.” Tori points to the known locations of the Tavrasian armies at the edge of the Plithian Plains. “They are close to Askarea, poised for an attack.” He draws his finger southwest. “But it wouldn’t take them long to get to the Cezuxian border if they decide that’s the easier target. Even with the mountains, they could be swift if they send the traitor Crows and Flames embedded in their forces, and unprepared, the Cezuxian armies would be no match for them.”

So many moving parts, so many dangers. “What do the rebels say?” Tata regularly site-hops to Andraya and Pouly’s farmhouse in the Plithian Plains to inquire for news.

Silas shifts in his chair, idly playing with the knife he’s placed on the edge of the map to weigh down the paper, waiting for Tori to answer.

The Askarean general points at the fragment of Tavras depicted on the map. “Part of the rebels are gathering in this region, but Andraya made it very clear that they aren’t fighting an Askarean war. They are fighting for a free Tavras.”

“So no aid from them?” I don’t know if I imagine the disappointment in Ayna’s voice.

Tori shakes his head. “Not on Askarean soil, no. But”—a flicker of hope shoots through the thin bond connecting Ayna and me—“they are ready to ambush new troops marching north through Tavras.” He pauses, pursing his lips as if considering whether he should share the rest, then nods to himself. “There is no way of knowing how many will follow their call for aid—your call for aid, Ayna.” He pins the crow with a look that has her halt right on the peak of the highest mountain north of Aceleau. “They might not be enough to make much of an impact.”

The truth is what we all deserve to know, no matter how dire. At least it won’t raise false hope, I decide as I watch the news settle on the others, but Recienne is already a step ahead. “And our own guerrilla forces? How many of Erina’s soldiers have we intercepted and neutralized?”

Tori taps seven different locations scattered across the map, all of them between Aceleau and Ansoli in the northeast. “Eighty-four.” Impressive. No wonder the general hasn’t been around much these past weeks if he’s been busy killing Erina’s men. “They trickle in on boats and sneak into the forests near Ansoli where they collect into groups of ten to twelve before setting out toward the camp.”

“Any more Flames or Crows?” I ask, calculating the power of the incoming forces.

“Mostly human, but they seem to have at least one or two Flames in each group,” Tori reports even when I’m not his commander.

“Perhaps to even the odds for the humans by using the Flames’ superior senses on their trek through the lands,” Silas puts into consideration. Herinor nods, gaze following the invisible line between Ansoli and the enemy camp.

“Each group in itself is near-harmless, but as a collective, with their magic-repellant armor and their numbers… We still don’t know their exact numbers. Our scouts don’t dare get too close so we don’t tip them off and provoke an early attack before we’re ready, but it could be well over six hundred soldiers by now if we take the information we extracted from Gus as a baseline. It will be tricky to take down those forces in the north.”

Herinor isn’t wrong, and even if six hundred soldiers sound like nothing compared to Recienne’s thousands when he drafts them all together in a large army, the base of the mountains is a death trap in an uphill battle, and the moment they use magic-nullifying weapons, numbers won’t help with the magical fighters on their side. “We don’t know how many Crows have additionally snuck in with them,” I amend. “With only a few left behind after the battle in the Seeing Forest, I bet he has the majority of the Crows on his side, and they’d be able to cross the realm undetected.” The way we’ve done for centuries, but I don’t need to say that out loud; we all know it, and it’s a part of history, which won’t help our joint efforts.

As we discuss the pros and cons of luring Erina’s forces out and where to best meet them, what to do if magic fails us and how to best estimate the size of the army hiding by the mountains, how to get a count of magic wielders, my gaze finds Ayna’s once more, her pensive expression, obvious even with her crow features, and the stillness with which she sits atop the drawing peak of that mountain. My chest constricts at how little time we might truly have and how much I have failed to tell her—about the future I hoped for, the world I wanted to show her, the crown I wanted to forge for her, and the life I wanted to build with her.

Seventeen

Ayna

Scattered with scratches from my claws, the windowsill in Myron’s room has become my favorite place over the past weeks of fighting a battle against time: time to prepare, to understand the magic-nullifying drug better and make an antidote from it, time to spend with my new family, time to work out how to choose immortality.

I’ve tried—Guardians, have I tried to choose. Every day I sit in this place, focusing on my mate, on my title as a Crow Queen, on what I want for this court and how to achieve it. I decide over and over again that I want to be Queen of Crows. That I am Queen of Crows. That I choose to be the queen of this feathered people.

Nothing.

Less than nothing. Not even a mocking laugh from Shaelak or a warning from Vala that she told me so.

Kaira can’t spend every minute of her day with me so I can talk to people, and Tori is busy readying Askarean forces and positioning them north of the city in Erina’s legions’ path. Every day feels like a million lifetimes and too short to bear when I come up empty-handed, still clad in feathers and claws, and my mate is still as mortal as I am.

We’ve talked about the solstice, about the ritual the Flames do to reaffirm their long life. It’s the best idea anyone has come up with so far, even when dancing in this form might prove to be a challenge.

When I told her, Clio suggested I sit on Myron’s shoulder and let him do the work, but the humor in her tone was forced, and the compassion in her gaze brought back the initial pain and hopelessness Shaelak’s words instilled in me.

“Hello, little crow.” Myron has soundlessly entered the room, afternoon light spilling over his tall form from the window behind me. With a soft click, he closes the door and sheds his leather jacket on the broken chair by the desk. This room—his room—is the one where he slept when Erina tried to un-mate us and I rejected him for a while. He now sleeps back in our initial room, in the wide bed, but during the days, he still comes here to read in books he borrows from Recienne’s library or study maps Tori provides, and when I want to spend time with him, I join him here.

One of said books still lies open on the made bed, a cup of cold tea sitting on the edge of the desk and an empty plate next to it, proof that he sometimes stays here even through mealtimes.

Lips quirking into a half-smile, Myron strolls over to the window, propping his hip against the worn wood and bracing a hand beside me. For a moment, it strikes me as odd that I’m looking directly at his abs—hidden beneath the loose white shirt he’s wearing—but I know his body well enough to recognize the contours and what it felt like to touch them.

On instinct, I lift a claw; then I remember I’m a bird and he’s in his fae form. And I’m a bird.

“Kaira is tormenting Herinor in the training ring,” Myron says, oblivious to my moment of forgetting my form. He chuckles quietly, gaze wandering to the window as if he could see all the way to the arena. “I wonder which of the two will break first.”

“In the arena?” I think at him, but my words are lost in the void my mind is without Kaira’s ability to relay my thoughts.

“They’ve been dancing around each other for a while, and the way I see it, Herinor will either spear her with his sword or with his cock, depending on how much she upsets him.”

I cackle a laugh of surprise as he puts it so bluntly. Kaira definitely has it in her to drive anyone mad, but the way I’ve caught Herinor looking at her gives me hope he won’t run her through with a blade. Which would leave the other option, and I’m back to studying Myron’s abs through his shirt.

My bird body can’t feel desire the way my human one could, so all that remains is the memory of what we used to have and of that dream a few weeks ago that keeps haunting me.

Myron turns his head and catches me studying him, and I’m glad I can’t blush in this form, but pain flashes in his eyes before he turns his back to the window and lowers his head, a curtain of black hair hiding the exhaustion on his features as he sighs. “I know you can’t respond without Kaira or Tori here to help translate, but I want to talk to you anyway.”

One caw for a nondescript response. He can interpret whatever he likes and I’ll get to hear him speak for a little longer. Much as Shaelak’s words have shaken me, at least my bird self has come to her senses, my instincts no longer driving me away from my mate. I can finally allow myself to be next to him without believing it would be better if I set him free—because he’ll never be free, even if I disappear into the night. He’ll die with me, whether we’re in the same room or oceans apart.

I love you, Myron. I’m sorry I’m taking your immortality to my grave.

“I’ve been thinking about—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “I’ve been thinking about the promise.”

What promise? I want to ask, but I hold still, hopping a step closer while Myron runs a hand through his hair, revealing his profile against the smudges of orange and pink along the graying sky.

For a long, tense minute, he says nothing, doesn’t even look at me, but when he does, his brows knit together, and he shakes his head again. “It’s probably a stupid idea.”

Without another word, he prowls over to the bed and slumps onto the covers, picking up the book and burying his nose in it.

What are you reading? I want to ask just to keep him from withdrawing into this shell he sometimes pulls up—whenever our eyes collide for too long and myriads of emotions swirl in the ocean depths like he can see me beyond the form I’m trapped in. It’s those moments when I wonder if he felt as embarrassed when I looked at him like that when he was still a prisoner of Vala’s curse.

He hasn’t been avoiding me the way I avoided him before what happened with Gus and the twins and then in the temple, but something has changed in him, and I can’t put my finger on what it is.

Talk to me, I think at him. Look at me. Even when I can barely stand his scrutiny.

He doesn’t move. So I flutter to the edge of the bed, cocking my head so I can spy past his shoulder where he’s braced his head against the wall behind the bed. Myron lowers the book, eyes locking on me once more, and his chest expands, muscles playing in his neck as he rolls his shoulders like before a fight.

The Eastern Oceans, I read the title of the book he closed in his lap and which is now resting atop his powerful thighs.

A map collection. Of the oceans separating Eherea and Neredyn, his home. I don’t dare ponder what this means and why he’s looking at it now.

“Since the Flame ambush in the borderlands…” he starts again, an emotion I can’t place on his features. “Have you ever thought about the power of promises?” Before I think about what he means by it, he continues, “Like Herinor’s bargain with Ephegos. A bargain is a promise of sorts. It keeps him locked in a certain pattern until he’s released from it. Until the bargain is fulfilled or, in my case…” His throat bobs, voice turning hoarse. “A promise.”

His gaze holds mine as I peer up at him from my perch, head heavy with swirling thoughts, and ready to scream.

What promise?

A knock on the door saves me from losing my mind, and the growl ripping from Myron’s throat at the interruption—despite his reluctance to share what was on his mind—makes the blood in my veins grow cold.

“This better be important,” he snarls. I flutter to the top of the shelf beside the bed, taking up a defensive position or eradicating evidence of how close I’ve allowed myself to get to Myron.

The door swings open, Herinor hesitantly poking his head inside with a stone-like expression on his face. “I know, I know… Only if it’s important, you’ve made that clear.”

I wish I could ask what he means by that, but Myron silences him with a forbidding glare that would send lesser males running.

“What is it?” Myron gets to his feet, bringing himself between the shelf and the door as if shielding me from danger when Herinor just so clearly stated his loyalties to this court and his intentions to become worthy of it.

“Recienne asked me to inform you he’s readying for battle. The soldiers in the north are on the move.” It’s all he needs to say to have Myron launch into action. He grabs his leather jacket and dons it atop his shirt, checking his weapons before sheathing them at his hips like he’s ready to walk onto a killing field right now. My heart launches into a frenzied gallop. Too soon. We were supposed to prepare more, perhaps find a way to make use of that one bottle of magic-suppressing drug in our possession.

“When is he marching?” Myron follows Herinor out the door then halts just across the threshold, bracing a hand on the doorframe and glancing at me over his shoulder, a crease forming on his forehead. “I haven’t fulfilled my promise, and I know there is no way I can until you turn back into your human form. The old magic of fae promises and bargains will not be patient forever.”

Good I don’t have a voice that could form words, for I wouldn’t have any to say, my mind blank as I try to remember the promise he made. Only when a slight blush graces his cheeks before he turns away, heading out the door after Herinor, do I remember the last promise I fulfilled—and the last one he made.

Promise me there’ll be a tomorrow, Ayna, and I’ll fuck you, then.

Eighteen

Myron

Godsdamned Erina.

I shift into my bird form halfway down the stairs to Recienne’s throne room where Herinor is leading me. The tug in my chest has gotten stronger over the past days, and it’s not the mating bond. That promise I made to Ayna the last night in her human form, what I’d withheld from her to give plentiful after we survived the battle with the Flames—she has no idea that her part of that promise was the easy one.

The world would have continued with or without us in it, but mine…

At least, that magic acknowledges she’s a bird. It hasn’t counted any of these days as the actual tomorrow. That will be once she’s shifted back into her human form, but the magic is eating away at me anyway, making it difficult to breathe at times. Compassion for Herinor’s situation has grown exponentially with that constant thrum of ancient power lingering in my blood, waiting for me to fail.

“Thanks for joining us,” Recienne says by way of greeting as we enter the pompous room, so far from the enemy who once spilled Crow blood on a battlefield. He’s in leather armor, two blades sheathed at his hips and a bow slung over his shoulder. Beside him, Clio is talking to Queen Sanja, who has opted for a pair of loose pants and a thick tunic to see her mate off for battle. Part of me wonders if she would happily walk onto the killing field herself, even in her condition, if it means Recienne will return alive and with all his limbs attached.

Herinor stops a few feet from the others, looking over Kaira’s light leather armor where she is counting her own arrows before storing them in the quiver at her back. For a heartbeat, I believe he’ll tell her not to go; then his features settle into cold indifference, the face of the emotionless soldier I first appointed as Ayna’s guard.

In a flash of darkness, I shift into my fae form, walking up to Recienne, harboring both anger and fear in my chest. I don’t look back to where I know Ayna has followed us. Even if I forbade her to come, she’d make her own choice to join us on the battlefield, but the anger softens a bit, and the fear flares at the mere thought of her near Erina’s soldiers.

Whether or not she understood my not-so-subtle hint about what’s been bothering me, I don’t want to consider. I don’t want to give her the wrong impression, but there’s something about the power of bargains, of promises, that reaches deep into the core of us Crows, and considering Ayna is a Crow—a mortal one, according to Shaelak, but still a Crow—the magic of my promise might affect her as well. A danger. And an opportunity if we play it right. I wish I had the courage to explain to her in depth⁠—

“Astorian is readying the legion he’s taking north. Tata is leading a second one slightly northwest to fall into their flank,” Recienne interrupts my thoughts with the reality of open war.

“I take it you’re joining from the beginning this time?” I run my gaze up and down his battle-black armor, earning a curt nod and a grin that promises blood and cleaved torsos. But beneath that bravado, a different emotion dominates his features, every move he makes, every last twitch of his lips, and his eyes give away who it is he’s going to battle for.

“I’ll be fine,” Sanja reassures him, reading him easily while it took me a moment to figure out.

For her, he’ll slay every last soldier Erina sends to Askarea. For her, he’ll kill and kill again. The truth resonates within me as I search the room for Ayna and find her perched on the edge of the dais holding Recienne’s throne. For her, I’ll kill. For her, I’ll wreck myself.

Ayna blinks at me as if the same profound sensation slams through her, but the moment is interrupted by Recienne’s marching order.

“They are advancing along the river, using the water in the east as a protection from an attack. Tata’s legion will be the one to smash them while Tori will use the river as a shield for his own units. I will take command of a small, powerful group site-hopping in from behind Erina’s forces.” He gives me a pointed look. “You and your Crows will join me.”

Not a question. Not a command either, but I’m grateful he’s considered a spot for us in his personal unit. With our Crow powers, we can sneak across the battlefield and scout, carrying messages between units if necessary, and with our small numbers, we’re a perfect four-Crow killing team. “Where is Royad?”

“Coordinating with Tori,” Herinor supplies, adjusting the weapons at his hips and the various knives strapped to his body. “Silas will be here shortly.”

“Silas is here,” the latter announces as he prowls in the door, hatchet in hand as if he’s expecting to find the enemy in the throne room.

I quickly relay Recienne’s plan to him, surprised by how little it bothers me that the Fairy King is in charge of the situation. This isn’t the moment to match my power with his and find out who’ll win. It’s the time to unite those powers and direct them at our enemies.

Sheathing his hatchet, Silas comes to my side, his gaze on the dais where Ayna is pacing. “Which unit will she be fighting in?”

Ayna halts, her gaze meeting Silas’s, and I could swear gratitude and respect pass between the two of them, even when I don’t dare turn my head to study the expression on Silas’s face.

“Ours,” Recienne answers like he can taste my reluctance to leave her out of my sight. When I glance at the Fairy King, his eyes are on his mate then on his sister. “You know what to do?”

Clio nods. “I won’t let a single person get within a twenty-foot radius of her,” she confirms with exasperation, and I know who’ll be staying behind this time. “Just make sure you all return to this palace alive and in one piece.” Forcing a smile, she wraps her arm around Sanja’s shoulders. “Your mate is in good hands with me.”

Sanja flashes her teeth at the Fairy King in a grin that’s equally sweet as it is terrifying. “Make them wish they’d never set foot in our realm.”

An efficient nod is all the confirmation Recienne gives her before he closes the distance between them, kissing the top of her head then her mouth, then bends lower to kiss her round belly. Neither of them speaks their goodbyes as Clio and Sanja walk out the hidden backdoor behind the throne and Recienne orders the rest of us to get ready and meet him back here in half an hour.

I’m the only one who needs to change into armor and equip myself with all the weapons I own, but Herinor and Silas keep me company when I return to my room to fetch the shoulder pieces of my armor, the metal reinforced vambraces, and strap more blades to my belt. Ayna is right there with us, observing while Kaira provides her mind link for her.

“What if they hit us with arrows coated in the drug?” she asks on cue as I analyze what lies ahead of us.

“Then we’ll fight with steel.” Silas’s grin is nothing short of wicked, but the tightness in his jaw gives away that he is just as concerned as the rest of us about what will happen when we’re exposed to Erina’s not-so-secret weapon.

Herinor crosses his arms, leaning against the wall in the common room while I stand on the threshold of my room, readying for battle.

“Tori’s leading his legion north. They’ll be there by morning if they march now. Of course, they can’t site-hop whole legions; not all soldiers are gifted with magic that strong. But their fairy speed and strength will still guarantee a swift travel. Tata left an hour ago,” Herinor says. “She’ll reach the flank of the army around the same time Tori will attack from the southeast.”

“Something feels off about this.” Ayna isn’t wrong. “They have been hiding at the foot of the mountains for so long. What made them decide to make a move today?”

“You mean apart from killing off their messenger and dumping him for Erina’s soldiers to find?” Kaira asks in that smooth and unbothered tone of hers she sometimes adopts when Herinor is staring at her intently—and which I now recognize as nervousness. “Something doesn’t add up.”

“They were bound to attack sooner or later. Recienne isn’t yielding his realm to Erina. With or without Gus, the King of Tavras must have gotten the message of our silence and drawn his conclusions.” Silas paces the length of the room while Ayna flutters to settle on the backrest of the closest armchair.

“But the army in the north? Either they had marching orders long before they ever infiltrated Askarea, or they have spies and scouts and messengers moving undetected through these lands.” If Ayna puts it like this, it does feel a bit off. Tori and his men have captured spies, but chances are those weren’t all the troops Erina deployed to unearth our secrets.

“What do you suppose we should do? Wait until they are at the city gates?” I don’t mean to snap at her, but we truly have no choice. “It’s either stand with Recienne the way we asked him to stand with us, or lose the alliance. We can’t win against Erina and Ephegos on our own.”

The way she lowers her head a fraction tells me she knows it, too.

Herinor is the last of us I expect to play diplomat when he says, “At least, we have the element of surprise on our side. We are prepared as best we can to fight without our powers, and Recienne’s soldiers have learned the dangers of the magic-nullifying serum as well. Worst case, we get away with a few new scars.”

“Worst case?” Kaira gives him an incredulous look that makes even me want to squirm. Herinor weathers it with dignity.

“Worst case, we’re all dead, and Erina takes up Recienne’s crown then moves on to conquer Cezux before he makes himself emperor of Eherea.” The glint of malice in his light green eyes is nothing I want directed at me. “Worst case, Ephegos lets Erina do the dirty work then sweeps in to replace the monarch and continues the conquering spree to the Southern Continent or to Neredyn. Who knows what’s going on in that sick mind of his.” A thin crimson film is coating his lips at the final words, but he licks it away and swallows it down, resolve overtaking his expression. Kaira’s hand twitches toward him, but he turns on his heels and stalks to Ayna’s side, glancing down at the crow who’s eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

“On the battlefield, stay up in the air at all times. Stay out of sight except for when you find an isolated target. Go for the eyes the way you did with Jeseida. And whatever you do, stay away from arrows.”

It’s the most concerned I’ve ever seen him with Ayna, but he brushes it off, amending, “Of course, these are mere suggestions from one Crow to another. I would never dare give you orders, my queen. And Shaelak damn me if I’d dare break the bargain with Ephegos.”

“Of course,” Ayna says and flutters across the room to perch on Kaira’s shoulder. Why it bothers me that she’s accepting his advice so easily, playing along with his weaseling around his bargain like they’re best friends, eludes me, but the feeling that something is wrong remains like a thorn in my side hours later, after we ate a meal to replenish our energy reserves and Recienne has site-hopped us all to the back of Tori’s legion where we march until the sun declines in the west and the river kisses our path. It’s only then that we break away from the main unit again, readying to kill.

Nineteen

Ayna

Late afternoon isn’t my favorite time of the day for an attack, especially when we’re closing in on the enemy from the northeast and the low-hanging sun glares at us with relentless intensity. That’s the other reason Tata is leading her soldiers in from the west. They will have the sun at their backs, and even this thin advantage is one we need to play when we don’t know exactly what we’re going up against.

For most of the hike north, I was fluttering above Myron and Kaira, happy to share their silence as I pondered how I could make myself useful without getting in the way. Herinor was right—I need to stay away from airborne weapons, be it arrows or magic. That’s why I asked Kaira to drop the mind link so she and I could make plans without making Myron’s heart stop.

The forest we’ve reached is a perfect hiding spot from the army, the boots of which I can hear at the seam of the trees a mile ahead. Erina’s forces are making their way south, and we’re letting them. Only once they meet Tata’s units will we strike.

“Are you afraid?” Kaira asks into my mind, adjusting her position on the branch where she’s sitting next to me high up in a tree.

My gaze drifts to Myron, who’s in his bird form, like the rest of the Crows, and is perching on the branch above mine with Royad, Silas, and Herinor flanking him. Recienne is crouching in a nearby tree, surveying the forest with his magic as if he’s been doing exactly that for all his life.

“Afraid is a strong word.”

That teases a soundless chuckle out of Kaira. “Are you concerned we might not survive the day?”

“Again, concerned is a strong word after everything we’ve been through and survived.” I try not to think of being stuck in this form; being proof I’m obviously not immortal and surviving any of it might not matter if I can’t figure out how to fulfill Shaelak’s demand. “But if things do go wrong, please make sure Andraya and Pouly continue to lead the rebels until Tavras is free of Erina. Perhaps take my throne for me. You’re not a Milevishja, but you are my blood.”

Big brown eyes rest on my bird form, surprise, dismay, and a bit of an accusation lingering there. “Stop talking like you’ve already given up.”

“Even if we win today, there’s no guarantee I’ll ever be in any condition to sit on my Tavrasian throne.”

Kaira has nothing to say to that, but the dismay vanishes from her gaze.

“Could you link me to Myron for a moment?” I ask instead of pushing for her to accept or promise me something she isn’t ready or willing to give because what I have to tell my mate is a long shot, but it’s the only idea I was able to come up with while the others have been talking battle strategies and gearing up for slaughter.

“I remember your promise, Myron,” I tell him the moment the link hums into place, clamping down on the quiver in my tone—even that of my thoughts. I can feel him still, his presence in my mind unwavering and solid through Kaira’s gift, and when I speak those next words to him, I need to force myself to ignore that my sister will hear every last one of them. “And I’ve got an idea.”

Kaira pretends not to be listening, and gods bless her for that kindness as I swallow my nervousness and the real reason I am terrified of this battle and how it ends.

Myron can’t speak through this connection the way Kaira and I can, but I feel him hold his breath anyway.

“I promise you, Myron of Winghaven, to become immortal if I survive this battle so we can have a tomorrow and you can fulfill your own promise.”

I’m trying not to think of what that promise entails as I wait for that thread of ancient magic to spool itself out of me and connect with the ball of yarn that seems to be the magic of all bargains and promises made in the past and yet to be made in the future, as I wait for my words to become a true Crow promise and binding.

When I dare face Kaira once more, her eyes are wide, and her mouth stands open like she forgot to close it.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I ask her before I feel the link to Myron’s mind drop and her attention drift to the fading sound of rhythmical footsteps as the last of Erina’s troops passes the forest, disappearing right toward Tata’s and Tori’s waiting units.

For long moments, we wait, listening to the wind sweeping through what’s left of the autumn leaves, to the wildlife scurrying across the ground on efficient paws and claws and hoofs while my stomach folds into a tight knot with every heartbeat this battle draws closer. A dark breeze snakes along the branches, carrying Recienne’s soft voice. “Time to get ready,” he murmurs, and judging by the way the others are twitching, they hear him, too.

Convenient as speaking into someone’s mind, that creepy gift of his.

Without further warning, he disappears from his branch and reappears between Kaira and me, holding out a hand to each of us and gesturing with his chin for the Crows to hop onto his shoulders. The moment Kaira’s hand lays in his and the rest of us have our claws securely dug into his leathers, he spirits us to the edge of the forest from where the army is a stripe of darkness disappearing on the graying horizon. The river is a flaming orange band weaving south right where the forest turns into grassy plains. Recienne can’t have taken us farther than half a mile, but the faint sounds of battle ring in my ears like I’m standing at the center of the melee of clashing blades and battle cries.

A cold shiver creeps along my skin, making my feathers puff up.

So they’ve found Tata’s soldiers, and judging by the noise, they aren’t relying solely on magic.

Recienne crouches behind a tree, the Crows fluttering to the bare branches above while Kaira and I remain on the ground close by the Fairy King’s side. I doubt anyone is paying attention when they’re all bound in battle, but if I’ve learned anything from the encounters with Erina and his allies, it’s to always expect the unexpected. I duck closer behind the tree, claws slithering across the moist leaves. Above me, Myron gives a soft caw, a summoning I don’t follow even when I know my place will be up in the skies soon enough.

Bright light flashes in the distance as Tori and his own troops open their attack across the river, sparks flying high where fire bounces off fairy shields. I wish I was close enough to see what is happening with their magic, if they are being hit by drug-coated arrows or if they can actually use their powers.

It’s the big unknown in this ambush, the one factor that makes it near-impossible to anticipate how many troops we’ll need to take down Erina’s soldiers. If only half of our own are hit with the drug, we’ll have a unit of shaking and vomiting fairies, useless for battle, easy to pick off one by one by Erina’s men.

“We need to act before it comes to that,” Kaira agrees through our connection as she establishes the mind-link between all of us once more so we can communicate in battle.

“On my signal.” Recienne draws his sword with one hand, taking Kaira’s with the other. “The two of us site-hop in. The rest of you fly in. Make sure you don’t get hit by arrows or fire.”

It’s a useless order when neither of us intends to come anywhere near enemy missiles, magical or otherwise. But it shows how much Recienne cares even when all emotions have been wiped from his face, leaving behind the cold and deadly Fairy King, who will sacrifice anything to protect his realm and his mate.

“Be careful,” I whisper before he disappears, taking my sister with him into harm’s way, and much as I hate it, I know she is in good hands with him, as safe as anyone could be on a battlefield.

Herinor doesn’t seem to be as confident in the Fairy King’s skills because he’s already soaring after them to the edge of the battle where Recienne and Kaira have popped up, taking down soldiers with arrows.

Silas and Royad follow suit, only Myron waiting for me to take off. The moment I’m airborne, he’s at my side, powerful wings beating air which now tastes of blood and death.

Herinor is already shifting back into his fae form, silver light flooding the seam of the battle, taking down a row of soldiers in its wake.

Something loosens in my chest at this proof that not all of the soldiers are wearing serum-coated armor, even if they all are dressed in the same, dull gray, leather headpieces covering all but their features. As we approach the northern rim of the battlefield, I can see Tori’s forces across the river, their magic spearing for Erina’s army and not doing much damage. The same is true for Tata’s side in the south where all soldiers have resorted to fighting with their blades while they duck around assaults of fire magic. So they do have Flames in their ranks.

That will make things difficult, even with Tori’s men sending assaults of water into the battle, dousing the fires where they sear into our lines.

Myron banks right, to the northwestern side of the enemy army. We’re high enough to be out of the arrows’ reach, but not for much longer. On the ground, fairy blood is soaking the soil red on Tata’s line, and if we want to aid her troops, we’ll need to push through the army.

Below, Recienne and Herinor are striking with their magic, taking down soldier after soldier while Kaira is already setting a trap. Silas and Royad are slicing into soldier after soldier, a silver shield glowing around both of them that keeps out arrows and magic—for now.

Already, soldiers are shouting for the weapon. Already, formations are changing, bringing the fighters unprotected by the magic-nullifying armor closer to the center so a band of those who are wearing it meet the Crows first. My chest tightens as Myron joins them on the ground, shifting as he lands with easy grace, death in his eyes and silver and black mingling at his fingertips as he hurls his power at the enemy.

Not at the front lines but right at those who are now hiding at the center of the army. They fall like cut wheat stalks.

A chance—we’ve got a chance at ending this quickly if we follow his lead, go for the ones who are hiding behind the protective lines of better-equipped soldiers. Recienne immediately picks up on Myron’s tactic, sending a dark wind into the enemy army like a comb, severing heads where his power isn’t dulled by drug-coated leathers.

“Ready?” Kaira draws my attention while I circle back here where arrows still can’t reach, and where she’s drawing out two of the soldiers, siphoning the fire they are sending her way and throwing it into a shield of flame they easily walk through. But that’s what she wants them to do. To feel confident they have the upper hand, that the part-Flame is oblivious to the advantage they have with that cursed armor of theirs … so we can strike right when they are certain she’ll be easily picked off.

Herinor shifts into the space behind the soldiers on instinct, cutting them off from their army, making himself useful in a way we hadn’t anticipated. Not to help me, of course, but to protect Kaira from more assailants than she can handle at once.

Noiselessly, I dart from the skies, right for one of the soldier’s eyes, ripping them out with an efficient tear of my claws while Kaira cuts the other soldier’s throat with a swing of her dagger. The male goes down with a gurgle of blood while my victim is screaming at the top of his lungs, blindly batting at me with his slender silver blade.

I’m back in the air before any arrows can find their mark, and Kaira’s shield holds as they rain upon her—perhaps the silver layer Herinor has thrown up and which is now sizzling against Kaira’s wall of fire helps. I don’t dare glance back to confirm. Kaira is already looping the fire around the next soldier, teasing him away from the bulk of the battle while Herinor makes way for the poor lad whose eyes I’ll take next. Royad and Silas are standing back-to-back, their swords and hatchet gleaming crimson in the light of the setting sun spilling across the field like a river of blood itself.

Tori’s units are still sending splashes of water into the steaming battle wherever flames dance among the soldiers, and I consider it a small mercy that their powers don’t reach far enough to take out Kaira’s intercepted fire.

A wide grin spreads on the face of the next man stepping through the burning curtain of magic, gaze sliding up and down Kaira’s form with surprised delight, lingering on her chest, her hips, for a moment too long to be merely assessing an opponent. I don’t give him time to speak his vile thoughts before I spear for his face, wishing I could go for the artery at the side of his neck instead so he could see who is taking his life, but I’m careful not to get too close to the leather lest it be coated in the drug. I have no idea what contact with the magic-nullifying serum would do to me when I already don’t have access to my power, but I’d rather not test it during battle.

“Cut his throat, will you?” I tell Kaira as I claw my way into the sockets of his eyes, digging deep before I rip them out.

The man’s scream ends abruptly as not Kaira’s blade but Herinor’s severs the man’s neck, almost shoving me along with the force of it.

Shouting a caw at him, I rise back into the sky, out of the reach of drug-coated arrows. Herinor wipes a bunch of them from the air like a swarm of annoying insects before he turns back to the battle.

“Always making sure you’re not helping me, aren’t you?” I growl after him, but he ignores my remark. There’s no need to when it’s clear that that extra shove was to abide by the bargain he made by hindering me rather than aiding me in his taking down the enemy.

From up here, I can make out the mass of dead soldiers at the center of the battlefield, the ring of magically equipped ones fighting around them in thinning lines.

We’re winning. And despite the losses on Tata’s end, the Crows on this side haven’t even broken a sweat. This will be over in no time.

Hope blooms in my chest as I dive for the next soldier Kaira separates for us, careful to avoid the arrows flying for me. By now, Erina’s men have figured out that the danger isn’t merely coming from the ground and the other side of the river but that I’m a danger, too. A small one, but any enemy taken down is a win, right? So they are coming for Kaira and me, and her firewall won’t hold for long when they start pushing.

Twenty

Myron

Bringing all these forces north might have been a vast miscalculation on our end, I think as I fell another group of soldiers behind the front lines, my power easily sneaking past them as long as I’m careful not to touch their armor, avoiding to make contact with the serum potentially coating them which might weaken my magic. How it knows which soldiers to attack and which ones to stay away from is a question to ponder later, when we’re back at the palace and Ayna can explain how exactly she plans to turn immortal. Because, while this battle was terrifying me before she spoke that promise, now it’s her words that won’t let my heart slow from fear that the ancient magic holding us to our bargains and promises will come for her if she fails.

If—because I can’t allow myself to think her failure is a given. I wouldn’t survive it. Literally.

A few feet to my right, Recienne is slaying men with sword and magic—the latter where his power lashes through the army the same as mine and the former where his magic meets resistant armor. If all of Erina’s forces are similar to this one, this war might not be as dire as we expected. We might stand a chance after all.

A Fire Fairy steps up in front of me, hurling a ball of fire at me with a grin telling me he is ready to destroy me. I take him down with half a thought, silver and night twining as they wrap around his throat, not to kill but to hold him in place long enough to bury my sword in his chest. An easy kill even when my magic falters for a beat at the touch of his armor. He’s still grinning when I pull out my blade and he staggers back, but I don’t touch him to avoid more contact with the drug, so I hold back my punch, turning toward the next opponent.

“Ephegos was right,” the male huffs, pain mingling with dark amusement in a struggle against death.

I reel back toward him, throwing up a wall of darkness that will hold for a few seconds before the next drug-coated bastard punches through it.

“Right about what?” I snarl.

The Flame grunts as he slides to his knees, legs buckling beneath him, and catches himself on his wrists. “You’ll all come running at the slightest threat, all too absorbed with your own importance in this war that you’ll miss where the real danger lies.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice the Fairy King’s attention drift toward us as he halts his sword mid-strike. The soldier in front of him takes the opportunity to knock his blade into his shoulder, slicing through the armor and piercing his flesh.

But before he can cut deeper, Recienne site-hops to my side, seizing the dying man by the throat. “What danger?” He doesn’t need to threaten him with death, doesn’t need to lay a blade to his neck; he’s already dying, and there are seconds left to get the information out of him.

The man laughs and spits in the Fairy King’s face as his dark wind wraps around his chest, holding in the blood that was soaking the leathers around the wound I gave the soldier.

“Speak!” Recienne bares his teeth, tightening his hold.

The man coughs. “I’ll die anyway. But I’ll die knowing … we tricked you.” His eyes roll back in their sockets, and I wish I could read minds the way Kaira and Astorian can.

“Kaira!” I shout in the direction I last saw my sister-in-law at the edge of the battlefield, praying to Shaelak he’ll carry my voice to her.

One breath rattles out of the soldier. Two. Recienne demands again, “What danger?”

The man slackens in the Fairy King’s hold, and Recienne curses violently enough to draw the attention of Silas, who is in the process of beheading one of the serum-coated armor-wearing bastards.

“He might have been lying,” I suggest, but the alarm in Recienne’s voice tells me he won’t risk ignoring the potential of another attack going on somewhere else in this realm.

Recienne doesn’t hesitate to grab for the next best soldier, pinning him to the ground with a blade through his shoulder even in the middle of battle, relying on Silas and me to keep the other opponents away from him as he places a boot on the man’s throat, demanding, “Where else is Erina attacking?”

The soldier groans at the pain, his sword stabbing for the Fairy King’s legs, his abdomen, everywhere he can reach from his position on the ground, but even when his armor is coated with the drug, the weapon isn’t, and Recienne’s magic rips it from the man’s grasp with ease. I make a mental note to do the same with the next bastard coming for me while pitting my magic against the force of soldiers pushing against my shield as Silas is holding the other side, ignoring the battle raging outside this provisional interrogation chamber we’ve created.

“Tell me.” Recienne presses the toes of his boot down harder, and the soldier on the ground gasps for air. “Now.”

I’ve seen enough men being tortured, have been through torture myself often enough to know when a person will break and when they prefer death over giving their tormentor what they ask for, and this man has chosen death.

Not a word emerges from his mouth even when Recienne lifts his boot, seizing him and tossing him aside to snatch the next soldier from behind the field—one who will hopefully speak.

None of them do. Not the next or the one after. And we can’t afford to lose time when too many in this army are still standing. Our shields are breaking, magic nearly drained from working against the drug-coated armor, holding off the coated arrows that Silas and I need to resort to using our blades as we return to the fight. Royad throws me a glance across the field. I shake my head. Not now. There is nothing we can do before we finish this. Even the Fairy King has accepted it, has become a raging force of nature tearing through enemy throats to end this battle. Kaira and Ayna are still at the edge of the field, luring out and picking off individual soldiers.

Whatever other danger is coming our way, we better be smart and preserve what we’ve left of our power so we can wield it to our advantage when we get out of here. So we can heal what injuries we’ve received in this battle and set out to fight the next.

Slowly—too slowly, the field is clearing until only a few more men of Erina’s army are standing and we meet Tata’s forces between heaps of corpses.

“Take them back to the palace and throw them in the dungeon,” Recienne orders Tata instead of slitting those final throats. “I’ll question them the moment we get back.”

One of the five men laughs hoarsely, and I wheel on him, grabbing him by the throat with my magic. His armor doesn’t put up a fight against my power, doesn’t drain it from me, and when I rip off the leather headpiece, it reveals rounded, human ears. “What do you know?” I hiss in his face, sensing the darkness layering itself over my eyes like a veil of contained violence; talons shoot from my fingertips, and black smoke coils around the man’s neck, ready to strangle. I blow out a breath to calm myself. A mistake.

The man goes for my weapons belt, catching hold of a knife sheathed at my hip, but he doesn’t go for my throat the way I expected. Instead, he drives it into his stomach and twists, blood gushing from his leathers and pouring from his mouth with his next breath.

It hits me then.

“None of them will give us information,” I say to the Fairy King. “They are trying to delay our departure.” The reason why, I don’t even want to guess, but Recienne understands immediately, shouting a few orders at Tata’s soldiers before he turns toward Tori, who’s already site-hopping to our side of the river.

“Grab them and go,” he orders. The next moment, he’s gone, and the smell of his fear lingers thick in the air where he stood.

Twenty-One

Ayna

Tori doesn’t ask before he grabs Myron’s and Royad’s hands and site-hops them out then returns within a heartbeat to get Herinor and Silas, who have the good sense to shift into their bird forms first so they make it easier for Tori to transport them. Kaira takes his open hand, and I hop onto his shoulder before he can object or, worse, leave me behind. The last thing I see is Tata’s blade flash silver and crimson as she runs through the leftover soldiers with a stone-hard expression.

Unlike I’d imagined, Tori doesn’t drop us off in the throne room but takes us to the highest point of the palace: one of the towers marking the corners of the building.

“Fucking Hel,” Silas breathes as the two Crow males shift back into their fae form, staring down into the streets behind the palace walls where fairies lay slain on the cobblestones in puddles of their own blood, their faces contorted in frozen horror.

My chest constricts as I scan the city as far as my eyes will allow and find more and more bodies scattered along the alleys. The lively buzz usually defining the city during the days and early night hours is gone, replaced by the stench of death and panic. But what’s worse is the utter silence.

There are no lights flickering in the windows, no hooves clopping along the roads, no merchants shouting out their goods.

“What happened?” Herinor takes my words right from my tongue, whispering them into the grave-like quiet.

Tori’s shoulders lift as he heaves a breath so deep I wonder if he’s breathed at all since Recienne ordered him to bring us back to Aceleau. “We don’t know. We haven’t had the chance to question anyone.”

His tone is too calm, too quiet, and I barely dare ask, “Where are the others?” Kaira shudders as my thoughts drift through her mind link.

By the others, I mean all of them: the Fairy King, Myron, Royad, but also those who remained at the palace when we set out for battle. Clio, Sanja.

My crow ears strain for any sound that might give away they are somewhere in the solid stone building beneath us.

“Recienne, Myron, and Royad are securing the premises.” Tori nods at the gardens below where I indeed spot three dark forms gliding between bushes on silent feet in the falling night. “But what we can say so far is that it’s only the western part of the city. They left the eastern and southern districts alone, probably out of fear of alarming the soldiers camping right outside the walls.”

The audacity to attack in a city crawling with powerful fairies…

“Who would do something like this?” The shock weighs heavy on Kaira’s shoulders, even when she straightens them, defying the horror unfolding before us.

Tori’s head turns toward her even when his eyes keep scanning the palace grounds like he could weed out any danger by sheer willpower. “Who do you think?”

“Erina wouldn’t dare set foot in this city. Not without a host of soldiers,” I think at them, and Herinor bobs his head, hand twitching to his sword as he seems to be counting the corpses in the streets.

“This has Ephegos written all over it,” the male agrees, and even Silas dips his chin, for once at a loss for words.

Kaira faces Herinor, turning her back to where I’m still perched on Tori’s shoulder. “If you know him so well, why don’t you tell us where to find him so I can slit the bastard’s throat.”

Terror isn’t the right description for what flickers in Herinor’s eyes at her statement. It’s something similar laced with a deadly calm on the surface that keeps his emotions buried deep enough that they don’t leap from his tongue or his sword as he growls, “You are not going anywhere near Ephegos.”

It’s an order, and Kaira isn’t having it.

She merely turns toward Silas standing next to Herinor, grabbing for her bow as if she’d shoot Ephegos from the skies. “Since your friend isn’t cooperating: where do you think we can find the traitor?”

With a sharp shake of his head, Silas gently pushes her hand away from her bow. “Ephegos wouldn’t be stupid enough to show his face in this city. He must have sent a magic-wielding unit to slay so many fairies that quickly. A unit of Crows who are masters at unweaving wards,” he says, reminding us of how they got free of the spells binding them into the Seeing Forest to begin with. “That also explains how they got into the city.”

Tori nods his agreement, and the rumble of rage in his chest makes my entire bird body tremble. “The patrols haven’t found the assailants,” he says after another deep breath that makes me feel like I’m sitting in a boat on a rocky ocean. “They were already out searching when we arrived. Clio gave the order when the screaming started.” He lowers his head an inch as if he can’t bear the thought of Clio anywhere near the slaughter having occurred in this city. “The patrols only found the dead. In the streets and in their homes. This isn’t the work of soldiers. It’s the work of assassins.”

“Lots of assassins,” Silas adds in that dark, toneless voice he normally uses to deliver jokes, but there’s no humor in his eyes. Nothing but the cold promise of violence as he shifts his gaze from the grave this city has become to Tori and me. “Ephegos had a small army of assassins deliver a message.”

“That he can get to us whenever he wants, wherever he wants, and there is nothing we can do about it,” I think at them, and no one objects.

As if it’s the only thing keeping his shoulders from hunching, Tori squares them an inch before facing Silas fully. “The battle was a diversion,” he says with that dry analytic tone of the general despite the trembling of his muscles straining beneath my claws as he fights to hold himself in place when he hasn’t been able to make a full assessment of the damage. “The city was the real target.”

Recienne and Myron confirm as much when we meet them half an hour later in the throne room, all of us caked with blood from the battle we so foolishly ran into while Ephegos used the time to slaughter half a district in this city.

The four Crow males are standing a few feet from the stone dais at the front of the pompous room, next to Clio, Tori, and Kaira, on whose shoulder I’m now perched, not because I don’t want to be close to Myron but because I can watch him better from my current spot, his serious expression, the grief in his eyes, the contained anger at what happened.

Rubbing his face, Recienne leans against the dais where his carved throne stands ready for the king of Askarea. Beside him, Queen Sanja is perched on the stone lip, her hand sliding back and forth over her belly as if soothing the unborn babe growing there. “It’s not your fault,” she says to her mate, her tone not gentle but scolding, as if the Fairy King frequently beats himself up about things he didn’t have a hand in.

Recienne merely shakes his head. “I should have known⁠—”

“You couldn’t have known,” she cuts him off.

“I should have anticipated, then,” he corrects, but the anguish in his eyes when he places his hands left and right of his hips on the smooth rock speaks volumes about how it doesn’t matter what anyone says. He’s taking full responsibility for his people’s deaths, even when it wasn’t his hand that delivered it.

Sanja twists to the side, her small, bronze hand covering his fingers, squeezing. “Listen to me, Rogue,” she says in a strict tone that has me flinching where I hover on Kaira’s shoulder. My sister tenses beneath my claws.

“Rogue?” she echoes in her mind and I realize what the Fairy Queen called him.

“A nickname, I suppose.” It’s all I can think before Tori shoots both of us a forbidding glance.

“No one outside this room can know,” he tells me, as always, privy to my thoughts, even without the mind link Kaira is still keeping up. “Recienne is Rogue only to his friends.”

And even with the alliance we forged, we aren’t considered friends. Not really.

Recienne murmurs something to Sanja that is swept up by his unique power and delivered to her ears only, I expect, but his eyes meet mine. “It’s not that I don’t consider you a friend, Crow Queen. I’m just careful who I let see this real side of me. Not the king but the male.”

I understand, I want to say, but I don’t push my thoughts outward. If he decides I’m the only one to hear this, I want to keep it between us.

“Sanja is my heart, my soul, my life, the same as you are for the Crow King. It frequently proves impossible not to become Rogue with my mate at my side.” His words are still for me only, and I cherish this moment of trust between two allies who have fought battles together and survived. Between two monarchs who both learned to hide their true selves from the world, to lock up their emotions to ease the burden of others.

I see him, then. Rogue, the male: the slightly hunched shoulders, the weary expression that means countless sleepless nights.

Whether he finds that recognition in my eyes or he senses the change in me by different means, I don’t care as he says for everyone to hear, “You can all call me Rogue.”

He doesn’t reprimand his mate for spilling his secret, instead placing an arm around her shoulders and tucking her to his side, the face of the king returning, but much softer, more open as he lays out all the things he’s set in motion.

The patrols have been tripled in the untouched districts while a few units of soldiers are helping take care of the dead. Some of the corpses have been brought into the healers’ quarters for examination with the result that there were two sorts of assaults: simple cutting throats of the low magic fairies who would have been too weak to fight with their powers even against a strong human soldier, and those involving the magic-nullifying drug. Those fairies must have been splashed with the serum the same way the Flames did in the ambush in the Plithian Plains. They show more signs of putting up a fight, but eventually, all their throats were cut.

“I’ve ordered additional sentries on the battlements. Even when the palace wasn’t touched in the attack, we can never be too careful,” Recienne explains. “The army is ready to react should another attack happen.”

But it won’t. Herinor, Royad, Myron, and even Silas are all sharing that same expression, telling me they know, if this was Ephegos’s doing, he’s not going to attack immediately again.

Tori must have picked up on it as well because he pins Myron with a look. “You don’t think they will attack again?”

Myron’s throat bobs as if he’s put on trial, but his voice is steady as he answers, “Ephegos relishes terrorizing others. If this attack was truly ordered by him, he’ll enjoy our fear and confusion. He’ll draw out the time until his next attack, keeping us on edge, restless, wondering when he’ll strike next. The Ephegos I’ve gotten to know in Erina’s dungeons wants us to fear him, wants us to not dare close our eyes at night.”

He means it, and that’s what scares me more than the thought of another attack. Myron is afraid. He hides it well, but I know better, know the little tells even when, in my bird form, I can barely feel him through the mating bond.

“If the battle was a diversion to guide our attention and forces away from the city, making this statement probably wasn’t all he wanted,” Herinor says between gritted teeth. I wonder how much it hurts to speak those words.

He knows something, and no matter how diplomatically he puts it so he won’t upset his bargain with Ephegos, I can tell by the way his light green eyes shine that he wants us to know.

So I flutter to his shoulder, ignoring his cringe of surprise and Myron’s of concern, and dig my claws hard into his leathers. “Whatever you know, Herinor, you better spill now, or I’ll kick you out of this court so fast you can’t even curse your own stupid bargain for it.”

Twenty-Two

Herinor

What a queen. Fierce and unyielding even when confronted with death at such a scale. Worthy of being called a Crow Queen. I don’t bother hiding how impressed I am with her fearless demand that I speak the truth.

I can’t lie anyway, so that demand is unnecessary. But she’s right. The weight of what I know has been slowly eating away at me over the past weeks since I learned of what Shaelak demanded of her.

“Ephegos doesn’t attack for the sake of attacking. He always wants something.” It’s as much of the truth as I dare give them.

Ayna isn’t satisfied, of course, and Myron seems ready to rip out my throat should I not comply with my queen’s wishes. He’s right to threaten me; it might ease the strain of the bargain enough to loosen my tongue without violating the promise I made to the traitor Crow.

At least, the Fairy King considers me a friend now. Rogue. I chuckle to myself. That fancy king really couldn’t have picked a less-suiting nickname. The only rogue thing about him is the three black strands dancing out of his otherwise perfect hair. Even so, I must admit he did fight well on the battlefield. This time.

“We’re waiting, Herinor,” Myron reminds me, an order from my king.

Very well, then. “Think about it.” I gesture in the air with my free hand, the other—the one on the side where Ayna is nearly piercing my leathers with her claws—resting on the pommel of my sword. “The attack in the north was meant to draw us out. It makes sense that Ephegos would position weaker soldiers there, basically sending in mere grunts to keep us occupied and weigh ourselves in safety as we pick them off with an outrageous number of our own men. Do you think it’s mere coincidence the soldiers started mocking us about that other danger?” At least, I’m not giving away anything they haven’t already noted on their own.

“There were no Crows joining the battle,” Kaira comments as if she’s only realizing this now, and part of me wants to wipe the streak of blood on her forehead away as I dare a glance at her. I force my attention on Myron, on Rogue, on the Fairy General who’s piercing me with intent eyes that inform me he’d do anything to break the shields around my mind and dig up those answers himself. Perhaps I should let him and be done with it, but then I’d risk the wrath of the magic of bargains and never seeing that fire-spitting little part-Flame ever again. And I really do want to see her again. Again and again, and more of her every time I lay eyes on her.

The only way of containing my need to get closer is to slam down the mask of the uncaring bastard I’ve learned to be. Recently, though, I’m no longer so sure it’s still who I am, so the mask has been changing in an agonizing process, which has everything to do with wanting to be good enough—for my court, for the female who looks at me with ambivalence whenever I catch her staring.

“No Crows, that’s correct. At least, not on Erina’s side,” I confirm, and I would know. I scanned the skies for any signs of Ephegos’s flock. “Because they weren’t with the army. Ephegos sent them to Aceleau instead. To wait until we departed north so they could sneak into the city.”

“And you know that for a fact?” Ayna prompts through the miraculous mind link Kaira has been keeping up without faltering. Impressive little Flame, but something more than that—I can sense deep in my gut that there’s more to Kaira than meets the eye. It’s been calling to me like a melody I don’t enjoy yet can’t ignore.

“I know that because I paid attention,” I say, preserving my stoic facade as best I can, even when all I want to do is grab the Flameling and shove her against the wall. It strikes me that this isn’t the first time this urge has befallen me, and I need to grind my teeth against the instincts screaming at me to explore the danger the female presents. Not to the others but to me. To the version of myself I’ve carefully built over millennia. “No one told me this would be happening, and had you asked me five hours ago, I wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have guessed. I thought Gus was the message and the attack was the pending retaliation. But I was wrong.” I don’t enjoy admitting it, but it’s the truth, and I want Ayna to know the truth, even when I’m walking a thin line here. “Gus was the hook to deliver Erina’s offer, but he never expected Rogue to accept.” All eyes snap to the Fairy King as I use his nickname for the first time … and find it rolls off my tongue more easily than Recienne. “He wanted us distracted with trying to catch his guerrilla units so we wouldn’t look too closely at what else is happening in this realm.”

“And what’s that?” Kaira prompts, her brown eyes near-glowing with intensity as she seems to try drawing the answers straight from the bottom of my mind. My shield flickers in response, ready to dance with her power, but I rein it in. No dancing for me.

“I have no idea.” Again a truth I struggle to accept. “I can only guess.”

“Tell us your guesses, then, Herinor,” Rogue orders, and I find my head bowing under the weight of his authority. His kindness and caring for his people. For his court. For his friends.

“He sowed fear with Gus’s message to make us revolve around the possibility of an attack from the north, and we responded just as he wanted us to. We threw our resources there, leaving Aceleau seemingly well protected with an army camping at its doorstep. But we were wrong.”

Before I can explain why, Tori picks up my thought and rolls with it. “They were monitoring the city. Somehow, they have spies in Aceleau—perhaps even in the palace—or they couldn’t have known when to strike. Had they only reacted once we met them in battle, we’d have seen units spearing south. Tata would have caught them with her soldiers. Even Crows in bird form they’d have picked from the sky with their magic and arrows.”

“As Kaira said, there were none.” Why it warms my chest and stomach that Kaira looks upon me with something other than that ambivalence as I remind the general she already pointed that out, I don’t want to acknowledge, or my calm would be out the window.

“Because they were already in Aceleau,” Sanja throws into the collective musing. “Crows are perfect spies. Even I have problems distinguishing you lot when you’re in your bird forms—no offense, Ayna,” she amends with an apologetic glance. “I’d recognize you anywhere.”

“None taken.” At Ayna’s silent response, the Fairy Queen’s lips twitch as if they are having another wordless conversation none of us is privy to.

“They couldn’t have made it into the palace, though,” Rogue objects. “Not without being forced to shift into their fae forms.” When all our heads turn toward him, he shrugs, a hint of the wicked king returning. “I placed a shield around the premises that forces fairies of all sorts into their humanoid forms. It’s not a classical ward like the one around the city as much as a unique spell that can’t be as easily broken. A protective measure I developed a long time ago to be able to sleep soundly.” He doesn’t say it, but his words imply that it’s a relic from the time when our peoples were at war. “Of course, I recently exempted all of you from it so you can pass in any form you wish. It’s an honor I grant any ally of mine.”

The sheer power it takes to create such a shield and keep it upright day and night—for centuries—is more than I believed the male with the golden eyes capable of. Then, I fought him and his legions in the Seeing Forest during the Crow Wars. I know what it’s like to be on the other side of that line.

“So no Crow spies in the palace,” Tori repeats. “Unless any of you want to share something with us.” He glances from Myron to Royad to Silas to me, and I don’t care what he implies. I didn’t betray them. Neither did my king or Royad or Silas. But when Tori pins Kaira, I see red.

“She’s not a spy.” The words are out before I can bite my tongue, and the surprise on Kaira’s face almost splinters my self-restraint. I clamp down on the thoughts straining to manifest in my throat, that Kaira is perfect. And perfect doesn’t have room for being a traitor.

“He’s right, I’m not,” the perfect female echoes, baring her teeth, and a grin blooms on my lips—I can’t help myself.

“Can you say you didn’t betray us without risking the wrath of ancient magic?” Tori demands, not the friend scared of his friends turning against him but the general needing to know what he’s dealing with.

None of us hesitate when we tell him we didn’t betray them. That we aren’t spies. Rogue, Sanja, Clio, and Tori don’t bat an eyelash when we need to phrase it particularly so it conveys the truth, that we haven’t betrayed them since we became allies. Of course we did in the past. We made bargains and found ways around them—like staying in the Seeing Forest.

“So the spies weren’t you, and Ephegos’s Crows couldn’t get into the palace. Perhaps they got into the city anyway,” Clio sums up the situation, her vigilant jade eyes darting between Myron, Royad, Silas, me, and Tori as she paces in front of the dais. “What did they want? You say it’s a message that they can get to us anywhere and whenever they want, but what else was Ephegos looking for? Was the mission sanctioned by Erina, or is Ephegos going rogue?” At her choice of words, she glances at the Fairy King. “Sorry, brother.”

He dismisses her apology with a wave of her hand, kissing the top of Sanja’s head instead of speaking whatever is on his mind.

“He does have ulterior motives. Of course he does.” This truth I can easily tell, even when I don’t know Ephegos’s endgame. “Whether the attack on Aceleau was Erina’s idea or if Ephegos did that for his own gain, I wish I knew. It would make things easier.”

Ayna’s claws dig deeper into my leathers as if she intends to squeeze the truth out of me, but her voice is gentle in my mind as she thinks, “Was anything destroyed?”

All eyes turn to her.

“We haven’t checked the entire city, though so far, it seems it’s the people of Aceleau that were targeted,” Recienne answers, that anguish flickering in his eyes again. A feeling king, one ready to slaughter for his people, ready to risk his own life to protect his realm. A hint of respect flares in my chest that makes it easier to bear seeing his male-pretty face.

“It was only the western district, you said?” Ayna pushes. Tori confirms with an efficient nod, and I can almost see the words forming in her mind before she speaks them. “What’s in the western district that’s of value to a Crow Traitor?”

Twenty-Three

Ayna

It could have been my idea that there is only one place relevant to any Crow in this fairy realm. They don’t care much for fairy culture or the fairies themselves—at least, not the traitors Ephegos brought along. So when we scout the western district half an hour later, Recienne staying behind with Sanja to send another letter to the rulers of Cezux, it’s only Kaira, the Crows, and me.

The males are walking in their fae forms, Kaira wedged between Herinor and Silas, Myron taking the lead and Royad, the rear, while I fly ahead, eyes and ears on the deathly silent allies beneath. Most of the corpses have been cleared away, but the lingering absence of noise bears witness to what happened here.

“Not far,” I hear Myron say to the others as he turns into the side street where I usually watch him disappear into the temple from the roofs above. Today, I dive right for the entrance, landing on his shoulder as he crosses the threshold through the damaged double doors he splintered at our last visit, sword drawn and silver power crackling in his palm like lightning spilling from his fingertips.

“Clever little crow,” he huffs, tilting his head toward me until his cheek brushes mine. I don’t know how I feel about the gesture, about the gentle contact that seems to happen without him taking notice, instincts driving him rather than his usual control.

It’s a brief moment, but it means everything. My heart speeds in my chest at a phantom memory—what it felt like to feel his stubbled cheek against my human skin.

Before I can relish the moment, Myron freezes, and I turn my gaze to follow his to the altar at the center of the main room where carvings of symbols adorn the top of the walls, spreading along the high ceiling, and behind the altar⁠—

“Fuck—” Royad exclaims, and I swear I couldn’t say it any better.

Kaira squeezes past Herinor and Myron to assess what we’re all staring at.

The carving of the humanoid form has vanished from the wall behind the altar, and the candles are no longer burning. Smoke lingers in the air like a reminder of what occurred.

“Where did it go?” I ask through Kaira’s mind link.

“Where did what go?” Herinor and Silas ask in unison.

They weren’t here with us the last time, neither did they accompany Myron on his secret temple visits, so they wouldn’t know about the carving of the God of Darkness that likes to come to life when I visit this ancient prayer hall.

What I told them of my encounter with Shaelak didn’t include he stepped out of a fucking carving.

Myron explains with a few efficient words while I flutter to the closest candle, digging my claws into the still-warm wax, Kaira following me around the room. “They can’t have left too long ago,” I conclude even when I know nothing of why the image of Shaelak is missing and why the candles stopped burning.

“Or the candles slowly burned out after the god left,” Royad supplies.

“Why would he leave?” Kaira objects. “Besides, who says he left? He could be lingering anywhere in this temple.” Her voice turns into a whisper as she figures she might very well be right.

“It’s not that large of a temple,” Silas notes quietly, rounding the altar to join me by the candles and tracing the leftover carvings with cautious fingers. In the temple of the Brother Guardian, even this ancient male seems to be humbled into deep respect. “Don’t you think we would see him if he were here, or at least sense him?”

None of us has a response, so the silence trickles past as the wind picks up outside, turning into low howls reminding me of the moans of the dying on a battlefield.

“What did they want here?” I try not to miss any detail.

The carving, the candles…

“If they ever were here,” Myron says, doubt thick in his tone, but Herinor comes up beside Myron, staring at the altar instead of at the walls.

“They were here. Their blood is fresh on the altar. Can’t you smell it?” He sniffs the air, and so do the others, nostrils flaring as they scent traces of their kin. So I do, too.

It’s barely there, not more than a hint of fresh iron, copper, and salt. I didn’t pay it any heed with all of us still caked in the blood of our enemies. But now that I turn my attention toward the smells in this room, I can distinguish it like a clear, bright bell in a sea of deep, dull ones.

“Someone made a blood sacrifice,” I realize, and Herinor’s bobbing head makes me dread the whys he’s about to explain.

Myron steps around the altar, instantly at my side as if to shield me from an invisible threat, and I can sense the bond between us flare at the flash of fear in his eyes. “What day is it?” he asks Silas, who has taken a pace back from the wall to have a better overview of the carvings.

The look on Silas’s face promises nothing good. “Night before Sauin.”

Royad curses softly, eyes darting around the room as if wary of the god presiding over this temple smiting him for his choice of words.

I flutter back onto Myron’s shoulder as if he could save me from whatever truth is about to be spoken. “What’s Sauin?”

“End of harvest season,” Silas says with a shrug. “But it’s also the night where the realms of the living and the dead come closest.”

“Never heard of it,” Kaira comments, coming close to Silas’s side as if she feels it too, that hint of darkness and tightness creeping in from the edges of the temple as we all gather around the altar on which new specks of dried blood have joined Myron’s faded ones.

“I don’t think you celebrate it in Eherea,” Herinor explains, green eyes alight when Kaira meets his gaze. “It’s something even Myron and Royad barely know since it’s a tradition of the ancient Neredynian people; perhaps us Crows are the only ones still remembering.”

“Why are Traitor Crows coming to the Fairy capital to do a blood sacrifice on this night?” Kaira demands, and I’m glad I don’t need to because even my mental voice would have been shaking.

“It’s not only the night where the realms of the living and the dead become closest but all realms, known and unknown. And those of the gods.”

“Shaelak,” Myron explains. “They came here to make a sacrifice to Shaelak himself, not just any god. Why?” His eyes pin Herinor, the male squinting into the half-light. Silver sparks are dancing at Silas’s and Royad’s fingertips now, too, bathing the old rocks in what appears like shimmering stars.

Herinor’s throat bobs.

“Why, Herinor.” When the male doesn’t answer immediately, Myron’s magic springs loose, wrapping around Herinor’s neck, ready to snap. “They could have spilled their blood on any rock in the woods. Could have prayed in any temple. They staged an attack in the north to lure us out of the city then slayed half a district only to get to this temple. I want to know why.”

Herinor shakes his head, not in defiance but in resignation. “I can only guess.”

“Guess then,” Royad hisses, his blade flashing silver at Herinor’s throat an inch above Myron’s magic. “I am not as patient as our king, so you better be quick.”

My heart pounds in my chest like a hammer on an anvil, the pulse ringing in my ears, but I try to listen, try to grasp whatever they say in words or between the lines.

Herinor’s eyes fill with genuine fear as he opens his mouth to speak, as he halts before the first word forms. A droplet of crimson appears on his lower lip as he blows out a breath, starting over.

I’m not the only one noticing, and it’s Kaira, who steps in front of the warrior Crow, shoving Royad’s blade aside as she shields him with her body. “Can’t you see it’s hurting him?”

We all see it, but Kaira seems to be the only one who cares because we need the truth he’s guarding more than we need him right now. Ephegos and Erina are plotting the demise of this realm and that of all Crows who aren’t following him. If this holiday has anything to do with it, we need to know.

“It’s all right, Kaira.” Herinor’s murmur is nothing like the male I’ve come to know. Something broken, resigned, and self-loathing flickers through the facade he’s been wearing, and I know that he’s ready to risk it.

With a gentle hand, he grabs Kaira’s shoulder, squeezing once before he shoves her out of the way, and nods, ignoring the fear tightening her features.

“Because they needed a temple dedicated to Shaelak and no one else, and this is the only temple left in Eherea. People have long forgotten in the human realms there is a Brother Guardian and a Sister Guardian, their temples dedicated to both. Even in Askarea, people pray to the Guardians, not one of them individually the way they used to in the old days.” The drop on Herinor’s lip hasn’t grown, a sign he hasn’t given any vital information Ephegos forbade him to share, but by the tremble in his voice, I know he’s about to spill something that could kill him. “Ephegos knows the way we all did that this temple exists because we used to hunt in this city at every Ret Relah. He must have learned about who the Brother Guardian really is and decided to take a leap of faith.”

“Get to the point,” Myron growls, and I’m inclined to second his words of impatience.

None of this matters unless he tells us the why. And we’re back at the beginning, at those weeks and weeks of asking questions no one gave me answers to, all of them bound by Vala’s curse.

“Only this night they could reach between realms for the god who’s hidden his answer to Vala’s curse in the human realms for centuries,” Herinor continues, a sheen of crimson now covering half of his lower lip and part of his upper lip. The horror on Kaira’s face is nothing compared to the guilt pooling in my stomach as I push for more information.

“What do you mean, his answer to Vala’s curse?” My breath catches in my throat even before Herinor speaks again.

“Shaelak made all the Crows. His creation. But he only ever sired two children, Ayna. One of them in Neredyn, and one of them in Eherea. He did it to ensure there would be descendants of his blood with powers strong enough to break his sister’s curse.” His gaze falls upon me like he’s already given all the answers and more, and a breath rattles out of him when Kaira turns away from him, stepping closer to Silas.

He lowers his head, not in defeat but bowing to his queen. “If I’m guessing right, you are a descendant of the God of Darkness, Ayna, his blood passed down through your father’s line. Every other generation there was a female child, not often enough to increase chances by much that they’d ever cross the Crow King’s path—or any Crow’s whatsoever, but it was his loophole to Vala’s curse. A key to unlock us all and buy us freedom.”

Silence falls over the temple, thicker than that in my head.

Shaelak’s descendant.

I wish he could lie so I could pass it all for a bad joke, for a deceit so he doesn’t need to speak the real reason, but Crows can’t lie, and the fresh blood trickling from the corner of his mouth is proof he’s breaking through an invisible gag-order.

“Did you know this before Ayna broke the curse?” Myron asks through gritted teeth, barely restrained rage flaring through the bond in a flash that makes me almost feel human again. But my claws remain on Myron’s shoulder, my feathered form light and small.

“I didn’t. I don’t truly know. It’s all guesses and deductions. But what Ephegos told me in Meer long after Erina forced that ring onto Ayna’s finger… Combined with what happened today… It all makes sense now.”

The reminder of Erina’s decision to make me his bride makes bile rise in my throat, and a shudder runs through Myron. That ring now lies discarded somewhere at the bottom of a stream where I cast it after my escape.

“Whether it was facts or guesses, you should have told us,” prompts Royad, sword still in hand and ready to strike should Myron give the order, but the Crow King still has his own power wrapped tightly around the male’s neck.

“Ephegos forbade me under threat of the bargain to share it. And I didn’t think it held any relevance when you already had broken the curse. Even if I’m right and Shaelak’s blood flows in your veins, does it matter if the bargain broke because Vala willed it or because Shaelak’s descendant fell in love with the Crow King? You saved us either way.” He pauses for a deep breath, and the honesty of his words hits me. He truly didn’t mean any harm, didn’t even consider that it might have made a difference if I’d known.

“You naive, stupid, ignorant male,” Kaira hisses, and I could swear fire dances in her brown eyes, ready to spill into the world.

“Perhaps I deserve this,” he admits.

“Perhaps? You deserve all of it and more.”

Myron doesn’t object.

Herinor’s chest heaves as he waits for us to push for more, to rage at him or damn him, but Silas and Royad stand dumbstruck while Myron merely stares at the male who so desperately wishes to be part of this court yet can’t free himself of all the constraints making him a liability, who’s made things far too easy for himself, and judging by his expression, he knows it.

“Since you’re so great at guessing, what did they want from Shaelak?” Kaira’s voice is soft but edged with a sharpness that makes my feathers stand up on the back of my neck. “And don’t even try to talk your way around it.” I don’t care if you bleed to death, is what she doesn’t need to say because it’s bluntly on her face—the anger, the betrayal. Herinor flinches as the Flame takes another step closer to Silas as if the male granted protection from the pain of his deceit.

“I suppose to offer him a bargain he mentioned a long time ago, before Ayna broke the curse. A bargain I’d forgotten about since I no longer saw the relevance of it with the curse broken: His protection of Shaelak’s bloodline in exchange for Myron’s death.”

My blood freezes—literally freezes—in my veins, and for a few, shallow breaths, I can’t think.

“I didn’t understand it back then, believed he meant the Crows, and his idea was to become King of Crows after Myron’s death.” Helplessness slackens Herinor’s features. “I didn’t know he meant a literal bargain with the God of Darkness.”

“And you’ve carried this with you all this time and never thought to warn any of us?” Kaira whispers, close to tears as the first drop of Herinor’s blood hits the cracked stones beneath his feet.

I don’t dare breathe as Myron’s power releases Herinor’s throat, not because he’s done with the male but because his strength fails him for a heartbeat, the ripple of withdrawing magic running through him like a violent shiver, almost dislodging me from his shoulder, but his hand snaps to my claws, securing them in place.

Nothing is going to separate us, not even the God of Darkness. The maker of Crows. His message is loud and clear even when he doesn’t turn his gaze from Herinor.

“I told you, I didn’t understand it for what it was back then: the idea of a real bargain with a real god. One we can only summon on Sauin, once a year. Silas knows it. He’s familiar with the traditions of the ancient Crows.” His eyes dart to Silas, who confirms with a curt nod, not at all happy about it as Herinor continues, “This is the first Sauin since he mentioned it, and had I known he meant what he said, I would have alerted you.” Licking the blood from his lips, Herinor sucks in a slow, controlled breath, holding Myron’s gaze, remorse lining his eyes. “I didn’t know he meant Ayna. I didn’t know this bargain was even a real possibility. That Ayna truly is Shealak’s descendant. But—” His gaze falls upon the altar, the missing relief of the god. “It makes sense now. It makes so much fucking sense.” A desperate chuckle tears his voice.

Excuses, explanations that don’t change anything.

Kaira shakes her head. “You should have told us anyway.”

Because I wanted to live, his eyes seem to say, and I almost feel pity for him as Silas steps up to him, punching him in the face so hard his jaw cracks.

“Even if these are all wild guesses and we have no shred of proof other than Ephegos’s blood on the altar, you’re still a piece of shit and deserve what you signed up for by making that bargain with him. You two deserve each other.”

Herinor doesn’t fight back.

Twenty-Four

Ayna

There’s no warning before Myron’s fist connects with Herinor’s face, splitting his lip wide open, and I almost tumble from his shoulder. Myron shakes out his bloodied fingers then observes the skin on his knuckles cut from the force of the impact. Slowly, deadly, he prowls around the male in a tight circle, debating what to do with him. Kill him on the spot or let him live so he’ll suffer an end delivered by the ancient magic of bargains. I don’t need to be able to see into Myron’s head to know that’s what’s on his mind because, when he eventually stops, surveying Herinor’s hung head, the hunched shoulders, the utter defeat, he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Take him to the dungeon.”

Herinor’s pleading eyes snap up to Myron’s first and, when he doesn’t find a hint of mercy there, to mine, but Royad and Silas are already on the move. He doesn’t put up a fight as they drag him from the temple, a trail of dripping blood tracing the path through the debris of the doors Myron splintered at our last visit.

“If I ever consider defending him again, slap me. Hard,” Kaira says into the thick silence left behind, and I remember Myron and I aren’t the only ones affected by Herinor’s selective silence. Kaira opened her heart for Herinor, and even if she hasn’t told him what’s blooming in those fiery chambers of her chest, I have heard her thoughts, have observed her gazes, have noted the longing in her eyes when she studied the male from the distance.

“Promise,” Myron says before I can stop him, and I can almost see the ancient magic of Crow promises weave through my mate.

“I promise I won’t,” I tell her because Herinor’s choices are not her fault, and even when he might have saved hundreds of fairies by telling us what he knew, I can’t blame him for dismissing Ephegos’s words and hints for delusions. Even knowing about my heritage wouldn’t have changed anything; he is right about that.

“He’s not,” Kaira responds to my thoughts, and when Myron turns his inquisitive eyes on her, she explains, “Herinor had no right to keep such information from us. He had no right to decide what is relevant and what isn’t. Especially when it comes to Ayna’s heritage.”

Myron’s slow nod unnerves me enough to flutter from his shoulder to the edge of the altar where I perch on a blood-free spot.

“He deserves worse than the dungeon,” he says like in an afterthought, his eyes trailing me to the stone Ephegos must have used to summon the God of Darkness.

Herinor betrayed us, perhaps not in the way Ephegos did, but he held back information—again. Unwittingly, perhaps, but at this point, none of us know any longer what we can rely on when it comes to what leaves this male’s mouth.

I should be more upset, should wish to knock Herinor’s teeth out myself, but I can’t find it in me, that rage. “It’s not the first time I learned I’m not who I thought I was,” I remind them, “and this time is far less distressing than when Erina told me about my father’s royal blood. This time, at least I was surrounded by family instead of enemies.”

Pursing her lips, Kaira joins me by the altar, bracing a careful hand against the carved rock as she scans the empty wall behind it. “And Herinor might still be wrong about all of it,” she puts into consideration.

Myron circles the altar, coming to a halt in front of the smooth spot where Shaelak’s carving should have been. “Much as I hate Herinor right now, he is right about one thing.” Both our heads jerk toward him. “Ephegos could have said any of it to prompt false theories and sow insecurities. Herinor was right to dismiss it as irrelevant—at least the part about the breaking of the curse.”

“If only we could ask Shaelak what is true and what isn’t⁠—”

Thunder rolls through the temple, shaking it at its foundations so thoroughly I slide off the side of the altar, claws failing to find purchase on the smooth edge of the stone.

“You asked for the truth?” Shaelak’s deep voice rumbles through the dim space before he appears, double the height of even Myron, a form half human, half crow laced with inky smoke. Star-bright eyes gleam in his face, features barely distinguishable with the wafting blackness surrounding him. “Hello again, Ayna.”

From the corner of my eye, I can make out Myron and Kaira coming to my sides, both assuming defensive stances while I flutter back to the edge of the altar if only so I feel less dwarfed by the deity who could have shown up a few moments ago but decided to let us deal with Herinor on our own before deigning to join us with the truth. If he’s going to supply it—one can never know with those gods.

“What do you want?” I say by way of greeting, no longer ready to cower. If Herinor was right and I am Shaelak’s descendant, there is no need to fear him. And if he was wrong… Well, if he was wrong, it wouldn’t be the first time I get my ass handed to me by a god, and what worse than keeping me stuck in bird form can he do to me?

Beside me, Kaira is shaking even as she lowers the dagger in her hand that would be as useless as a toothpick against a deity. Myron’s magic sizzles at his fingertips, a dance of silver and black. He’s ready to defy his maker if it means I get to live—but something tells me Shaelak hasn’t come to smite me, so I caw a warning at Myron, who grits his teeth but holds his power in.

“Such bold, angry words, Ayna,” Shaelak reprimands. “I thought you’d be happy to finally know your destiny.”

“My destiny…” I repeat, realization slowly trickling in.

“Hate the messenger all you want; Herinor isn’t the one who set you on this path.” The ground trembles as Shaelak takes a casual step closer, coils of black smoke floating onto the altar, so close that I retreat a step, almost slipping off the stone again.

I can feel Myron hold his breath, hold back words he wants to hurl at the god, but I fill the silence before he can draw attention.

“I set you on this path long ago, my child.” His words clang through me like rocks into water. “I sired your ancestor, a lovely female who fell in love with a human man when she was old enough. She had a son, and that son had another son. For centuries, there were only male descendants, the line of my magic diluted by human blood bred in for generations, until there was no sign of those pointed ears or magic left.”

I can’t think, can’t breathe as he reaches for the side of his face, running a finger of smoke and starlight over his pointed ear. An ear like Myron’s. A fae ear.

“You were the first female born to my line in Eherea. My first chance to break my sister’s curse on my own creation. A child of both royal and godly blood through your father’s line. The first female Crow born since the curse.” He pauses, scanning me with those eyes of sparkling light, and something like approval flickers in the brightness. “A child of loss through your father’s treason, of hardship through your mother’s choices, a child estranged from her own culture through the years aboard a pirate ship I steered across the waters. A child who fell in love with a human man when I needed her to fall in love with a Crow King.”

Beside me, Myron goes so still I can sense the tension rolling off him as he listens for the crack running through my chest. “Ludelle⁠—”

“Ludelle was a rope on your path to meet the Crow King. They all were, the pirates of the Wild Ray. Destined for slaughter when the time came to free you from all ties to the human lands.”

A raw sound hatches from my throat that could have been a sob—should have been. Lambs for slaughter, all of them. The phantom heat of tears burns behind my eyes, but this body doesn’t know how to cry. This body doesn’t know how to scream as Shaelak puts on a benevolent face as if he did all of this for me.

“It was I who guided the Jelnedyn King’s general on your trail so you’d end up in Fort Perenis where you’d be chosen as the hundredth bride.”

“Why?” I shouldn’t be interrupting a deity, but I’m beyond caring. My whole life—none of it has been my choice. None of it. It’s been all willed by a god with vengeance on his mind.

“Not vengeance, little Ayna,” Shaelak coos like he actually cares about me the way a father would a daughter. “To guide you into your destiny and to save my creation.” He pauses, smoke and feathers expanding as if in a deep breath. “My sister did her part by cursing the Crows, and I did mine in saving them. She, if anyone, should understand.”

“So that’s my destiny? To save the Crows?” I shout at him. My mind is so empty. So hollow. “Why don’t you just save them yourself, oh almighty God of Darkness? Why create a lowly human to do your dirty work?” The words are out, and both Kaira and Myron twitch as if ready to leap in front of me should Shaelak decide I crossed a line. But the god merely chuckles a deep, rumbling sound.

“To accept your bloodline. Only when you do that will you be able to save my creation from itself. And I couldn’t have saved them. It was the deal between my sister and me. I created the Crows, but I refused to destroy them when they fought and pilfered and raped their way across Neredyn. So she cursed them. I wasn’t allowed to interfere, but siring two bloodlines that might one day break the curse—I was allowed to do that before I moved on from the world of mortals the way all gods did. So I left behind a chance at freedom for my creation if they failed to break the curse themselves.”

My head is spinning, a pressure pushing on my chest, threatening to crush it.

“The Crows are an image of me, silver light and darkest night. Freedom of flight and the burden of its fall. Some chose the right path and some the wrong.” He lowers his head as if sharing a secret. “You will lead the lost ones back on the right track, Ayna.”

“Why don’t you do that if you’re so ready to make my sister a pawn in your games?” Kaira demands, and had I not already loved her, my heart would crack open wide for her at this very moment when her bravery and callousness give her courage to speak like that to a god she fears.

I wish I had my human form so I could throw a shield around her when Shaelak’s rage smites her. But the god merely laughs.

“I’ve been witnessing your strength and bravery, Kaira of the Flames.” A tendril of darkness reaches for her, and I leap, wings spread wide as the darkness slashes across the room.

It hits me right in the chest, piercing deep and digging deeper.

Myron curses, and Kaira screams, but all I see is darkness where I’m trapped between the god who holds my leash and his dark power, straining against the force of it.

“It is your task to protect the Queen of Crows, Kaira of the Flames, not the other way around. Fail again, and I’ll have your heart ripped from your chest.”

No. “Leave her alone,” I shout at the god. “She’s innocent in all of this. She was never meant to be part of your plan.”

“She’s your blood, so she shares your fate. Become immortal, Ayna. Accept who you are and what you need to do, and I’ll make her immortal, too. Her life is now bound to yours just as your mate’s. You die, they die. They fail to protect you, they die as a consequence of their own failure.”

I want to punch him, to throw my power at him, the very one his blood gifted me, but this bird form won’t allow for it.

“Accept your destiny, Ayna, before Ephegos returns to fulfill the bargain he made with me.”

“What bargain?” It’s the first time Myron addresses the god, voice low, calm, deadly. I can sense him nearby, outside the ball of darkness I’m trapped in. The pressure on my chest keeps building, but I don’t whimper, don’t complain for fear Kaira or Myron will act rashly and earn the wrath of the deity who could choose to end us all.

Shaelak’s chuckle runs through me like a gushing river of darkness. “He asked me to kill you if he promised to protect Ayna’s life. I offered him a different bargain in exchange.”

I dread what that bargain is, why he’d offer it to begin with, but his voice sounds in my head. “I told him that I won’t kill for him, but if he managed to kill you, Myron of Winghaven, I’ll give him something better.”

I hold my breath as I wait for him to continue, star-bright eyes cutting from Myron to me.

“I’ll make Ayna his mate.” Which would make him King of Crows; he doesn’t need to add that.

“No!” Myron’s roar of defiance shakes the temple walls, and I have the vague sense of him leaping at the god.

I need to do something, need to break free from the cocoon of darkness Shaelak has trapped me in—for my own protection or for his entertainment, I can’t tell. Silver power flashes, cracking through the walls locking me in, and that pressure… That pressure on my chest makes my heart slow even as it wants to race for its life—for Myron’s life.

From behind me, Kaira shouts a warning at Myron. A crack tears the air, darkness splintering around me, and I catch sight of Myron sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from his temple where it hit the edge of the altar.

I need to get to him, but remaining tendrils of darkness hold me in place. I’m too weak in this form, too fucking helpless, not even my deadly claws making a difference as I slash at the bindings Shaelak bestowed upon me.

Inky black pours from the god as he bends over Myron’s form, probing with spindly fingers for where he’s easiest to break. Lightning cracks through the deity as he readies to unleash it on my mate.

No!

“No!” My voice breaks free from my throat like a shackled beast, tearing through the temple in a hoarse scream. The pressure on my chest lightens, and the bindings loosen around my body, no longer fitting my growing limbs, my long legs, my arms. I don’t hold a weapon in my hand, and my naked skin has none stored, so I’ll have to be the weapon. With the ire of the blood Shaelak has spilled from my mate, I reach deep down into the depths of myself, pulling up what power I can—and find a pool so vast I can’t see the bottom of it.

Without a second thought, I hurl it all at him, watching the explosion of silver light as it tears down the walls of the temple, ceiling crumbling into dust over our heads as I pulverize it with half a thought.

Only when the light fades and the dust settles, leaving a view of the fairy city beyond, and I’m sure Shaelak is well and truly gone, do I dare take a breath.

Twenty-Five

Myron

Bright light takes my sight as I struggle to rise to my feet where Shaelak knocked me on my ass. My skull is near bursting from the blood-seeping bump on the side of my head, and my legs threaten to buckle as I pull myself up against the altar with my free hand, summoning both my silver power and that godsforsaken darkness to my other hand, ready to wield them at the god who created me only to destroy me.

“Myron.” Her thin voice weaves through the chill air settling over me as I stare at the spot where Shaelak stood a moment ago, but there is no deity. Not even a wall where that relief of him once graced the stone.

I whirl toward the voice, stabilizing myself against the altar that seems to be the only piece of this temple still intact.

It’s not Kaira’s slumped form at the foot of the altar where she must have fallen when Ayna’s power blasted everything to rubble, slow breaths indicating she’s unconscious but all right; my gaze snags on the snow-pale skin peeking from between rocks and dust where Ayna is kneeling in her human form—her human form. My vision blurs, tears burning in my eyes at the sight of my mate no longer trapped in her bird body.

“Ayna—”

“Myron,” she repeats, her voice brittle from disuse, and unsure, like she can’t believe she’s actually speaking my name aloud, like she wonders if I’ll hear her across the short distance separating us. But I hear her. Even through the roaring pain in my head, I hear her. And I see her. Skin aglow like the light of a thousand stars has been trapped there.

Staggering across the room, I fall to my knees at her side, not feeling the rocks digging into my kneecaps as I behold the glimmering stars in her eyes.

“How—” I shake my head. It doesn’t matter how she turned back into her human form as long as she did.

Ayna’s ash blonde waves glowing near-silver spill over her shoulders down to her waist, covering her breasts. Swaying, she sits back on her heels like her strength is leaving her, and I reach for her on instinct, catching her before she tilts to the side and nearly topples over, instead gathering her in my arms. With one hand, I fumble my cloak from my shoulders and wrap it around her, a weak protection against the icy cold slowly eating away the warm air once trapped within the now-crumbled temple walls.

Ayna stares up at me like she wants to say something but can’t find her voice—is no longer used to having a voice, and with Kaira down, her mind link has dropped as well.

“I’m here,” I breathe, anxious to break the silence, and Ayna nods, starlight spilling from between the folds of the fabric covering her. Raw emotion floods me as her lids flutter like a pair of delicate wings and she rests her head against my chest. My mate. Human. Yet not, I realize when I brush a strand of hair from her cheek and reveal her ear. I need to blink away the tears before taking a second look at the elegantly pointed tip.

Fae. This is a fae ear, its point less sharp than that of an Askarean fairy. A Crow ear.

My chest heaves at the sob threatening to break from my throat as I grasp that Shaelak made true on his words. Immortal. My mate is immortal. A true Crow⁠—

And Shaelak’s descendant.

No. I can’t think about that right now. Won’t allow myself to think about any of it until I am ready to believe this isn’t a dream I’ll wake from to the bleak reality of Ayna still trapped, still distant with all the restrictions coming with being contained in the small form of a bird.

Like feathers, Ayna’s fingers graze my cheek, my neck, eyes remaining closed like from exhaustion.

“Where’s Kaira?” her voice is stronger, but her lids don’t open as I say her sister is mere feet away.

“Can you hear the beating of her heart?” I ask, the pain in my head forgotten even when I have trouble focusing my vision longer than a few moments. Listening to the steady thuds of Kaira’s heart, I wait for Ayna to indicate she hears it too.

Ayna nods, cheek sliding along my leathers, and I feel it like she’d be touching my bare skin. Pulling her more securely onto my lap, I slide the few feet separating us from Kaira on my knees.

“Kaira,” I call her name, not yet ready to let go of this solitary moment with my mate, but not ready for the guilt of not checking up on my sister-in-law when she’s not coming around on her own.

A groan is all the response I get, but it’s enough to make Ayna’s eyes blink open and her body to twist toward the sound.

“Kaira,” she croaks, and this time, the Flame rolls over, nearly plopping off the single stair at the foot of the altar, and grimaces at Ayna, eyes going wide as she takes in not the human face—the fae face—but the starlight radiating from Ayna’s outreached arm. “Are you all right?”

Kaira rolls to her knees, studying her sister for a heartbeat, a ghost of a grin on her features. “I knew you’d come around, Ayna,” she coughs, scrambling to get to her feet. But the momentary relief fades as the Flame takes in the destruction surrounding us, the dark houses behind where the walls once shielded this sacred place. “We need to get her back to the palace before we draw attention.”

She’s on her feet, swaying and rubbing her elbow, but with her other hand, she’s already wedging free her dagger from where it’s stuck between two pieces of fallen wall a few feet away.

A godsdamned miracle. It’s a godsdamned miracle we weren’t crushed by the tumbling stone, most of it having pulverized at the impact of Ayna’s power, but there is time to say a prayer later. Kaira is right. This district might now be a district of ghosts, but we can’t risk anyone spotting star-torch Ayna. Whether Ephegos knew she was stuck in her bird form or not, him knowing she has turned full-Crow, ears and all, is a risk I’m not ready to take. Who knows what he’ll do with it, considering what he did today.

White-hot anger boils in my throat, but I swallow it down, pulling the hood of my cloak onto Ayna’s head with a gentle hand, and slowly push to my feet.

My legs remain steady, the shrieking pain in my head reduced to a dull pounding, a small blessing. Ayna doesn’t object when I keep her hefted in my arm, her eyelids already drooping again and her breathing easing into the rhythm of slumber.

When I turn toward what was once the door and find a heap of rocks blocking my path, Kaira waves me in the other direction, behind the altar where I’d prayed to the God of Darkness to give me back my mate, and I wonder if I should be grateful or hateful for how he chose to return her to me—and his threat of handing her to my enemy.

Twenty-Six

Ayna

“You couldn’t have kept the Queen of Askarea’s armor on while shifting back, could you?” Myron huffs, his teeth a slash of white as I open my eyes to gray morning light.

He’s lying on his side, head propped on a silk-covered pillow, peering down at me like he can’t believe I’m truly here and is afraid I might disappear if he as much as blinks. The familiar scent of the room tells me where I am without taking my gaze off him, but I force myself to roll my head to the side, force my hands and feet to move under the covers. Hands and feet.

My human body is heavy compared to my bird one, but I savor the weight—every last inch of it where my back and hips dig into the soft mattress beneath me.

“I shifted back.” I still marvel at the fact that I have a voice, even this weak, dry thing barely leaving my throat.

Myron reaches behind him for a glass of water he must have prepared on the nightstand and sits up to help me lift my head, leading the water to my mouth.

I let him—not because I need the help but because I luxuriate in the feel of his calloused fingers scraping against the sensitive skin of my neck, the tips sliding against my scalp. Greedily, I gulp the water down, the clear, fresh taste of it so new that I wonder if this is a special type of water or if my human senses are so much sharper than the bird ones.

When I’m done, Myron merely puts the glass back on the nightstand, but his other hand remains behind my neck, even when he rests it back on the pillow. His eyes linger on me, two diamonds set in his handsome face, but the wariness of his expression is enough to clench my stomach.

“Are you all right?” His scent is the same as I remember, but so much more detail, more depth calls to me in hues of forest and the sea. I can taste the wind on my tongue, the wildness and power surrounding him even when he stoically lies beside me.

Instead of responding, I inhale deeply, closing my eyes as I let his scent settle within me, savoring the familiarity yet novelty of all the facets I’ve never noticed before. Beckoned by the calling of that scent, I carefully pull up my legs, rolling to the side. Silk slides against the length of my legs, a touch so smooth and gentle I nearly moan. For weeks, I haven’t felt anything against my skin other than heat and cold and the sensation of the wind on my feathers, and this... This simple sensation is enough to send tears to my eyes.

“What’s wrong, little crow?” Myron’s forehead creases as I lean my cheek into his palm, savoring the brush of his skin against mine.

“I’m human again.” The word coils from my tongue like a lie, leaving a bitter aftertaste.

Myron barely shakes his head. “Not human, Ayna. No longer.”

To accept your bloodline. Only when you do that will you be able to save my creation from itself. Shaelak’s words echo in my mind.

In a phantom touch, his power slides against my face, tracing my cheek, my nose, then my ear. I arch into the touch at the unfamiliar sensitivity of my ear, and my hand darts to my face, tracing the warm lines Myron’s power leaves on my skin.

I let out a shriek as I notice the pointed arch at the top of my ear, and when I leap out of bed, adrenaline flooding my veins, and realize I’m wholly naked, I don’t bring myself to care. I don’t stop until I reach the bathing room and the gold-framed, square mirror above the sink.

Blowing out a breath, I brace my hands on the edge of the basin.

Two points peek through my near-white hair. It takes me a heartbeat to notice my hair isn’t the only thing that has changed. Ignoring the unfamiliar color, I brush my tresses back, exposing my unmistakable fae ears.

Before I can panic, Myron comes up behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders in what should have been a calming gesture, but I stumble back, colliding with his hard chest. The buttons of his black shirt dig into my spine where I press against him like I could disappear into the darkness leaking from his fingertips, his magic clearly responding to my fear.

My eyes dart up and down my reflection, my skin so pale, paler than I remember even after the months at Fort Perenis; my torso and arms are slightly longer, slimmer, the chain tattoo around my wrist gone as is the stiffness of my old injury. I flex my right hand a few times, watching my fingers close and extend. Not a single grain of pain. Not even the slightest sense of discomfort where I once winced at every movement. Dropping my hand, I assess the dip of my waist and sweep of my hips. I can’t see any lower in the mirror, but I assume my legs are longer, too, because Myron doesn’t tower over me the way he used to. His chin is just above my head, his eyes following mine along my body.

Not one scar shines on this new, immortal skin, not one hint of ink, as if I was born anew, taken from the flesh of human and bird and made into this form humming with life, with power. I’m not sure whether I want to bemoan the loss of all the marks my human life left on me, proof of the hardship I’ve endured, the battles I’ve won. Then, the most important mark has been gone for weeks—the bird mid-flight that was once inked on my shoulder. My mate mark.

“You’re beautiful,” Myron whispers, noticing the flawless skin where the chain tattoo once identified me as an inmate of Fort Perenis. The little scars scattered along my forearms and hands—gone.

I still look like myself, kind of, but those ears, the hair, my new height…

“I’m fae,” I mutter. And this time, the bitter aftertaste of the lie doesn’t coat my tongue.

“Crow Fae,” Myron adds, and where shock is defining my own face, Myron’s eyes gleam with near reverence as he trails the length of my arm, brushing the waves of white blonde falling over my shoulders, rubbing a strand of hair between his fingers, tangible proof of my change. But his gaze meets mine in the mirror, boring straight into my soul. “Immortal, Ayna. You’re immortal.” Just like him, like all the Crows. And Kaira⁠—

The creature of shadows and feathers, starlight and power hovering over me in the temple flashes in my mind, his threat to destroy Kaira if she fails to protect me. His threat to give me to Ephegos as the traitor’s mate if he manages to kill Myron. Myron’s attack, the power building in my veins an unmanageable force burning through the shell encasing me, my form blasting through feathers and claws, through wings and beak as I shifted back into my human form… No. Not my human form. I didn’t shift. I turned. Into something entirely different.

Where before I merely held the senses of a Crow—or a fraction of it, I realize as I marvel at the colors of the light breaking along the edges of the mirror—I have now turned into a Crow completely. A Crow with Shaelak’s blood in her veins.

“What do you remember?” Myron’s face is unreadable as he takes a casual step back, depriving me of his warmth, the sensation of his shirt sliding against my skin as he pulls away leaving a tingle across my back.

I don’t need to think. Everything is bright and prominent in my mind. Every word Shaelak spoke.

“All of it.”

Myron studies me with guarded eyes. “Would you like to talk about it?” Careful. He’s so careful I wonder if he believes I’m made of glass. The soft glow coming to life beneath my skin surely suggests I’m something other, so very different from even the Crows and fairies I’ve encountered.

A god’s descendant.

That blast of radiating light at the temple sure proves my power has vastly changed, no longer a droplet of silver, no longer contained in a weak, mortal body. Strength hums through my limbs despite the oddness of this new form—not wrongness because I chose this. I chose immortality the way Shaelak demanded. In that moment, when the God of Darkness directed his power at my mate, I chose it, if only to destroy him.

“Is he gone?” I whisper, the light fading from my skin once more, like a beast closing its eyes.

Myron understands without explanation. “I don’t know,” he admits, watching me brace my hands on the edge of the sink once more, my hair flowing over my shoulders to cover almost the entirety of my torso. I don’t even wonder about my nakedness; it merely gives me a chance to quickly assess what I’ve become. Fae. A real Crow. And the God of Darkness’s power is now plowing through my body, ready to be used at a whim. I can’t think it often enough. Maybe, at some point, it will feel real. Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to look in the mirror and come to terms with what I’ve gained.

“Tori and Royad went back to the temple to check for any signs of his return, but he seems to be gone. Not that there’s a carving that could confirm he’s back where he was before.” Myron’s mouth quirks as he forces humor into his voice, but I see it for what it is. See the worry buried beneath the facade he’s fighting to keep in place. For me. So I don’t lose it.

“I’m all right, Myron. I really am.” Meeting his gaze in the mirror for a heartbeat, I turn around, leaning against the sink.

A brief nod as his eyes flash up and down my bare body.

So quickly my human eyes would never have caught the motion, Myron reaches behind him and hands me one of his spare shirts from the stack on the chair next to the bathtub. The chair where he’d once knelt between my legs.

I swallow the lump in my throat, pulling the soft, black cotton over my head and letting it hide my form all the way to mid-thigh.

“Just like old times.” I gesture at my body, at where his gaze lingers on my legs where his shirt doesn’t reach.

A wry smile graces his mouth. “I remember you wearing my shirts at the palace in the Seeing Forest.”

“I remember you staring at me the same way.” That brings his gaze back to mine, not because I caught him studying my form the way he didn’t even do when I was naked but because of words unspoken. Words he must have been working up the courage to speak.

But his throat bobs above the unbuttoned collar of his black shirt as if he’s swallowing away his thoughts. I can’t help noticing the revealed sliver of skin, a hint of those muscles honed over centuries and centuries. Shoving his hands into the pockets in his leather pants, the same ones he wore to battle, but the dirt and blood have been cleared away, Myron leans against the door, keeping a few feet distance between us. “You slept a full day and night. Samuin is over. If the God of Darkness is still around, he can’t do much.”

The space between us makes my stomach fold into itself, unacceptable, yet I can’t bring myself to move from the white porcelain behind me even when my gaze doesn’t fail to follow the powerful lines of his body before landing back on those handsome features.

Not yet. I will allow myself to leap at him, but not before I know what we’re dealing with, if the danger is over, what happened to the others.

“He spoke to me before Samuin. Vala did, too,” I remind him of the countless times the two deities whispered to me their encouragement and their warnings, their demands and their displeasure. “How come they speak to me and no one else? How come they do so outside of that one night of the year? Herinor said it’s only Samuin when we can summon Shaelak, yet I summoned him before when I visited the temple.”

A long silence fills the room as Myron ponders my questions. From the flasks propped on the edge of the bathtub, the scent of lavender and orange coils into the air, and through the small windows high up in the room, the first rays of sun are pouring across the tiles covering the walls and floor.

“It should have been a hint that you’re different.” Myron stops himself as if reconsidering his answer. “Vala spoke to you as my Crow bride; you’re not related to her. I’ve heard of brides hearing her before during my father’s days, even when nothing ever came of it. But Shaelak… It must be because you descend from his child. His blood flows through your veins—if gods even have blood.”

I chuckle at the thought of crimson liquid pulsing through the body of that mighty creature of darkness, feathers, and stars, but the amusement is short-lived.

“I tried to summon him to beg him to shift you back,” Myron admits without apology.

“I know.” I’ve known since I found his blood on the altar in the temple.

“He never answered me because it wasn’t Samuin, but I couldn’t wait, not that long, without at least trying.”

“He responded to Ephegos,” I muse. “On Samuin, but he responded.” I’m not ready to discuss the bargain Ephegos proposed or Shaelak’s response to it, so I roll on. “Ephegos must have been in Aceleau that day. He knew when to come and where to find the temple. He knew that we were in Aceleau, that we had been for a while.”

Myron pulls his hands from his pockets, folding his arms over his chest, one of his sleeves sliding up a few inches, exposing part of his forearm, the cords of muscle flexing with each movement. “Crows are good at unweaving wards. He likely snuck a spy or two into the city. Perhaps he had Crows witness the battle against the Flames.” His brows crease as he finally sheds his unreadable expression, true worry crossing his features. “I wouldn’t put it past him to order them to stand down and watch an army being slaughtered just so he can gain information on our whereabouts and plans.”

I don’t want to imagine what else Ephegos is capable of, but somehow, I’m not surprised he’d do such a despicable thing. A deep sigh escapes my lungs. “We need to find a way to best him before he makes good on his bargain.” It doesn’t matter whether I’m ready to talk about it or not.

Pursing his lips, Myron studies me, eyes creeping along my features as if he can’t believe I’m truly here in this body, that my voice sounds on the air instead of in his mind through Kaira’s help. After a long, thick silence, he shakes his head. “Not a chance in Hel’s realm Ephegos will succeed.” Determination shines clear beyond the ocean depths of his irises.

I want to believe him, and it’s enough for now, for the determination turns to heat as the sun bathes the room in the pale pink-and-gold light of a new day, and a spool of power tugs on my chest that has nothing to do with my new body but with the promise I made. The promise I fulfilled by shifting into this body.

Twenty-Seven

Myron

It’s an echo at first, a light tug at the center of my chest that could have been the mating bond.

It isn’t, though. Too many times have I felt this very sensation throughout the endless years of my existence. Too often have I made promises and bargains and followed the call of them to whatever end. It’s the moment dawn yields to this tomorrow that all thoughts fall away from me, making space for only one tightly woven thread—that of my last promise to her before we went into battle against the Flames, before we ambushed them and she got stuck in her bird form.

Sunlight gilds the frame of the mirror behind Ayna, bouncing off her near-silver hair, her pale skin becoming luminescent once more as if in answer to the warm touch of a new day.

We survived. Damn Ephegos and Erina and the war. They all can wait for a little while longer. Ephegos made his bargain with Shaelak, the god has disappeared, and Recienne promised I’ll be the first he’ll let know if they find any spies in the now-even-more-heavily-patrolled city or at the palace. I can’t even think of Herinor, whom I’ve ordered locked in the dungeon but properly fed and taken care of. I have yet to decide what I’ll do with him in this mess of only partially his own making.

For now, Ayna is all I can see. So beautiful. Even more so than she was as a human. And I don’t mean her long legs sticking out from under the hem of my shirt hanging loosely on her frame, or the swell of her breasts where the collar cleaves open. It’s the spark of who she is that radiates like a newborn star.

Her lips part, sucking in a breath as the thread spills across the room, demanding I fulfill my promise. Because she has fulfilled hers.

The magic of promises and bargains writhes inside of me, demanding I stand by my word. Ayna’s fae body allows it to recognize this tomorrow as the tomorrow that counts.

I secure my arms more tightly over my chest, locking my body in place by the door, because I can’t push her. Not after everything she’s gone through. Not if she’s not ready.

Ayna tilts her head, her fae ears peeking through her hair, and for a moment, all I can do is marvel at my beautiful mate. When I dare meet her gaze, the predatory focus in her gray eyes tells me she feels it, too, the calling of the promise.

Slowly, she pushes away from the sink, bare feet padding across the room silently as only a true Crow can. Like pitch-black liquid, the fabric of my shirt moves along her body with every step, with every breath, and I’m not proud to admit the satisfaction it brings me, seeing her in my clothes.

I don’t dare as much as breathe as Ayna stops a foot from me, lifting her slender hand to my chest, placing it over my heart. “Ephegos can wait.”

A growl of agreement builds in my throat, but I swallow it down, opting for a simple nod. Through my shirt, her palm heats my skin like a ray of sun spilling from behind the window, and from the depths of my heart, another thread springs to life.

Ayna’s eyes widen. “The bond,” she whispers.

On instinct, my hand covers hers, holding it in place as, originating from the touch, the thin thread of our mating bond weaves through me.

At first, it’s a tingle seeping into my tissues, spreading like honey melting in the sun until warmth turns to heat and heat to searing fire. My breath hitches, but I don’t as much as blink as she holds my gaze, unflinching, unafraid. My mate.

“I love you.” She says it like something she only just remembered, but the blazing light radiating from beneath her palm tells the story of a love that can never be forgotten. A love so fierce it could melt steel and stone and the frozen rock my heart used to be.

I don’t shut my eyes against the brightness either, stunned by the force of the mating bond rushing through me, sliding against my skin, seeping into my flesh, my bones, until nothing exists outside this room, outside Ayna and me, the two of us a fated unit meant for eternity.

“Mine,” Ayna whispers, and I can’t help the groan reverberating through my chest at that single word. Proof she feels it, too, this earth-rocking moment confirming that this—that our bond—can’t be taken away. Not even by the gods who willed it.

“Mine,” I echo, my voice near guttural as I strain to keep that foot distance between our bodies, our hands against my chest the only point we touch. For long heartbeats, I wait. Wait for Ayna to close the gap. She doesn’t move, but those gray eyes bore into mine, unearthing the pain of the past weeks, the fear of never being able to hold her again, and I break, my voice hoarse as I speak what’s been tormenting me from the moment the first shock of her shifting ebbed.

“Never again,” I say, securing her hand more tightly to my chest. Never again will we be separated by anything or anyone. Never again will I fail you. Never again will anyone attempt to break our bond and keep you from me. I don’t say all those thoughts because I read them in Ayna’s eyes the same way she reads them in mine.

In a whisper of wind, my power strokes my mate’s cheek, brushing away the single tear falling from her lashes, but her gaze is no longer full of sorrow. Determination has taken over her face in a silent promise. Never again.

And when she leans closer, her palm pushing me against the unyielding oak door at my back, what I had left of my restraint snaps, and I pull her against me with a yank of my magic. Ayna’s soft gasp tickles the exposed skin at my neck, sending a shiver of pleasure straight to my core.

Before I can wonder if it’s too soon, if she feels too foreign in this new body, or if the trauma of being trapped in her bird form is too heavy a weight, she kisses the sliver of bare skin where my shirt cleaves open at my collar bone. A soft, tentative kiss.

I hold so still my tendons might snap my bones, but I don’t dare move an inch for fear she’ll pull away again, or turn into smoke and feathers and all of this will have been a dream.

“I promised you a tomorrow.” Her words are a murmur against the hollow beneath my throat, and the shiver turns into full-on blazing heat at what her words imply. Sliding her other hand around my neck, she tilts back her head so she can look into my eyes.

My heart starts pounding at the way Ayna’s lips curve into a wicked smile as she reads from my eyes what I’m ready to deliver.

“It’s time for you to honor your own promise.”

And I pounce.

Twenty-Eight

Ayna

Myron doesn’t give me the opportunity to stumble back as he pushes away from the door, the hard lines of his body pressing against my curves, his arm sweeping around my waist as he spins us around so my back is against the carved wood.

“I’m ready to honor any promise I ever made to you,” he growls an inch from my face, so close his features blur, the scent of him remaining an anchor as the rest of my senses strain to feel-feel-feel.

The powerful beats of his heart sound through me, urging my own heart into a frenzy, and as he skates his lips against mine in a kiss that I know he wants to be a question but brims with primal need, I let go of anything human still left in me.

I delve my hands into his hair, savoring the texture running between my fingers like liquid silk. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I’d live to see this moment, to breathe each other in.

Myron’s answering groan as I lick along the seam of his lower lip makes my bare toes curl on the smooth tiles, his hand tightening at my waist while the other grasps my thigh as he grinds into me right where I need it. My shirt slides up as I lift my knee to give him better access, and he adjusts his hand on my thigh, his calluses scraping along my skin so deliciously I moan into his mouth as he opens for me, devouring the sound. His tongue slides against mine in a dance as old as time, instinct guiding me in a clash of teeth and tongues.

Within a heartbeat, my hands are on his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, but my new fae body doesn’t do well with patience, so I end up ripping the fabric off him, hands exploring his body anew, tracing the muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his back, all the way to the waistband of his pants. They linger there, sliding to the front, to the hard proof of his desire straining against the leather.

Myron beats me to undoing the laces of his pants before I can tear those off as well, and when his cock springs free, I marvel at the velvet feel of the hard steel between my palms. He goes still as if waiting to see what I’ll do, but his patience seems to spread as thin as mine, so all it takes is a nip at his bottom lip, and he lifts me by the backside, fingers digging into my flesh with delicious strength. I hold onto his shoulder with one hand, the other one guiding him to my entrance while his mouth roves my neck, licking down my chest where my shirt hangs open to the middle of my sternum. Through the fabric, he sucks at my nipples, teeth scraping slightly until my throaty, needy moan escapes into the sunlit room. My head is against the door, back arching to give him better access. But I need him inside of me more than anything else. I need that relentless abandon, the luxurious heat of him filling me. I need any space between us gone, and I need it now.

As if he hears my silent plea, Myron thrusts into me, a hard and thorough stroke drawing a scream from me. I don’t recognize my voice, don’t remember I own a voice, because it doesn’t matter. Right here, right now, nothing matters but Myron’s body moving against mine, the strength of him enveloping me as I meet each of his thrusts with a roll of my hips. The violent, tossing sea of emotions gushes through my chest as the mating bond spreads and spreads until there is no place within me that doesn’t belong to him.

A fulfillment of a promise, but also a claiming. His mouth is back on mine, moving with demand and affirmation as pleasure builds and builds in my core.

I don’t have words, don’t need words as long as this doesn’t end. As long as he keeps driving into me, wild and breathless. An unleashing for both of us.

All those weeks since Erina tried to un-mate us, all those weeks of being trapped in my bird form—I let them go as Myron increases the pace and my mind goes blank from a spike of pleasure. I might have moaned, might have screamed his name as I climax, Myron following a heartbeat later, but we’re not done. In no way are we done.

Myron gently sets me down, his mouth never leaving mine as his fingers trail my sides, the curve of my hips, along my back where I braced myself against the wood as if searching for injuries.

That costs me a chuckle. “I’m a real Crow now,” I simply say as I run my hand over his arm, guiding his own to meet it, lacing our fingers when his palm slides against mine. “I’m no longer that breakable.”

It’s not entirely a lie but not a truth either. My legs are wobbly from the force of my release, and I can feel the tingle of my healing skin where my spine rubbed against the door. But my bones, my muscles, my very essence is that of an immortal Crow now, and if anyone can break me, it surely isn’t the male who would wreck himself for me. Over and over again.

Myron’s breath heats my neck as he sweeps my hair aside, turning with me as I guide him away from the door to the chair beckoning in the corner of the room. The emerald velvet cushion is still where it last was when he sat me down and pinned me against the high backrest carved from dark wood.

Myron’s grin turns wicked as he takes in the chair, and he makes to gently shove me into it when I twirl so fast even I am surprised, pushing him into the seat instead and landing on his lap with my legs astride but catching myself with one hand against the backrest.

“A real Crow indeed,” he purrs, lifting his hands to my shirt and tearing it clean down the middle so it exposes all of my chest, my stomach, lower where my spread legs graze the outside of his knees. He spreads them wider, drinking in the sight of me as I brace one knee beside his hip, then the other.

Slowly—so painfully slowly, he drags a finger across my abdomen, up my chest, between my breasts, along my collarbone, up the side of my throat, along my jaw, gaze following where he touches until he ends at my mouth. For a split second, his eyes find mine, his finger gliding along my bottom lip. My core turns liquid all over again at his silent request, and my mouth falls open, allowing him entrance. I moan as he slides in, the pad of his finger both rough and gentle along my tongue, and it’s his turn to moan as I close my mouth around his finger, taking him deeper, then slowly pulling back until his fingertip rests on my bottom lip once more, tugging it down. His finger isn’t enough.

I’m about to tell him when he grabs my hips, pushing down until he’s poised at my entrance, and not even the best of intentions can keep me from lowering myself onto him, luxuriating in his growl of approval as he sinks into me.

My mate. I don’t wait for him to start moving but pull back up before plunging down again so hard I take him in to the hilt. Myron swears, eyes shuttering and closing as he rests his head against the carved wood.

“You’re fucking perfect, Ayna,” he murmurs, fingers tightening on my hips. The muscles in his abdomen quiver with every time I slide up his shaft and drop back down again, and I can’t help the smile spreading on my lips as I trace my fingers over his chest, and a deep, hungry breath heaves beneath my palm. But it’s not there that my eyes catch on.

It’s the palm-sized cluster of glowing lines appearing on Myron’s skin, right above his heart where my own hand was lingering before, when we were both still dressed and our breaths even, our hearts beating as one, not the frenzied hummingbirds they are now.

Like starlight beneath his skin, the lines weave together, alive with each motion, becoming symbols and formations I have never seen in my life.

I want to pause to take a closer look, but I can’t get enough of the way our bodies fit together, the way each stroke brings me closer to the bliss that’s our joined release, so I keep moving, thighs shaking, not from the effort of lifting myself after each deep plunge but because of the pleasure coiling in my belly, the tightness of my core where Myron fills me so perfectly I can barely remember my own name.

“Myron—” His name is barely a breath falling off my tongue as I place my palm over his heart, covering the mark that could mean our demise or our salvation, something I can’t worry about now when I ride him into oblivion.

A few hard thrusts meet my hips, and I splinter, genuinely falling apart at the seams as Myron climaxes with me, his roar filling my entire being like an awakening call. I don’t know how long I tremble around him, don’t care. All I need is right here with me, and I never want to let go of this complete satisfaction.

“Mind, body, and soul,” Myron whispers as I slump against his chest, palm still covering the spot above his heart, and I kiss the side of his neck as he cradles my head with his hand, the other wrapping around my shoulders as we catch our breath.

Only when the sun reaches its highest point do we finally pull apart, my fingers tracing the glowing lines on his chest, and Myron notices them too. I lean away to get a better look at the mark when Myron catches my right hand and turns it over to reveal a matching one on the inside of my palm. And as Myron guides it to his face, brushing a featherlight kiss along the pale, shimmering lines, I feel his love pouring into me through our mating bond, strengthened with this new body, and and just as immortal.

Twenty-Nine

Herinor

“Are you ready to tell us more?” Royad says with that stony expression I’ve rarely seen on him, the one that makes me want to scream if something is wrong with his usually good-natured self that can’t be solved with a mug of ale and a pair of tits. But this isn’t about one friend making another friend feel better. This is me being a complete ass by casting aside the importance of Ephegos’s words and forgetting all about them.

“I didn’t keep anything from you purposely,” I repeat the same words I’ve been telling them for two days.

“Recienne said we can keep you locked in here forever.” The scar running from his brow to the corner of his mouth tugs the grin he flashes me into a grimace; his brown waves are bound at the nape of his neck, too tidy for a Crow.

Two days. It’s already been two days since they brought me to this joke of a dungeon.

“If you lock people up, at least do it in a place that doesn’t feel like the next best living room.” It’s meant to be a joke, but there is a kernel of truth in it. The space isn’t any less hospitable than the chambers we had at the palace in the Seeing Forest and is definitely much better than some of the places we called our home over the centuries of finding a new place to stay. Before Carius the Cruel occupied Flame territory and killed most of their people. A growl rumbles in my chest that has nothing to do with my being chained by one ankle—a symbolic restraint when everyone knows I could easily break free—just not from the magically reinforced cell made of smooth stone with a simple bed in one corner. It even has a pillow and a heap of blankets against the chill air streaming in from the high-up window barred with thick iron.

“Recienne offered the lower levels, but Myron decided this is good enough until he decides what to do with you.”

“Where is he?” He didn’t come down to see me after he ordered me locked up. “Anything special happen up there?”

The flash in Royad’s eyes tells me something did indeed happen that has nothing to do with me and my unintentional betrayal. At least, the bargain with Ephegos won’t kill me and everyone around me for it.

“Is it Myron?” I try to read his face, but it turns back to stone. “Ayna?” My chest aches at the thought of anything happening to my king and queen, or worse… “Kaira?” I don’t even try to keep the panic from my voice as I inquire about the only Flame in this world I care for.

She hasn’t come to visit, and that look of disappointment in her eyes when she realized what secrets I’d unwittingly kept from them all—it will haunt me until the end of my days.

Royad gives me nothing.

“Please tell me if she’s all right,” I all but beg. I’d be happy to crawl to know she’s safe.

Royad—a soft-hearted bastard but still a bastard—folds his arms and leans a shoulder against the wall where he stands on the other side of the room, just out of reach of my chain.

“I’m happy to tell you if you dig deep in your memory to let us see all those conversations you had with Ephegos and the traitor Crows. I’m sure there’s more that will blindside us before the end.”

He isn’t wrong.

Even when I can’t remember which of the many things Ephegos shared will be our victory or our failure, I’m sure there are things so deep at the bottom of my memory that I can’t even remember they’re there.

“Tori is ready to break into your mind and dig up all your dark secrets, Herinor, and if Myron left the decision to me, I’d already have the general bite your mind apart with his power. Perhaps layer in some of that liquid rock to match your thick skull.”

He’d do it, too. Between all the Crows left in this court, he’s the sort of loyal that doesn’t allow for the grayness of my morals. In Royad’s eyes, I’m a traitor, still, and he won’t miss me if I break in the process of extracting my thoughts.

And Astorian⁠—

“He can access memories?” I prompt, wondering if it might be a good thing if I myself asked him to dig through my head. If he’s the one unearthing secrets, at least, it’s not me betraying them. It’s merely a fairy general prying them from me.

“He said it’s a painful procedure and you’d likely never be the same.” Royad tilts his head, eyeing me as if he wouldn’t mind if exactly that happened.

“What if I allow him into my mind?” I sit back on the bed, leaning against the wall and pulling up my knees, chain clinking. With one hand, I gesture at the iron curling my ankle. “You know, like I allowed you to put this on me.” As a sign of good faith. I could have fought to the teeth and gotten free before they locked me up, but probably not without killing them, and that, I’m not ready to do.

“Then we’d be faster, and I might be inclined to believe Myron when he says you didn’t mean any harm by keeping those secrets.” He chews on his lower lip as if keeping himself from saying more.

I try to keep my expression blank. “That’s what he said?” Something like relief trickles through me like nearly crystalized honey. I’m not sure any of those drops will ever truly reach the bottom.

“Because he’s a fool and can’t be bothered with traitors right now, so he tends to believe you when you say you didn’t mislead us on purpose and didn’t consciously withhold information.”

A stuck breath escapes from my lungs.

“I’ll let you dig through my mind,” I offer, already forming a plan in my mind. One that will get us both what we want. “But Tori won’t be the one to do it.”

Royad cocks his head? “Oh?”

I bite back the flicker of hope as I allow the words onto my tongue. “Kaira will.”

A ghost of a smile forms on Royad’s face, but he clamps down on it, turning toward the door. Without another word, he leaves.

Royad doesn’t return that day. When the door opens, it’s Silas carrying in his hands a bowl of vegetable stew that’s tasty enough to come right from the Fairy King’s table. I eat it gratefully, wondering if my bold demand will earn me my execution or if I’ll live to see another day. Another day of self-loathing.

The night is an endless twisting and tossing on the hard bed, but at least I’m warm. It’s more than I could say Ephegos granted me when I first joined him. Flashes of those days tied up in his torture chamber—later my torture chamber—while he tested the magic-sedating drug on me keep me from sleep, as do the countless conversations I had with Ephegos. And the one I overheard. As I delve into my memories, browsing for anything useful that I could hand them tomorrow, I ponder the fate I’ve chosen for myself.

“A bit late to be considering the side you’re standing on, Herinor, isn’t it?” Ephegos spreads his winged arms, feathers ruffling in the breeze as he beckons me further into the clearing he chose for this meeting. Not far from the palace but far enough to be certain no one can overhear our words. Evergreens shield us from sight, so I stand at ease, facing Ephegos, who braces his feet apart a few inches, a casual stance of power. Myron has ordered his sentries to stay by the palace, keep an eye on Ayna. I’m one of them, so I know where they are, what they do, their rotations. I also know that Ayna won’t get far because they’re on duty.

If she tries to escape again, we’re allowed to shackle her with our power and bring her back. No injuries, though. No brutality. Not one little piece of fun. I haven’t had a proper female in such a long time that I wonder if I still know how to use my cock, but Ayna isn’t for me. She’s the one hope for the Crows. The last hope, Myron explained when he justified the bargain he made with the Fairy Princess—and perhaps sealed all our fates.

“It’s never too late to make the right choice.” I mean it. Myron has tried and tried to break the curse. Ninety-nine brides have withered and died. Ninety-nine women and females, thirty-three from each territory, Tavras, Cezux, and Askarea. I’m tired of waiting. Tired of hoping. Hoping only to fall back into despair. And after Myron’s bride ran from him yesterday, I wonder if there is any hope to cling to. She’d rather kill him than love him.

A look in the mirror should be enough to realize no one will ever love a creature such as what we’ve become. We were horrible to begin with, our bloodlust only second to our cruelty. Carius demonstrated that over and over and celebrated it with pride in the way he tormented each Crow bride until she became nothing. Taken by the curse, by Vala herself—perhaps a mercy—or tortured by the late Crow King.

Myron is different. But he’s too soft. He won’t win any hearts in his half-form, and he won’t save us either.

“Swear the oath then. Swear your loyalty and join me. I’ll create a new, better court that will allow us to roam free once more.” Not a promise. A conviction.

But not enough. “What if we’re wrong? What if Myron breaks the curse after all?” I want to believe it so desperately that I’m ready to kill for it. But whom should I kill? The current bride? Myron? It would change nothing about the feathered arms, the beaks that won’t go away, the claws that barely retreat when I focus so hard I could crush a diamond with my mind.

“Then the curse will be broken, and you’ll get your pretty face back, Herinor. But I will build this new court anyway. Myron has caused enough destruction. He’s responsible for too much of our suffering. He won’t be king—not of this new realm of crows I’ll build. One with alliances rather than enemies, with females and life. We’ve been a dead people long enough, and it’s Myron’s turn to suffer for what he failed to do.”

“He’s been trying.” Because I’ve been watching him try for a century. “It’s the curse.”

Like onyx torches, Ephegos’s eyes flash at me. “He’s done more than fail to break the curse. He’s killed people. People I cared for.” Before I can ask what he means, Ephegos rolls on. “I won’t tell you specifics, Herinor. Not unless your loyalty belongs to me.” He casually pats the sword at his hip. “Myron is the past, Herinor. I am the future. And the future of freedom for the Crows. I don’t need you for the path I’ve chosen, but whether or not Myron breaks the curse, you will need me.”

Whether it’s our inability to speak lies or mere delusions of grandeur, he’s convincing, and if Myron fails to break the curse… Perhaps it’s time to consider being on Ephegos’s good side if that happens. A future of freedom—even one in feathers is better than one more year in this forest.

As if reading my doubts, Ephegos’s head tilts to the side, beak-ish mouth distorting his words as he tells me in that charming way of his, “Sleep on it, Herinor. Take your time. A few more weeks won’t matter to me as long as I can save yet one more Crow from this misery.” He forces back enough of his crow form to show me his real smile—that of the Crow King’s friend. The deceit I want to run back to Myron to spill every last word Ephegos spoke—despite my size, I can be as sneaky as the spy himself—but I won’t. If I betray Ephegos, I’m a dead male; I don’t need him to tell me to know he’ll slit my throat in my sleep if necessary. But I have no doubt he’s convinced enough Crows to join his cause to easily make a kill.

And if I betray Myron… He’ll never know if I do it right. He’ll never know about my break of trust, about my weakness. My opportunism. I hate the way Ephegos’s words sneak into the cracks of my loyalty, worming deeper.

“You have three weeks to make up your mind.” Ephegos’s smile doesn’t fade, and my grim expression solidifies. “I’ll be making my move then, and there will be no joining me after. You’ll be on the wrong side of what I call the next generation of this people.”

“Three weeks,” I agree; because if I don’t, Ephegos might very well unleash that sword on me. “If Myron doesn’t break the curse by the time you make your grand move, I’ll swear loyalty to you.” It’s the best I can do for now.

Ephegos’s smile turns into a grin. “Promise?”

It’s a careless moment as my chin dips into a nod, and I instantly regret it as the thread of fae promises snaps into place, solidifying my commitment, the thread of ancient magic hooking into my tissues already, a reminder of what I promised and to whom.

It’s late afternoon by the time the door opens once more. I’ve stayed on my bed all day, drifting in and out of sleep, nightmares of all my wrong decisions haunting me. Soft footfalls make me lift my head, but I don’t find Kaira, as I’d hoped, lingering by the door, but the Crow Queen. Not in her human form as I’d hoped to once see her again.

“You’re fae,” I utter, dumbfounded by the image of pale beauty, the height, the slender limbs covered by a long jade, woolen gown, the pointed ears, the predatory gaze as she scans the cell.

“You sound disappointed.” There is no warmth in those gray eyes as she approaches, fearless like a real Crow. Because that’s what she is. She did it. She shed mortality—and saved Myron.

So fast I almost fall over my own feet, I leap from the bed, one knee on the floor, my hands on my chest as I bow to my queen. No words form in my mouth—and they don’t need to because Myron follows after her, clad in black finery that reminds me of the jackets he used to wear before the curse broke. It has sleeves, though. His fingertips end in talons.

“Royad said you’re ready to cooperate?” The lack of judgement in this voice gives me the courage to lift my head.

“I am.”

“And what memory do you care to offer up first?” Ayna asks, gracefully crossing the room to stand in front of me, not a hint of fear on her face.

“That depends. As we learned the other day, I might not even know what things I no longer remember.” I try to make it sound humorous, but there is no humor in failing my king and queen, so I let my mouth mirror the grim set of hers.

Just as she opens it to speak, Tori enters after Myron, the Crow King stepping aside to make room for the general, and my gut tightens with dread.

“I asked for Kaira.” I can’t keep my voice from shaking. If she hasn’t come, does that mean she’s injured? Has left? Doesn’t want to see me?

Tori crosses his arms. “I don’t care who you asked for. I’ll be here to make sure you don’t try anything funny and to monitor.”

Monitor. He said monitor.

I have all of a breath before Kaira files into the room, eyes on the rough stone tiles of the floor, her fighting leathers hugging her form. Her braid dangles over her shoulder, bouncing with every reluctant step, and her hands—her hands are on her twin daggers.

She stops a few feet from me, gaze snapping to mine, the warm brown of her eyes full of steel.

“You came.” My voice cracks at the wordless accusations floating from her, at the disappointment trying to curve her shoulders.

She battles herself into a proud, straight posture, defiant of any hurt in her chest—I’ll be damned if she ever felt anything for me other than contempt.

Tori shuts the door, and Ayna steps aside, not deigning me with a dismissal from my position of deference, so I remain on my knees.

“Shall we,” Kaira chirps in a voice too high and too shrill for her usually deeper timbre, and I dare meet her gaze again, catching a flash of fear before it ices over.

From where he positioned himself by the door, Myron nods, Ayna stepping to his side, fingers twining with his as they become one unit, an unbreakable wall of power. I can feel it in my bones, the force rallying beneath the calm exterior. Drawing his sword, Tori walks up to Kaira’s side.

“I’ll cut off his head if he as much as thinks about hurting you,” he murmurs at her, the soothing words of a friend ready to protect her. A friend she deserves.

Kaira doesn’t hesitate before she reaches for the sides of my head.

Thirty

Ayna

I barely breathe as Kaira’s fingertips brush Herinor’s temples, lingering. She’s mastering the shaking of her hands better than I do, the fingers of one of my hands clenching around Myron’s, the other hand tucked into the folds of my skirts. A dress Clio lent me with the words, “Show the bastard what a queen you are.” And the tears in her eyes when I walked out of her closet, head high and already battling my dread⁠—

“Promise me you’ll kill him slowly if he proves to be a real traitor,” she’d said. And I promised with ease, fully aware that, as a real Crow, all my promises are now binding. That’s why I hadn’t specified when I’d kill him if the worst came to pass.

Now, I’m regretting my easy agreement because I can feel in every last one of Kaira’s heartbeats echoing through the cell how it would break her to see the male before her dead.

“You can do this,” I tell her through our mind connection—the one only between the two of us. I don’t mind that it feels like being back in my bird body to not use my corporeal voice. This is to be there for Kaira when she needs me, the same way she’s been there for me from the beginning. The ways she’s helped me these past weeks of being trapped in my bird form. It’s a small thing to endure in comparison to what she’s going through right now.

“What if I find something that damns him?” Her voice is small, desperate.

“We’ll deal with it if that is the case.” It isn’t much, but it’s the truth. No need to plan an execution if we don’t know of the actual crimes committed. “The fact that he’s offering to let us wander through his mind should tell us something.” Should give us hope. But I don’t add that. It’s hard enough for her without hoping.

All our eyes are on the Crow warrior kneeling before the Flame, on his wary face, the hope flickering in his own eyes. His chest heaves, hair sliding away from his cheeks as he tilts his head back an inch to look up at Kaira.

“Whatever you find in there—in my past…” He struggles for words. “I’m not the same male as I was before we came to Eherea.”

Kaira doesn’t look at him, already focusing on her task.

“I won’t hide a thing from you. Pick through my thoughts and memories as you will. But don’t judge me by who I used to be. I’m no longer that male.” It’s enough of a plea to make my throat bob even when the words weren’t meant for me. That he’d lay himself bare like that⁠—

The tightness in my throat is enough to make Myron study me from the side in a gesture of reassurance. My palm tingles where my new mate mark lights up in my closed fist, and I could swear a hint of starlight glow shimmers through Myron’s fine tunic. If anyone notices, they don’t give a sign.

Before I can meet Myron’s gaze, Kaira opens the mind link she perfected over the past weeks of connecting me with my court and allies, and we tumble right into a hushed conversation echoing from the chambers of Herinor’s memory.

“I made my choice,” a Crow with a crooked beak on his barely human face says. I see the back of his conversational partner’s head. A male who spies for King Myron, who roams the limits of what the bargain with the Fairy King allows.

“A wise decision, Neris,” Ephegos approves. “You’re joining a winning court. A court of a new era.”

Neris is a fool to trust a male who seeks to betray his king. It’s the only thing I can think as I withdraw into an alcove to avoid detection. Myron is a good male and deserves this last chance.

A final chance. The Crows are restless, need more of a territory to hunt, to live. We can’t remain in this forest forever and be expected not to shed blood among each other. Ephegos turning on him is only the beginning.

The mind link flutters, and I’m back in my own mind, taking in the room for a heartbeat before Kaira sucks me back into Herinor’s memories. I wasn’t aware how vivid this would be, how real. That I’d see memories rather than hear thoughts.

Myron hasn’t managed to make the human fall for him. And to no surprise. Ephegos’s bargain is still intact. I’ll join him if the Crow King fails by the time the big move happens. If only I knew what that big move was. I might be able to aid the Crow King rather than sealing his fate before I need to make that choice of selling my loyalty.

But if I tip off Myron and he fails to break the curse after all, there’s no way I’ll stay within this place a minute longer. Millennia of hoping and failing. Millennia of slaughter and mindless existence. A brutal existence.

The memory flickers out of existence once more, taking us all back to a sandy beach with lush woods to one side and endless waters to the other.

Warm sand trickles through my toes as I saunter along the dunes, eyes on the two females before me. They sought me out the night before, and I can still feel their mouths on my skin and their breasts in my hands. The one on the left, the redhead with the supple ass… What a lovely feeling that was, her curves pressed against my hips as she stood on hands and knees while the other one touched herself.

My skin tightens in my groin, and I whistle to catch their attention. The dark-haired one gives me a coy smile over her shoulder. There was nothing coy about her last night.

I’m thrown out of the memory so fast my head hurts, and I could swear Kaira is fuming with hurt and fury at a memory made so long before she was ever born. Long before the curse was ever spoken.

My gaze finds Myron, who shakes his head as if to tell me it doesn’t matter, that things are in the past and Herinor is being a brave male for letting us all see snippets of his life.

The next memory takes me to the top of a mountain. Not only one mountain, I realize, as Herinor turns his head in the memory, showing us the view of a long mountain range peeking out of the oceans in rocky summits.

“I don’t want to leave,” I say, helplessly staring at my feathered arms. They won’t shift back. As won’t my clawed hands and my near-bird face. Beside me, Silas hisses and spits words that are hard to understand. He’s struggling even more than I do to adjust to the new situation. It might have something to do with the perished female he woke up next to this morning.

Dead. All of them. Not one single female Crow left.

Vala did a thorough job, that fucking menace of a deity. My chest is tight and my heart strains to beat at all.

“Maybe it’s for the best that we leave this continent,” Silas muses, gazing out at the turquoise sea. Carius said he wants to go west. Crossing the continent is no longer an option, and he doesn’t want to go around it lest Vala has other curses prepared for us if we defy her. He’s eager to explore and conquer whatever he finds lying west of these lands.”

Home. We’ll leave home.

My chest cracks.

And so does mine as I dive out of the memory, only to be taken into the darkness of Myron’s palace in the Seeing Forest. I know the hallways, the carvings, the everlasting torches along the walls.

“She’s pretty,” Ephegos muses, nudging Myron in the side with that playful way of his. The King’s best friend and perhaps the only one who is allowed to say anything like that to him.

“Pretty doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Myron says, face grave. “What a waste.”

It’s been two days since Wolayna arrived at the palace. The king has put me on guard duty because I’m one of the more civilized Crows in this court. Might have something to do with my history in Carius’s court. I’m used to pretending to have no opinions or emotions. Part of being a Crow soldier.

“You can still have your fun with her before she dies,” Ephegos suggests, earning a warning glance from Royad, who hasn’t left the King’s side as if anxious Myron will do something stupid if he allows him anywhere near the bride without adult supervision. Not that Myron is a child… Just, he is still a youngling in my view. Was born just as the curse fell upon us. He hasn’t seen much of his homelands, only the island where Carius made us stay the first decades of the curse. Still Neredyn but not the mainland. He built himself a palace there to remind Vala he doesn’t give a shit about her curse, that he welcomes the brutal cruelty of our people, solidified in our half-form.

How I ever fell for Carius’s ideals, I no longer know. Myron is the one who will bring about change. He said he’d do it or die trying. Not a promise. He knows better than to give careless promises. But with all those females dying on him… I’m not sure he’ll ever succeed.

I straighten at my post by the door while the three of them survey the sleeping pirate woman. Her hair is grimy, and she reeks of sweat and dirt. Of blood and fear.

“How long do you say she’s been out?” Ephegos asks, leaning over the bride with predatory interest.

“Since the boat. She was asking questions, and before that, she tried to escape on the prison island.

“A feisty one.” Ephegos claps Myron’s shoulder. “If she’s too much for you, I’m happy to take her off your claws.” He winks, and Royad chuckles while Myron just stares down at the woman who might seal all our fates.

“Don’t you have a ward to unweave?” Myron says to his friend, who laughs and flashes his toothy grin—fae enough if it wasn’t for the feathered arms—and strides from the room, followed by Royad, who halts at the doorstep, ignoring me completely as if I haven’t been standing guard since the moment they brought her in so none of the more savage Crows will feast on her—and I don’t mean the sensual way.

“Coming?”

Myron nods at his cousin, but before he turns to leave, he bends over the bride, studying her sleeping face, and brushes a thin strand of ash blonde hair from her forehead. “I might not know you yet, but one day soon, I will love you,” he whispers so softly I’m not sure I heard him. “Even if you’ll hate me. Even if I’ll never break the curse, I will love you.”

My heart stills as I fall out of the memory to Myron’s thumb brushing over the back of my palm. When my eyes snap to his, they are already waiting for me, a guarded expression on his face.

All this time… From the very beginning.

And Herinor had known. He’d known how good Myron was even back then. How he’d done all of it from the very first moment. He’d told me he never expected to break the curse when I was brought to him. He’d given up hope that anyone could ever love him back. And all those times he told me he wished he didn’t care if I lived or died—all those times were to protect his own heart when he believed I could never love a monster.

“You kept your promise,” I whisper at him, moisture collecting on my lashes.

Thirty-One

Herinor

Like a treasure hunter, Kaira has dug up my worst moments. She’s found my past of carelessly fucking my way through the world; she’s found my moments of doubting Myron. At least, she hasn’t found the day of the Flame attack when all went to shit.

“Myron hasn’t broken the curse,” Ephegos’s words of that day echo through my mind, and trust Kaira to latch onto my thoughts like a bloodhound.

“Will you stay true to your word, Herinor?” with the blade in his hand, he points at the back door where a few other Crows are already sneaking from the palace. It would be easy for me to do the same.

“He hasn’t,” I confirm.

“Time to fulfill your bargain?” He doesn’t push for it, simply asks, and it’s the diplomatic courtier’s approach that makes me leap at this thread of hope. The hope of freedom. Myron hasn’t broken the bargain. Ayna has survived months as a bride, but she won’t last much longer. All the others died sooner or later. She might have gotten closer to the king, but so did Sariell. And she died anyway. They all die eventually. And none of them breaks the curse.

“A stronger court, Herinor,” Ephegos reminds me. “One with you in a position of power rather than a simple guard.” Ephegos holds out his free hand. An offer.

Call it pride; call it weakness. I don’t care as I take and shake it in confirmation. My loyalty is now his, not because I believe in everything he says, but I won’t wait for Myron to doom us all. And if he does break the curse after all, maybe Ephegos will return to his king.

“Very well, Herinor. Welcome to my court.” Ephegos smirks, that charming grin gone as the magic of bargains snaps into place. “My first order to you: Don’t help Ayna. You are not allowed to help her.”

The order wraps around me, weaving into my skin and bones as I try to understand what he’s planning to do.

“Do you remember Sarielle?” Like he heard my earlier thoughts, he brings up the pretty female who fawned over the Crow King before she died.

“What about her?”

Ephegos’s grin turns bitter. “Sarielle was my blood. My sister, if only half a Crow. And Myron is responsible for her death.”

Like ice, his words slide through my veins. Ephegos’s sister. One of the many halflings created by Crows undoing the wards on this forest and having their fun with the females in the bordering regions. A half-Crow. And she died anyway. Myron didn’t break the curse with her either.

“Myron would never purposefully kill a bride.” The words are out before I can consider my loyalties, but Ephegos waves them away with a casual hand.

“Don’t waste your breath, Herinor. This place is about to go up in flames, and you’ll be standing guard while I let our allies into your former home. If anyone tries to escape, slaughter them. If your former king summons you… Well, he is no longer your king, is he?”

I know then that I’ve made a grave mistake. And there is nothing I can do about it.

“I’m no longer that male,” I grind out as the pressure in my head builds with every second of the memory. “I have sworn my loyalty to King Myron and Queen Ayna.” Except for that kernel bound by Ephegos’s deal. There’s no breaking free of it. “I promise.”

My eyes fly open, finding Kaira’s warm brown ones lingering, probing, piercing. Her unreadable gaze is only bearable because her fingers brush over my temple in a nearly soothing gesture. Intentional or not, my rising panic drops into a low, swaying wave no longer threatening to swallow me whole.

“Look for more recent memories,” I urge her. “Look for the day Ephegos ordered me to torture Ayna.”

Kaira flinches so hard I want to throw my arms around her to hold her together, but I remain still as a rock, unwilling to give anyone a reason to use their magic or blades on me. I was a fool to believe Ephegos meant well for his people in the first place, and I’ve been paying for my stupidity ever since. I’m not dying because of a mistake I made—one I’ve been fighting to rectify since the moment I sealed that damn bargain with Ephegos. And I’m most certainly not losing Kaira over it—even when I’ve never truly had her.

Whether she read those thoughts or not, she doesn’t show, face expressionless as she dives deeper into my mind, combing through the moments I’m offering up.

Like a bundle of misery, Ayna is slouching in her chair. Guilt doesn’t even begin to describe the knot building in my chest as I ponder what I need to do.

Hurt her.

How can I hurt her when she’s done nothing to me? She hasn’t lifted a finger against me. Has never spoken an ill word all those weeks in the palace. If anything, I’ve always liked her spirited nature, the defiance in every word and step as she wound the Crow King around her little finger. Intentional or not.

She looks tired—so, so tired. And the fear in her eyes pains me almost as much as the knowledge that I could simply grab her and run. Return her to Myron, who survived Ephegos’s attack. Shaelak knows he deserves it after so many decades of suffering. After watching one potential love after the other wither away. He deserves to be happy, just as we all deserve to be free.

I don’t realize it before I speak the words, but… “I have a plan. One where I don’t need to break my bargain and where the pain will benefit you.”

Ayna’s shoulders quiver as if she already knows this won’t be easy. But there is no way I can help her without risking my own life and so much more.

Her lips part in a grimace, teeth bared against the oncoming pain as I ponder the risks of doing something that will actually help her⁠—

No, I can’t think of helping her, or I’ll be crumbling into ashes within moments. Myron. I’m helping Myron. It’s a small mercy, Ephegos never included him in his order not to help. He wants the Crow King to live so he’ll suffer as Ayna is being sold off to Tavras.

How I wish I could speak a word of what’s in store for her.

“And what plan would that be?”

I can’t look at her without that guilt gobbling me up, so I turn and step around her, letting my magic do the work to secure her in place. The less she can move, the less likely she’ll hurt herself by cringing and twisting when I slice into her skin. Careful not to cut her just yet, I move my blade to the back of her neck. “I cannot tell you, Ayna. The bargain with Ephegos forbids it. But if there has ever been a time in your life where you needed to trust someone unconditionally, now is the moment.”

I know she doesn’t even consider trusting me, and I don’t expect her to. The less she does—the more she believes this is the torture Ephegos intended for her—the better for all of us. But there’s a part of me that wants her to know the real me. The male who is fighting to keep on the right side of a line he carelessly drew in the sand.

Holding my breath, I shove my knife through the sheer sleeve of her dress, cutting deep enough to open her skin. Like a punishment, her cry of pain sears through me, but I hold my hand steady, carving my path all the way to her bicep, straight through the mate mark telling me Myron is indeed alive. It’s the drug sedating her powers that prevents her from feeling him through the connection, and I’m the last person who may speak to her those words of hope. I may only inflict pain. The story of my life. Even when once I’d enjoyed a good torture, this isn’t right. Ayna isn’t the enemy. Neither is Myron. Ephegos is wrong. Sariell died because of the curse, not because of Myron. And letting Ayna suffer for it… Not right. None of this is right.

Keeping my thoughts to myself, I ignore Ayna’s pleas and screams. Only when I’m close to tears myself do I bite back all the apologies building in my throat, lowering my voice to a whisper so I don’t give away how much I’m hating myself for what I have to do right now. “Be brave for him, Ayna. He gave everything for you. Don’t let him down.”

I keep carving, carving, until her sleeve is drenched in blood and her hatred for me is believable. Until the guards outside have heard enough proof of her pain to carry word to Ephegos I’ve done my job.

Her body is shaking, barely keeping upright from how weak the potion Ephegos keeps feeding her makes her. So thin. So powerless. Nothing left of the defiant queen who wielded water and ire against the Flames. Binding her tighter with my magic is all I can do to keep her in the chair, but I make myself believe it’s part of the torture not to release her.

When I step around her, not even remotely strong enough to face her after what I have done, what I’ll yet have to do to her, her gaze snaps to mine, hatred and defeat battling in those big gray eyes.

Grabbing for her other sleeve, I lean over her, whispering the only apology I can truly speak.

“Hate me if you must, Ayna. But this is the best I can do.” To help not you but Myron. But I don’t add that to protect us all from the vengeance of ancient magic or Ephegos’s retaliation should he ever learn what I did.

Summon my true king to find his mate. Slice into the mate mark strongly enough to send a message. Pain. It might be the only sensation piercing through the dulled magic slumbering within the Crow Queen before me. How I hope I’m right.

I don’t wait for her to try to break free. She’d only hurt herself more. Instead, I offer some consolation, not that it makes any difference with what I’ve already done.

“I’ll make it look like I cut both sides.” She flinches, and my heart breaks. It fucking breaks, even though I never cared for any of the brides suffering and dying. I only cared about my freedom. But this woman gave me freedom. She found Myron worthy of her love. “If I smear enough blood and etch a thin line on your skin—nothing as deep as on the other side.” It’s a small reassurance, but it’s more than I believed I could speak without upsetting the deal with Ephegos. “I can make it look like I partly healed you, and no one will question why I carved the line on your other shoulder.”

I’m not helping her, I keep telling myself. Not her. I’m helping Myron.

“Why?” Her voice is half wince, half defeat. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Because you saved us all, and I owe you the same thing you gave to me—freedom. I can never speak those words, so I say the next best thing—something that has nothing to do with her. “Because I did wrong by Myron. I didn’t trust him enough to believe when he said he knew what he was doing by bargaining away the right for new brides in exchange for the fairy princess’s help with your magic.” The way she looks at me, trying to decipher all the words unspoken… I’m so close to letting it all go to shit, bargain and all, when I remember that, if I don’t do this, nobody will. I can’t give myself up by laying bare all the emotions of conflict within me. Nothing will change if I die. Ephegos will roll on. Chances to stop him are better if I play along.

My chest tightens, air coming more heavily at the thought of betraying the Crow I swore loyalty to, and the familiar tang of iron coats my tongue at my traitorous thoughts.

I shut them down. Ephegos. I’m fulfilling Ephegos’s order, torturing Ayna.

With practiced ease, I shut down all emotions, turning to her forearm.

“I need more blood.”

The cut I make into her wrist is deeper than I intended, but at least, the magic of bargains will be satisfied. He said hurt her. He never said I couldn’t ease the pain. It only has to be for a reason serving Ephegos’s purpose… To be able to hurt her more later… More intact skin to slice open again.

The taste of blood disappears from my mouth, so I send healing magic after my blade as I paint her arm and shoulder crimson. There is no fight left in Ayna, and the image is killing me, even when I can’t allow it to.

Convincing myself it is to humiliate her more, I loosen my magic on her, watching her slump in the chair, but I wipe away a strand of hair, wanting to see her face as I tell her, “I’m sorry, Ayna. It’s the best I can do for you. I’m your ally. Probably the only one you have in this place, so play along. Pretend to hate me and curse me to your Guardians and back, to Eroth and Shaelak and even Vala. Just don’t be stupid enough to tell a soul I spared you.”

I wait for my mouth to fill with blood, to choke on it as I test the boundaries of the bargain.

Nothing happens.

But Ayna opens her mouth in a disgusted chuckle. “I wouldn’t call carving me open sparing me.”

Because I didn’t spare her the pain. I didn’t spare her the suffering. I merely used it to help Myron find her. If anyone can save her, it’s the king who saved us all by falling for this creature before me.

“It doesn’t matter what you’d call it. If I did everything right, you’ll understand soon enough.” I sit her back in her chair, unable to watch her nearly tumble off it. “Just trust me. Trust me like you trusted Myron.”

I never actually expect her to when I open the door to let in the guards who’ll report the state I left her in to Ephegos the moment they dropped her off in her quarters.

When I dive out of the memory, Kaira’s blinking away tears.

Thirty-Two

Myron

Ice creeps through my veins with every moment I’m watching Ayna through Herinor’s memory. So thin. So weak. And that was weeks before I saw her at Erina’s engagement party.

Talons shoot from my fingertips, nearly piercing Ayna’s skin before I can pull my hand from hers, and inside my chest, darkness coils, ready to strike. But at whom?

“It’s all right,” Ayna whispers, but when I turn toward her, I realize she’s not reassuring me but the traitor in our midst. The male who sold us out to save himself. And has been risking his own life to help us every damn day since.

“I’m sorry.” Herinor’s words are thick with tears, his gaze bouncing between Ayna, Kaira, and me. “I wish I could have done better, but this was the only way. Had I freed her, I’d have summoned the wrath of bargain magic.”

No one knows better the danger of said magic than I do after all those bargains I’ve struck with Recienne. After an entire life lived beneath the threat of a curse bleeding me to death, should I speak so much as a wrong word.

“You did what you needed to,” Ayna says, too valiant with the male who tortured her. The male who kept her from fleeing Erina’s palace. Who stood by and listened in on the moment when Erina shoved a ring onto my Ayna’s finger.

“I did what a weak male would do.” No one corrects him, but the twist in Kaira’s shoulders tells me she was about to say something.

When she doesn’t, I force my magic to slumber and take a step toward Herinor. “Show me Neredyn again.” It’s a selfish request, but it’s the one thing that I can’t stop thinking about despite all the horrors awaiting us on this continent. “Show me…” I let my words trail away, my heart pounding out of my chest at the mere possibility he’ll actually be able to show me what I’m asking.

My talons haven’t fully retreated, but Ayna doesn’t shy away from my hand as she winds her fingers around mine in reassurance. Whether she knows what my mind has wandered to, what I never believed I could ask of anyone, what this traitor before me could deliver…

Like a river of comfort, Ayna’s presence flows in through our bond, right into my heart beneath the new mate mark, and I could swear I feel her smile, even when her features are set into a mask.

“Show me my mother.” Hoarse sounds, that’s all my words are, but Herinor inclines his head in deference, in obedience, in resignation to whatever I’ll ask of him—because he’s made up his mind. Traitor or no, The Crow before us is set on doing right by all of us.

With a soft sigh, Kaira opens the channel again, and my heart stutters when I’m taken into a bright room made of stone walls and a high wooden ceiling. No intricate carvings tell stories of grandeur; no banners give away a noble house. At the center of the room, a male stands with his hand on the windowsill, turning toward the sunny day beyond. His broad back is bare, black waves tangling down the thick muscles framing his spine. Bracelets braided from leather with wooden and iron beads woven in adorn his wrists up to mid-forearm. Black leather pants and black boots, the hilt of a simple, yet well-crafted sword glimmering by his hip⁠—

“When are we leaving?” a warrior asks from the open doorway. I don’t recognize his scarred face.

The male by the window turns around, and I hold my breath. Carius the Cruel in the flesh, only centuries younger and with less malice in his eyes—his brown eyes.

“First light tomorrow,” the late Crow King says, turning back to the window.

It takes me a moment to understand Herinor is standing guard at the side of the room, his vantage point close enough to the king to grant me a view on the beach outside where a group of females is sitting on a blanket, giggling about something I can’t make out from this position. It’s because Herinor didn’t bother to take a closer look back then, not because he couldn’t have seen past the king.

“Just a small group,” Carius amends, not turning away from the window this time. “I don’t want anyone to know it’s us who destroyed the new human settlement.”

A shiver runs through my spine, a sensation I also learn to recognize as part of Herinor’s memory. I want to tell him to turn his eyes back to the beach, to show me if one of the females is my mother, but Carius dismisses the male by the door with a wave of his hand.

As if reading my mind, Carius gestures at the females with a jerk of his chin. “Who’s that?”

There seems to be no one else in the room because, in the memory, Herinor takes a step forward to have a better view of what the king has set his eyes on. And before I can think, I’m sucked entirely into Herinor’s thoughts.

“The two strawberry blondes are Elgerand’s daughters,” I tell the king, leaving out that I’d fucked the one with black braid two nights ago. “And the blue-haired one with the black dress is Irdis, mate of Ortos. I don’t know the fourth one.”

King Carius shakes his head, gesturing behind the blanket to the dunes where a figure is twirling and twisting in the distance, black hair tossing with her movements and billowing in the breeze coming in from the sea. At first, I think she’s dancing, but the movements are too hard, too precise, and her attire is nothing like the revealing dresses the other females are wearing to put their curves on display.

“I don’t know, Your Majesty.” Bracing for reprimand, I take a step back against the wall once more, resuming my post, but King Carius waves me forward.

“Go, find out.”

I’m nearly shoved out of the memory as Herinor speeds through the stairways and halls of what must have once been my father’s palace, out into the glistening sun heating the cool brine. Like he’s sped up his memories, the world is blurring around me, and I lose track of location and time. Only when he’s a few feet away, I’m being dragged back all the way into Herinor’s memory once more.

She’s tall, perhaps six foot one, her leather pants and vest tailored so tight the toned lines of her body are easy to pick up. With precise movements, she goes through a series of footwork essential to swordplay, two daggers shimmering in her hands, stabbing at the air like she’s facing an enemy. I never got to see my mother, but when Herinor clears his throat in his memory and the female stops and turns toward him, daggers lowered halfway, big, ocean blue eyes stare right at him—at me through his perspective⁠—

My heart skips a beat as I take in her oval face, the slightly too-full upper lip pressing down hard on the lower lip. High cheekbones, not soft and lovely like Ayna’s but sharp like mine, define her features, a slightly hooked nose finishing the image. She isn’t beautiful, not in the traditional sense, but the fierceness in her eyes captures me in an instant. Eyes deep like the waters the color of which they hold. Eyes so intriguing they could capture entire kingdoms.

“What’s your name?” Herinor’s demand breaks my thoughts and traps me back in his.

The female shakes her head in a gesture speaking of wildness despite the control I just witnessed when she stabbed her invisible opponent a hundred times. Skilled and beautiful. A dangerous package.

“Myrion.” Her voice carries across the dunes, and I think it’s too lovely for a warrior Crow like her, but she smooths her features into a slight smile as she takes in my uniform, the emblem of the Winghaven line on my breast, and sheathes her daggers. “Who is asking?”

Inclining my head, I gesture at the palace behind me, at the window on the first floor where I know King Carius must be watching. “The King of Crows.”

Myrion’s eyes flash as she takes me in, head to toe. “You’re the King of Crows?”

I want to laugh, but King Carius’s gaze weighs heavy, even from a distance. No room for errors. His punishments are known throughout the realm. And if he’s interested in this female… A pang of pity spreads in my stomach, and for a heartbeat, I consider telling her to go train somewhere else, that this property isn’t for public use, but part of that would be a lie with the other four females hovering on the king’s beach, probably desperate to be seen and invited into his bed or into that of one of his courtiers for the night—or longer. It would be a lie, so I blow out a breath.

“King Carius is in the palace. I’m just a guard.”

Her mouth curves downward in a hint of disappointment, but when I blink, it’s gone, a bright smile spreading on her face. “A guard.” She nods to the sword at my hip. “You any good with that pointy thing, then?” Challenge sparks in her eyes, and I want to instantly show her just how good, but whatever this moment right here means, whatever the momentary flare of wonder and interest inside my stomach does to me, the female isn’t for me if Carius sent me to inquire her name.

“However good I may be, Myrion,” I say with a small bow, “I assure you, King Carius is much better.”

Beckoning her to follow, I slowly make my way back to the palace, training my gaze on the sandy path before me. Myrion doesn’t say a word as she falls into step beside me.

I’m thrown out of Herinor’s memory so fast I’m reeling, fingers digging into Ayna’s so hard I worry the tang of blood will penetrate the air any moment. But when I glance down, my talons have retreated, and the shadows at my fingertips have once more quieted.

No one is moving as I lift my gaze to screen the room. Reality. I’m back to the present, my mother buried in Herinor’s memories once more. His light green eyes meet mine, an expression of misery defining his features.

“Myrion,” he whispers. “She gave you a version of her own name.” Throat bobbing hard, he blinks away the moisture in his eyes. “I’d forgotten what a free and fierce spirit she was before she met Carius. How—” He cuts himself off, but Kaira’s mind link provides all the words he’s trying to hide.

How beautiful, how incredible, how gifted and grand-hearted. Remorse envelops each word in a coarse texture, smoothing away the sharp edges of the bitter warrior’s perspective.

I’m not sure how I feel about the way he thinks about my mother, if there was ever more between them, or if this is merely the expression of respect and affection for a female who got to marry the cruelest of all Crows.

“I’ve seen enough.” I don’t care that my sour tone betrays the turmoil inside me. I’ve learned enough about the male who betrayed us. I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to learn, and I know what I need to do.

Grasping Ayna’s hand more tightly, I incline my head at Kaira, who is shaking from either exhaustion or from her own inner storm of emotions—I wouldn’t be surprised at either. “Thank you for assisting us with your skills.” My gaze lands on Tori, who nods once, confirmation he’ll be taking care of the situation if I choose to leave right now.

For a long moment, I study Herinor kneeling on the hard floor, the regret and the pain exuding from him with every exhale, but it’s Ayna who finds the words which I cannot.

“Thank you.”

The male’s eyes lock on hers, two tormented orbs of spring green. “For what? I only ever caused you pain.”

“Even if you hurt me in the process, you brought Myron and me back together. And everything you did to help … him since.” She cautiously emphasizes that Herinor helped me just to keep the magic of bargains happy.

A blend of awe and fear rises in my belly as my mate detaches from my grasp, striding over to stand before Herinor still kneeling in front of Kaira. Her sister takes a casual step back, eager to get away from the male whose thoughts she just channeled, her flushed cheeks turning pale as Ayna extends a hand to the traitor—no, the misguided male who has been fighting to make things right.

The air in the rooms seems to drain as Herinor glances up at her in question, as if he can’t believe she is offering her delicate hand. When he hesitantly places his rough, scarred one in hers, my gut clenches, everything within me screaming to leap between them, to protect her from the dangers slumbering within Herinor’s oath.

For a long, long moment, they stare at each other, a wordless conversation passing between them. When she finally tugs on his hand and he stands, Herinor’s head remains bowed, gaze lowered to his boots.

“I’m so sorry.” I could swear tears choke his voice.

And just when I think my mate is the most amazing creature in the universe, she does the unbelievable and wraps both arms around Herinor’s broad form. “I forgive you.” Her whisper cuts through the silence like steel through liquid gold, coating her voice with glimmering metal.

Herinor’s shoulders are shaking, hair spilling over Ayna’s arm as he latches onto her in a desperate embrace. “I don’t deserve it.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice Kaira shaking her head.

Broken. This male is broken in so many ways even I can’t begin to understand, and yet, his queen is forging him anew with her heart large enough to fit our entire kingdom. And this traitor will be part of it.

“It’s never too late to make the right choice,” Herinor says through tears, and something in the way he speaks the words tells me they mean more to him than any of us could ever comprehend.

Thirty-Three

Ayna

“Again!” Kaira shouts across the training ring, daggers raised as she twirls toward Clio in a light-footed attack.

The Fairy Princess parries with a flash of her sword, shoving the Flame back toward the edge of the arena.

Clio’s smirk tells volumes about what satisfaction it gives her to be the best fighter attending this training session—honestly, even if Tori or Rogue were here, she might outshine them with her quick, agile moves and her uncanny talent for spotting her opponents’ weaknesses.

Panting, Kaira pushes against Clio’s blade, ducking under the fairy’s arm and sprinting across the frozen ground so fast only my fae vision made it possible to discern the individual steps from my position on the logs at the side of the training space.

Clio’s laugh sweeps through the air like wind chimes. “Much better.”

I don’t know how many times they’ve repeated this specific move, but after tens of times of it ending with Kaira’s ass on the ground, she’s been deflecting the past few attacks, each time more elegant than the last. At least, this is more progress than the countless meetings, sit-ins with Rogue, Tori, Tata, and the Crows, discussing all angles of when or how Erina could attack, of Ephegos’s potential plans, or how to secure Aceleau against further infiltration if the Crow traitors can so easily unweave wards. At least, the wards on the palace are too strong and intricate for them to gnaw through in the night and surprise us with an attack. It’s a small relief, but we all sleep better, knowing our loved ones are safe—for now.

Wiping sweat off her brow with the back of her hand, Kaira saunters over to sit beside me. I reach for the water jar and hand it to her. “You’ve gotten faster.”

Chugging down the cool liquid, she nods. “Two weeks of daily training will do that to a halfling.” Her grin is halfhearted, but I know she no longer means the reference to her being only part-Flame in depreciation. She’s part of the family, whatever heritage she holds. And part of it is the same blood running through my veins.

“A pretty amazing halfling,” Clio amends, joining us with a brief site-hop to the top of the logs where she plops down, tossing her upper braid back and resting her sword across her knees as she blows air into her cupped hands. “Guardians, has it become cold.”

“Guardians?” Kaira quips. “You sure you want to include the traitor of a deity who will pair Ayna with Ephegos if he manages to kill her mate?”

I’ve tried hard not to think too much about the deal Ephegos struck with the brother Guardian—Shaelak. Moping won’t change anything when there’s a war to prepare for. Whatever Ephegos has planned, the best I can do is train and forge alliances. None of them as important as the one with the Fairy King of Askarea.

Clio shakes her head. “Perhaps we should start calling the Guardians by their names.”

“A suggestion I can get behind.” With a thud, Kaira sets down the jar on the ground, right next to her feet. “Vala and her brother Shaelak. Children of Eroth.”

“As if it makes a difference what we call them,” I murmur, wondering where Shaelak has disappeared to. We haven’t seen or heard a sign of him since the disastrous Samuin when the traitor Crow snuck into the fairy capital and slaughtered the better part of a whole district. I’m still not over the sight of all those bodies.

“Only if they answer to them,” Clio muses.

“Which they don’t.” I’ve tried. By Eroth—and he’s the only god I still trust—have I tried. I’ve knelt for hours in the crumbled remains of the temple I wrecked when I shifted into my fae form, breaking through the bird form trapping me, and not one single whisper of the god’s presence.

“Perhaps they returned to Neredyn,” Kaira suggests.

Sliding a log lower so she perches beside me on the thick, age-worn wood, Clio shakes her head. “If he has a deal with Ephegos, I assume he’s sticking around to fulfill his end if it comes to it.

My throat burns at the mere thought it might—that Ephegos might succeed in killing Myron. “It won’t.” There is no room for discussion.

Both Clio and Kaira know with one glance at me that I won’t accept another option, not even hypothetically.

“Why do you think he even made that deal?” I ask before they can push it. “Why gift me immortality, the ability to shift into a crow, the magic? Why make me a perfect match for Myron if he’s only waiting to watch my demise?”

I asked Myron the same question over and over again. Tori, Royad, Silas, all of them. Even Herinor. But no one has a satisfying answer. It’s all wild guesses.

“A crow form you haven’t even attempted to shift into,” Kaira reminds me with a grimace. “Not that I would recommend you try. It’s bad enough what happened last time.”

The thought alone of being stuck in my bird form once more is enough to make me shudder, even as the thread of power connecting me to my ability to shift stirs with delight. “I’m not ready.” I won’t be ready for a long, long time.

Ignoring Kaira, Clio replies to my question. “He’s the Guardian of Chaos. What did you expect?”

Her candidness is always refreshing, even when the impact of her words makes me want to scream.

“You mean he did it to spite his sister, the Guardian of Order?” I ask incredulously even when she’s got a point.

“Think about it.” Sheathing her sword and rubbing her hands together, Clio gets to her feet. “He left you stuck in your bird form instead of aiding a creature he chose as worthy of one of his creations. He gave you riddles rather than truths. He let you suffer. In short, he left you in chaos instead of putting everything in order.”

Kaira nods, getting to her feet as well and weighing her daggers in her hands as if all the answers could be found in the elegant steel. “He probably knew you’d figure it out—the immortality. But he left you reeling. And instead of granting you happiness, he made a fucking deal with that traitor.” There’s too much anger in her expression, her shoulders too tight, her grip on the daggers too hard to be merely upset on my behalf.

“What’s going on, Kaira?” I ask in my mind, cautious not to breach a subject that she doesn’t want to talk about in front of Clio. To her credit, she turns toward me, rolling her eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care if Clio knows,” she huffs, a sad chuckle following.

“Knows what?” Clio stands at Kaira’s side, jade eyes peering down at the Flame.

“That I’m still debating killing Herinor for his betrayal, and yet I can’t get over the fact that it’s all Ephegos’s fault. Herinor was trapped by the traitor the same way you were trapped in your bird form.” Her gaze meets mine, and the anguish there, the upset stirring beneath the surface, the anger—not at him but on his behalf⁠—

My heart gives a painful thud as I read all the words she hasn’t spoken in the past weeks since she dug deep into Herinor’s mind.

“He’s a victim in this as much as we all were. I know he is, and yet—” Her shoulders curve under the invisible weight she’s carrying. “And yet I can’t bring myself to fully trust him.”

“Oh, Kaira.” As if of one mind, Clio and I reach for my sister, slinging our arms around her until she’s wrapped in a bubble of safety between us. “Neither of us will judge you for loving him.”

Kaira’s chest heaves. “I don’t⁠—”

“Even if it’s easy for you to lie, little Flame, you shouldn’t try,” Clio murmurs, her hand running over Kaira’s head and shoulder in comfort. “I’ve pretended not to care for too many centuries, and every time we walk into danger, I can barely stand the sight of myself for denying both Tori and me the happiness we could have had so much sooner.”

The wisdom in her words shouldn’t surprise me, but her usual swagger and snark make it easy to forget the hardship this female has gone through—and the lessons she must have learned from it. Wiser than both of us. More experienced in fighting and in strategizing. A princess in her own right and a friend I don’t think I could live without.

Kaira must feel the same because she squeezes Clio in a tight hug before swatting her shoulder. “That’s because you’re a stubborn pain in the ass. And I love you.”

Clio makes a sound of dismissal before extending her arm around my shoulders, pulling me in tighter. “I love you, too. Both of you.”

For long, shaky breaths, we stand huddled in the freezing air, not ready to let go, for the moment we do, reality will come creeping back at us, and I don’t think any of us are ready. Only when Tori site-hops into the arena, announcing that Tata is back from her visit at the Tavrasian rebels’ farm at the Askarean border, do we pull apart.

“What news does she bring?” I lay my hand into Clio’s open one, waiting for Kaira to do the same on the other side as we ready to site-hop back into the palace.

A grim line forms on Tori’s face as he glances between the three of us, stopping when his auburn eyes meet mine. “No good news, that’s for sure.” Jerking his chin in a gesture to follow him, he disappears into thin air, and Clio pulls us through time and space, right into Rogue’s throne room where the others are already waiting.

With a smile on his lips, Myron holds out an arm, waiting for me to join him by the long table Rogue, Royad, and Silas are poring over, their hands braced on the edges of a map as big as the wooden surface. Rushing toward him, I fold my arms around his waist, meeting him in the sort of toe-curling kiss he always gives me these days before we part or when we are reunited. A reminder that we’re both immortal and that this thing between us will last for all eternity. He won’t accept any other option either.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” Tata says by way of greeting, looking up from the stack of letters in her hands and pushing away from the side of the table where I can read the name Dunai, the capital of the Southern Continent, on the map. “Andraya asked me to give you these.”

Crossing the length of the room in a few quick strides, she comes to stand before Myron and me like she’s reporting to her commanders. Her armor is dusty, and a few splashes of liquid soak the leather vambrace on her forearm. Instinctively, I inhale a deep breath, trying to scent what it is and find my stomach balled into a knot when the rusty smell of blood hits me.

“Yours or someone else’s?” Not taking my eyes off the bloody pieces, I pick the letters from her outstretched hands.

Silas’s head swivels toward us, nostrils flaring as if he’s noticing the blood only now, and his black eyes snap to where Tata is holding up her forearm between us.

“An unlucky Tavrasian soldier happened to be snooping around the farm when I arrived and cleared the perimeter to make sure we wouldn’t be overheard.” She shrugs as if being covered in someone else’s blood is her normal state. I can’t help noticing the glimmer of relief in the sag of Silas’s tense shoulders.

“Unlucky indeed,” Tori purrs under his breath from where he’s joined the males by the map, earning a sideways glance from Silas, who looks, for all that it’s worth, like he believes dying at the end of Tata’s sword might be a pleasant way to go.

Of course, Myron is already one step ahead in his thoughts. “Does that mean the rebels’ secrecy has been compromised? Have they been discovered?”

Inclining her head at me an inch, Tata steps back. “Pouly said it’s not the first of Erina’s men sneaking around the area. It’s unclear whether any of them made it back unnoticed before the rebels could take care of them.”

“You mean Erina is actively sending out soldiers to find the rebels? Does he know they exist?” The fear is real as multiple scenarios of Andraya and Pouly paying for aiding me in my escape pop up in my mind. If he knows…

“It’s hard to tell.” Tata’s tone remains that of a soldier giving a report, no emotion attached to her words, even when I can read from her eyes that she dreads what being discovered by Erina—or worse, Ephegos—would mean. “He is searching the lands for something. Whether that’s Myron, you, or a band of traitors, I honestly don’t know.”

“He knows we’re in Askarea, though,” Silas enters the conversation, propping a hip against the edge of the table.

Clio has joined Tori’s side, tracing a line with her finger across the map until it lands on the small X marking the hidden farm’s location, and the rest of us follow until we surround the table.

“Does he, though?” Rogue looks up, tired darkness swirling in his eyes, which stop at the letters in my hand. “Perhaps Ephegos keeps secrets from his ally.”

“Meaning Erina doesn’t know where we are? He did send those messengers with the demand for you to give up Askarea.” Royad prompts Rogue, turning away from the map to glance over at Herinor sitting in a chair a few feet away by the wall, staring at Kaira like a helpless fool—Kaira, who hasn’t spoken a word. “What do you think?”

Light green eyes narrowing, Herinor weighs the idea. “It’s possible. The message was for the King of Askarea after all. Not for Myron or Ayna. And none of the messengers ever made it back to Meer to spill the secret. Ephegos never shares his full plans until shortly before their execution. Even when he was about to set the Crow Palace on fire.”

Nobody gasps in shock at his words. Over the past two weeks since Kaira revealed all those dark corners of his mind to us, only to show us how much regret has been plaguing the male, we’ve come to accept his good intentions. I still stand by my words of forgiveness, even when Myron holds him under scrutiny, only if for the sole reason that, should it come to it, Herinor will never directly help me—which makes him an unreliable ally. At least in that regard.

Royad and Herinor had it out in the arena the same day we released him from the cell, and Silas has yet to make a statement about where he stands with the male.

The fairies are all happy to accept him as part of the team as long as he promises not to work against us, which he did, nose bleeding and lip split from his fight with Royad. I could swear we all have been sleeping better since.

It doesn’t change the fact that Herinor’s usefulness in this war is limited when his loyalty in parts is still bound to Ephegos. It also doesn’t change that he knows the traitor and his operations best.

“So you think he’s keeping our whereabouts from Erina?” I cut him a glance over the intricate map, not failing to notice Kaira’s gone still as a statue.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to be playing Erina,” Herinor confirms, bringing back Erina’s words when I confronted him with Ephegos’s traitorous nature.

Don’t think I don’t have an ace or two up my sleeve.

“Erina expects Ephegos to betray him.” I quickly tell them of the conversation I once shared with the King of Tavras.

Herinor runs his fingers across his stubbled jaw, drawing a secret gaze from Kaira. “As you told Erina, Ephegos will betray him the moment he no longer has use for him. That doesn’t keep Ephegos from needing Erina for now. He needs the numbers and the magic-nullifying serum to equip an army against magical opponents. He needs the authority Erina’s trust installs in the Tavrasian troops—a Crow leading a human army.” He shakes his head, ignoring our stares as he muses. “Who would have guessed that was ever possible? Just as likely as a human breaking Vala’s curse on us.” His gaze bounces to mine, unexpected warmth shimmering in the green depths of his irises.

“Not so human anymore,” I remind him, noting the corner of his mouth lifting in response.

Myron’s hand tightens at the edge of my waist, and I nearly chuckle at the proprietary behavior, even when my core heats at the swipe of his thumb along the bottom of my ribs.

So fast I can’t even blink, Herinor’s gaze drops from mine, and he clears his throat. “The question remains, what does Erina hold against Ephegos? Does he have a secret weapon we don’t know of? Or is he simply an overconfident monarch underestimating the power of a Crow male on a mission?” I don’t know why Kaira’s cheeks stain pink as they lock gazes, and the momentary pain in Herinor’s eyes makes me want to smooth whatever broke between them.

“Don’t even think about it,” Kaira warns in her mind, easily hooking into mine, despite my spending days working on my shield after shifting into this new body. Tori’s theory is that our sibling connection is like a direct channel between us, even when she excels at shielding and snooping around in my thoughts far beyond what I could ever achieve.

“About what?” I innocently ask, turning back to the map before assessing the region the others were studying. “What does the yellow circle mean?” I point at the sun-yellow line enclosing the location of the farm.

“That’s the perimeter where the rebels have spotted spies combing through the lands for whatever they’re searching for,” Tori informs us, brows pinched as if he’s seeing the entire terrain before him, every dark corner and hiding place for Erina’s men. “If Pouly has been telling Tata the truth, more and more soldiers have been sneaking around the area.”

“More of the rebels have gathered there to keep an eye on the development,” Tata adds. “I’m convinced Erina is up to something.”

“He always is.” Because it’s the truth. There wasn’t a single moment during my time at his palace where he hadn’t played a double game. Proud and likable king to the masses—cruel, miserable bastard behind the scenes.

As if in confirmation, Myron hums, lacing his fingers with mine. Warmth trickles through the bond right into my palm, a reminder of the unbreakable connection weaving us together.

At the head of the table, Rogue is idly tapping his fingers on the map. “My own armies are ready. We haven’t spotted a single Tavrasian soldier since the infiltration in the north.”

Tori dips his chin in approval. “I have my more powerful warriors renewing the wards on the city every day to prevent new breaches, and I’ve informed the people to remain on alert and inform us if they spot anything suspicious, but so far, there has been no trackable activity.” His gaze wanders to Myron. “If the Crows would be trying to unweave them, could we trace their attempts?” The wariness in his gaze tells me everything I need to know about how much he cares for the safety of the remaining residents of Aceleau. He’s blaming himself for the first attack to begin with.

Straightening away from the table, Myron holds the general’s gaze. “Unmaking wards is a talent of ours, but even Crows leave marks of their power when working through a ward.”

Tori’s shoulders sag with relief, but he isn’t the only one. Rogue and Clio’s chests heave in unison, and Tata closes her eyes as she braces her hands on the edge of the table, squeezing into the narrow space between Royad and Silas.

“They won’t return to Aceleau,” Herinor says from his seat on the side. All heads turn toward him, and he shrugs as if his assessment is obvious. “They got what they wanted. They showed us how vulnerable our defenses truly are, and Ephegos found Shaelak.”

The air thickens around me, breathing becoming an effort, as Myron’s dark power slithers from his fingers in answer to Herinor’s words, and when I turn my gaze to my mate’s, his lips are pursed in a tight line, black veins creeping around his eyes.

I’m not ready to discuss Ephegos’s deal with the Brother Guardian, so I wave the letters still clutched in my hand at the group gathered around the map, attempting my best neutral expression.

“Maybe I should read these first before we hop into a wild guessing game of what exactly is going on in the borderlands, what Ephegos plans to do to murder my mate, and whether he’s leaving his ally in the dark.”

I don’t wait for any of them to agree before I set the stack down on the table, keeping only the top letter in my hand and slicing the envelope open with a thin blade made of the silver Crow power I’ve been working to cultivate these past weeks since my shift.

Thirty-Four

Ayna

My dearest Andraya,

I’m writing this letter as I can’t speak these words aloud to anyone. Perhaps writing them down will save my sanity, and perhaps you knowing the truth will buy my daughter a chance at survival. They executed Ivan. Not for the official reasons you might have heard—traitor to the Crown of Tavras. No, they are executing a Milevishja royal. An heir to Tavras’s throne. I’ve suspected for years, but he never confirmed, probably because he wanted to protect our little Ayna and me, but today I’m certain.

When you read this, Ayna and I will be long gone. I won’t tell you where we’re going, but rest assured, it will be far away from the Jelnedyn court and its dealings. I can’t have my little child executed for her bloodline as well, and after what the king has done to my Ivan, I can no longer in good faith see her married to Erina. If ‘like father, like son’ applies on any level, Ayna better never come near the Jelnedyn heir. She better never know her heritage. She’ll be safer for it. And happier.

When you read this, Andraya, don’t think of me as a coward. Think of me as a mother who can’t stand to see her child sold off to a fate of certain cruelty. Keep your eyes open, my friend, for if Ayna ever returns to Meer, if she’s ever recognized for who she is, she’ll need someone she can trust.

If you ever hear about the Milevishja heir, strap on your knives, and come find her. For if she ever returns to Meer, it will mean I’m no longer alive to protect her. She’ll need you. And I trust you to come for her.

With all my love,

Elenja

Thirty-Five

Ayna

When I’m done reading, the old, dried blotches of wet aren’t the only ones making the ink run across the parchment. Hot tears are streaming down my cheeks while the gazes of the others rest on me, expectant for me to tell them what I found.

Myron is the only one reading over my shoulder, and only because I lean into him, offering my mother’s words so I don’t need to repeat them.

She knew. She knew who my father was, if only in the end. She took me away to save me from a fate that found me anyway.

Forcing down a balancing breath, I tell the others, “It’s personal. Nothing that will change the course of this war.”

No one challenges my words, not because I can’t lie—I’m still not certain where my boundaries with the truth sit when it comes to having become a full Crow—but because they can sense the deep anguish and joy at holding something of my mother’s in my hands.

Without another comment, I fold up the letter and place it on the table, already picking up the next one. This one isn’t from my mother. The rest of the letters are a series of written reports from rebels all over Tavras. They have been monitoring and documenting the developments in the kingdom since my escape, and this might be the best asset we could get into our grasp after our failure to detect Ephegos’s troops.

Reading them out loud, I pass them to Tori and Rogue one by one while they are conjuring little carved figurines of various colors from thin air, placing them wherever the rebels reported incidents or military clusters. Half an hour later, the Tavrasian part of the map is covered in a colorful pattern marking the locations of spies and troops while, in the Askarean part, black pins mark the fairy legions. Even Herinor joins, giving his opinion on the likelihood of Erina or Ephegos pulling the ropes between each action. It’s a surprisingly calm musing, pushing our individual issues far into the background noise, a welcome reprieve and the first actual tangible proof of what is going on in my human kingdom. I don’t even think about my mother’s letter to Andraya much, my focus captured by having something to do and my thoughts bound to figuring out the meaning of Tavras’s military’s positioning.

Only when each of us has studied the reports a second time do we finally loose a collective breath, and I turn my back to the map, perching on the edge of the table.

“It seems we’ve got some work to do.” Silas claps his hands, eager to get moving, Royad seconding his statement with a list of actionable points of where to shift some of the Askarean troops for tactical advantage. I’m not surprised Tori is already discussing the feasibility of each move with Rogue, who places a finger on his mouth, listening intently to his general and the two Crow males so eager to help.

“Are you all right?” Kaira asks in my mind, tearing me from my thoughts with that surefire way of knowing when I’m withdrawing into a shell.

“I will be.” Because I have Myron at my side and my sister, and an entire family who’s looking out for me, Herinor included, in his own, twisted way. But even him I have in my corner.

When we leave the throne room hours later, Myron silently walks at my side, a pensiveness settling over him I hadn’t noticed earlier. The others are continuing to talk strategies, Silas and Tata launching into a discussion about whether he should be placed in her unit or fight alongside the rest of the Crows when the big confrontation comes.

That brings me back to the image of the map that has burned itself into my head, and which will give me nightmares for a good time to come.

Halfway up the stairs to our room, Myron drops my hand, curling his arm around my waist and tucking me into his side. He leans down to place a kiss on the crown of my head, his warm breath washing over my hair, but he doesn’t speak until we step inside our bedroom and close the door after us.

With a sigh, he sits on the edge of the bed, tired gaze landing on the cerulean rug spread between us while I remain standing a foot from the oak door.

“It’s not going to get any easier, is it?” He rubs his hands over his face as if trying to wipe the image we just pieced together in the throne room. “Thousands of soldiers at the border. Spies roaming all of Tavras on the search for we don’t know what. Legions combing the lands for either the rebels or for us. And no sign of the Crows. No sightings of Ephegos or any other of our kin.” The muscles in his neck and shoulders shift under his black tunic as he shakes his head, and I cross the rug with two strides, settling beside him on the bed, fingers laced between my knees and shoulder resting against his.

It’s good to feel him like this, solid muscle and strength, even when doubts are pestering him. Better even when he leans into me, too, using my support the same way I’m using his.

A deep sigh ripples through him. “I wish I had an army, Ayna. I wish I had forces to pit against Erina, against Ephegos and his traitor Crows.” A curtain of raven hair hides his face as he lowers his head, taking my view of those beautiful features. “I wish I was a real king with a real kingdom and the power to defend those I love.”

I had no idea he was feeling this way, nor do I want him to feel like he’s lacking anything when he’s everything to me.

Out of their own accord, my fingers graze his, folding through his laced ones until my palm rests between his.

“You are a real king, Myron. You might not have a large army at your disposal right now, but you have a kingdom.”

Lifting his head, Myron scrutinizes me from two orbs of ocean blue, and the devastation there nearly breaks my heart. “A king of three Crows, and one of them’s a traitor.” The bitter chuckle spilling from his lips sends that dormant fissure right through my chest.

“My king,” I correct. “The king of my heart and my soul, no matter how many others you reign over. You’ll always be my king.”

Just like that, the bitterness melts away, and the depths of his eyes swallow me whole.

“As you are my queen. My kingdom. My universe. There is nothing I want apart from you. But I do need to defend you, Ayna. I won’t risk Ephegos sneaking up on us another time. I won’t risk him succeeding in fulfilling his bargain with Shaelak.” My breath hitches as he lifts his hand to my cheek, fingertips grazing my skin lightly like a cloud. “I won’t risk our mating bond, not even in death can I bear the thought of you with another male.”

Heat lances down my spine as his hand brushes the side of my neck, finger sliding under the collar of my leathers in a smooth motion, reminding me what it’s like to have those hands all over my torso.

But the devastation in his gaze hasn’t faded, even with this contact between us, the undeniable connection binding us through the mate mark, and the tingling warmth spreading within me, originating in my palm right where the mark is slightly glowing where my hand now rests against the top of his thigh.

“Even if death takes you from me, I will never be someone else’s. Even if Shaelak himself wills it.”

A breath hitches in his throat as my fingers curl to the inside of his knee, nails scraping over the leather of his pants, and I can’t hold back the need to forge my mouth with his.

Before I can form a clear thought, my lips meet his in a fierce kiss, a tangle of tongues and teeth, of stuttering breaths, and his hand delves into my hair, cupping my nape and tilting my head for better access. White-hot need washes through me, a sensation so powerful I don’t care if it will consume me whole, and I slide over him, straddling him with a swift motion and inhaling his groan of surprise and approval as my center brushes up against his arousal.

Myron’s hands claim my hips, securing me against his front as he turns us over so he’s kneeling between my legs on the bed. With a moan, I arch into his touch, relishing each featherlight kiss he places along the side of my neck. And his teeth⁠—

A curse escapes my lips as he bites down on the side of my collar, tearing the button open with one efficient tug, but my hands are there, fumbling open the buckles along the front until my thin undershirt is the only thing separating me from his touch. With a growl, Myron releases my hips, hooking a talon that must have slipped through his attention into the collar of my shirt and ripping it open straight to the waistband of my pants. The fabric peels away, leaving me bare, and Myron takes full advantage as he sits up, looking his fill of my heavy, aching breasts before swiping a gentle finger across them.

“My beautiful Crow,” he whispers, awe melting with desire, with a raw need so forceful my palm burns as he pours his emotions into me through the bond.

I reach for his shirt, sliding it over his head, then the front of his pants, unlacing the leather until I can shove it down, freeing his cock. Myron’s breath stutters as I guide him to my entrance, his entire form trembling with restraint, but he doesn’t move an inch as I take his face between my palms, kissing him gently, deeply.

“No one but you,” I remind him as I slide over him, letting his hard desire sink into me.

Myron isn’t breathing, pulse raging in his chest so hard I can hear it over the gushing of my own wild blood. Like honey, his tongue melts against mine, and as I nip at his bottom lip, moaning at the deep fit of him within me, Myron unleashes himself on me.

Hard thrusts combined with reverent kisses. I’m afloat with the potency of the emotions building within me. Not just the pleasure coiling tight in my belly with every time his hips meet mine, fingers curling around my thighs as he lifts me a few inches to take me even deeper. On his chest, the mate mark lights up under my touch, lines of stardust glimmering between us as he drives into me like he can’t bear an inch of distance between us.

When I come undone, Myron is right there to catch me, his groan of release tearing through the small universe we’ve formed for us alone, shredding it into a million stars.

Thirty-Six

Ayna

“What do you mean you don’t have news on the antidote?” Queen Sanja’s amber gaze is nothing I want to be the mark of as she sends it across the elegant low couch table like she’s ready to spear the King of Askarea alive and roast him over an open fire.

To his credit, Rogue bristles only slightly before regaining his control and quirking a brow at her. “The healers haven’t made any progress. The vial has limited contents. We’ve put the experiments on hold until we have a more solid idea of how to create an antidote.” Leaning toward her, he reaches for her belly, stroking the roundness gently even when his tone remains fierce. “I’m not going to waste what little of the poison we have left on wild guesses.”

Wild guesses seem what our little group has become most adept at over the past weeks. All the theories about Ephegos and his intentions. The locations and potential movements of Erina’s legions and spies. Not to forget the God of Darkness, maker of the Crows and my far ancestor. I gag on the mere thought of someone who shares my blood willing to sell me to a traitor of his own creation.

Better focus on the easy things in life, like picking a side in this conflict about whether or not we should pursue the experiments regarding the antidote.

“It doesn’t need to be an antidote,” Clio throws in. “The poison would do the trick. If we could douse the Flames and the Crows with it during battle, we’d even the field the way they tried with us.”

She’s right. We all know she’s right, but even Herinor hasn’t been able to come up with memories of the recipe for the Guardiansdamned serum that has caused so much misery for me and mine.

“The healers are even more clueless about how to make that one. Flame blood, yes, but the other ingredients…” Rogue muses, getting up from his perch on the edge of the black brocade chair in his study where we’ve been sitting for half an hour, comparing notes and gathering our combined knowledge about the drug. Anything that might help us unlock the riddle is welcome, but even knowing the effects it evokes in the different physiques of human, Crow Fae, and Askarean Fairy hasn’t been of any help.

Sanja sweeps her long, shiny black tresses back over her shoulder, running a hand down her sternum as she stretches her spine, the strain of pregnancy clearly weighing on her, and Rogue’s stern features soften. Within the blink of an eye, he disappears mid-step toward his mahogany desk, reappearing seated beside Sanja on the couch. With a careful pair of arms, he pulls her closer. Tori and Clio both smile while the rest of us try not to stare at the display of mately concern. Silas clears his throat, looking anywhere but at the Fairy King and Queen, Kaira opting for the gardens below the narrow balcony leading from the simple yet elegant room, and Herinor folds his arms across his chest, studying the loose thread at the sleeve of his tunic with sudden interest. Royad starts murmuring with Myron, both of them standing behind my chair.

“Anything I can get you?” Rogue murmurs, already using his magic, summoning a tray with a glass of water, a cup of herbal tea, judging by the smell of it, and various cookies and salty snacks on three different plates. He sets it down on the table, fingers of his other hand resting on the now-moving belly.

“He’s kicking again,” Sanja groans. “If he’ll be anything as active as he is now when he’s out, we won’t sleep for a decade.”

I can’t hold back a chuckle. I have no idea about younglings, but if their child has any resemblance to either of them, it’s going to be a handful.

As if remembering he’s supposed to play the role of the war-waging monarch, Recienne straightens, hand sliding from the purple velvet gown covering his mate’s abdomen. I smile widely at him because this moment, private as it might have been, gives me an idea.

“The antidote would be a great way to increase our chances in open battle. As would be the poison.” The map from last night flashes before me, all those locations of hidden troops lying low. “But even if we figure it out, it might be too late to use in battle and not enough quantity to affect an entire army.”

“I don’t believe I’m following;” Rogue says, adjusting the gold-threaded cuffs of his black tunic.

In my palm, I sense Myron’s presence, his encouragement, even when I can’t see his face with him remaining behind me.

With a wave of said hand, I gesture at Sanja’s belly. “The Crows loyal to Ephegos may fight for what they believe is their right, following a traitor who will sacrifice any of them easily if it serves his own interest. But they don’t have what you have.”

Rogue’s brows rise up so high I wonder if they will disappear into his hairline. “And what’s that, Ayna?”

My lips spread wide, smile becoming impossibly broader. “A family. A future filled with life and love.” Myron’s hands settle on my shoulders, squeezing gently, and warmth fills me as I can see that future clearly before me. Sanja and Rogue with their little one, Clio and Tori, the doting aunt and uncle. “You have something to fight for, Rogue, and something to lose. Tavras, on the other hand, has no true motivation to go to war other than a megalomaniac king and his Crow friend. I doubt Tavrasian soldiers are eager to march into battle at all with the kingdom thriving the way it is.”

“Ephegos can give a surprisingly convincing hate speech,” Herinor points out, and none of us needs to be reminded of the memories Kaira dug up from the male’s mind.

“You say that like it’s an excuse.” The cold edge in Kaira’s tone shuts him up immediately.

“Plus, there’s the personal vendetta against you,” Royad chimes in, gesturing at Myron and me. “At least, those rogue Crows will follow him in his mad desire to rule the world. The Flames, too, I assume if what we assume is right and Jeseida had groomed him as her heir after Sariell’s death.”

None of us likes to be reminded of the tangled conglomerate of reasons why Ephegos will get more support than he deserves.

Kaira bobs her head. “The Flames have more reason to attack than Tavras does. Even when Ephegos is a Crow, he’s managed to bring them all over to his side, fueling the belief that it’s Carius’s heir who deserves to be punished for the Crows taking their home in the first place.”

Sanja’s groan of frustration draws all our eyes, and I’m not surprised to find her rolling her own eyes. “This is like Cyrill all over again.”

I have no idea who Cyrill is, but Rogue, Tori, and Clio nod in unison, grimacing at the mere mention of that name.

“Long story,” Sanja dismisses my unvoiced question. “Perhaps another time, after we send Ephegos behind Eroth’s veil and freeze those flame-spitting Fire Fairies over.”

For a heartbeat, I think Kaira will be offended, but she murmurs her approval, meeting my gaze as she probably reads my thoughts all over again. “Don’t worry about me, sis. That tiny spark of fire that I hold isn’t nearly enough to make me a real Flame. I’d rather consider myself a normal fairy.”

“We’ll need more troops—human, Crow, or fairy—to balance out Tavras’s advantage of the drug.” Rubbing her hand over the side of her stomach where the baby is kicking again, she slides a bit higher in her seat. “I’d go to Jezuin myself if the little one wasn’t tormenting me day and night.”

The horror in Rogue’s eyes isn’t fake at all. He knows she means it. The Queen of Askarea wouldn’t shy away from the risk of leaving the palace if it meant she could protect her family. “I’ll go. I’m certain Dimar II won’t deny me if I ask in your name.” There’s doubt in his voice, as if he has a history of being greeted with distrust and malevolence in the human lands.

“Perhaps, I should go,” Tori offers. “Between the three of us, I do speak diplomacy the best.”

Clio’s wild hair showers over her shoulder in a spray of copper as she shakes her head. “Guarantee they’ll be intimidated out of their wits is all you’d do.” Ignoring the curious expression on her mate’s face, she presses a kiss to his cheek, an offer of consolation. “Nothing against you, Tori, but Dimar II would shit himself.”

Both Herinor and Silas chuckle, and Myron steps around the chair to perch beside me on the rolled armrest. “Could you site-hop Sanja to Jezuin?” he suggests. “If she’s the most likely to get a positive response out of the King of Cezux, then perhaps she should go.”

Rogue has murder in his eyes as he stands up from his chair and explains to Myron, voice so cold I involuntarily shiver, “I won’t risk the pregnancy to site-hop Sanja around like an emissary. She’s no longer human but not a full fairy either. Even with immortality gifted by the Guardians, our healers sometimes don’t understand all of her physique. Site-hopping is dangerous for a born fairy. If you believe I’ll play games with my mate’s and my child’s health for this war, think again.”

For a long moment, no one speaks, tension building in the air until it’s hard to breathe. Only when Sanja places a hand on Rogue’s arm, guiding him back into his seat, does the Fairy King seem to remember we’re not enemies.

“Touchy subject,” Clio comments, dissipating the rest of that uncomfortable prickle in the air. “Sanja is staying home. Besides, if the Cezuxian throne responds better to round-eared creatures, perhaps we should bring some of our rebel friends. I’m sure Andraya would do well negotiating support in this war.”

“For Tavras,” I remind her. “The rebels are only interested in Tavras. I doubt they’d call for aid to support Askarea.” Much as the rebels burn for their mission, it is limited to my homelands, and I doubt they’d offer to defend the fairylands even if the queen they want to see on the Tavrasian throne was the one to ask for their support. “And I’ll gladly go if it means I could buy us a chance at support.”

“We should at least try.” Kaira cocks her head at Herinor’s remark. It’s the first time I’ve caught her openly looking him in the eye since that day in the dungeon.

If only the two of them could get over themselves—Kaira over her grudge and distrust and Herinor over that sense of being unworthy of my sister—they would make a formidable front our enemies would tremble before. But it’s not up to me to push them toward each other when I understand Kaira’s reasons for caution all too well. I saw the memories Herinor shared, saw the male he used to be and the choices that brought him to this point of being the slave of a deal that might one day destroy us all. So I keep my mouth shut and my opinions to myself.

Checking my mental shield so Kaira can’t listen in on my thoughts, I rest my hand in Myron’s open one, glad to have someone to share the burden of this war. Maybe, one day, Kaira will have someone, too. Maybe it will be Herinor; maybe it won’t.

The sideways glance Kaira shoots in my direction informs me she pushed past the shield anyway, and the way the corner of her mouth is twitching upward is a sign I might not be all wrong about my hopes.

“I’ll go with you to see Andraya and Pouly,” she tells me instead of commenting on my thoughts. “Plus, we should bring some of the handsome males as well. I know Andraya will be more receptive to our ideas with a pretty face in her presence when we deliver the news.”

Herinor’s shoulders straighten an inch, but it’s Tori who speaks first. “I’ll site-hop you there today,” he offers, much to Clio’s dismay, who lifts a brow, patting her mate’s bicep.

“She said pretty males.”

The snort laugh pushing through Herinor’s nose earns him a sharp glance from Kaira. “That’s why you’re not coming either.”

That wipes the grin right off Herinor’s face, but Silas steps forward, smooth as a fox, resting his hands on the hilt of the hatchet he never leaves his bedroom without these days. “I believe Andraya was particularly impressed with Royad.”

All eyes turn to the male, who shrinks an inch where he still stands behind my chair.

Myron ignores that Royad is opening his mouth to protest, gesturing at the fairies in the room then the room in general. “I’ll need you here to continue working on a strategy to defeat Erina’s armies. With Ephegos in the lead and that damned drug at their disposal, we need to find an edge they don’t expect, or there will no longer be a Crow Court.”

A respectful dip of Royad’s chin tells me he knows Myron relies on him to find that edge and that he’ll do whatever it takes not to disappoint his king.

“Besides the pretty males,” Silas cuts off the brief silence, “we’ll need some muscle on our journey to Cezux, just to make sure our queen and her sister won’t run into trouble.” He gestures at himself and Herinor.

The glance the latter gives Kaira tells all sorts of stories about how he wishes he was that trouble for her.

Tori clamps his hands. “It’s decided then; Royad stays. I’ll take Ayna, Kaira, Silas and Herinor to the rebels, and when Andraya agrees to help, I’ll take her to Cezux alone.”

Thirty-Seven

Ayna

When we leave for the borderlands an hour later, Tori isn’t the one taking us. After Sanja and Rogue thoroughly briefed us on what feels like the entire Cezuxian history, Clio made it abundantly clear that she and Tata would accompany us. Only Myron insisted on joining us with the words, “One more handsome male cannot hurt.” No one dared object, and the tingle in my palm turned into potent heat when his gaze met mine, finding blazing confirmation of his attractiveness in how I couldn’t look away from him.

“Hold on,” Clio orders as she closes her hands around Myron’s and mine, Tata taking Kaira, Silas, and Herinor, and I grit my teeth in anticipation of the usual nausea coming with the mode of transportation as, together, we all disappear into the sickening void connecting the tissues of the world. Only, this time, I don’t get nauseated, as if my fae body is already accustomed to being drawn through time and space—or can process it differently.

The wooden walls of the farmhouse kitchen don’t disorient me, and I don’t sway as my feet hit the worn floorboards. Herbs and spices lace the air, warmth spreading from the crackling fire inside the stove in the corner. Ten half-finished dishes sit on the table as if abandoned mid-meal, and in a pot, something is boiling hard, forgotten by the cook or left behind. Holding my breath, I listen to the rooms beyond the walls, to the frost-covered space surrounding the house, finding nothing but the occasional flutter of bird wings.

“Where are they?” Kaira beats me to it.

Herinor breaks away from the group, examining one of the plates more closely. “Cold.” His eyes scan all surfaces of the room with professional assessment. Not one thing is out of place. “No signs of struggle or fighting.” He nods to himself, stepping around the chair at the head of the table that is standing a bit far away to allow a comfortable sitting position.

Tata runs her finger over the long bench on one side of the table, studying the cutlery; then she turns to the stove once more. “They must have been gone for a while. It’s a miracle that stew hasn’t burned yet.”

To my surprise, it’s Myron who prowls to the stove, pulling the large copper pot onto the cool stone counter on the side. “Smells delicious,” he notes without humor, attention on the meadow outside the window behind the counter.

“I’m sure Andraya won’t mind if you help yourself to a ladle-full.” Silas stalks past Clio, Kaira, and me, aiming for the open door to the bedroom where we rested before the ambush on the convoy Erina sent to supply his armies with magic-nullifying serum.

On instinct, I follow him. Whatever is wrong here, at least, I haven’t caught the smell of blood.

The bedroom is as neat and clean as the humble setting allows—beds made and woolen blankets folded atop the covers. Fog clings to the windows, hiding the outside world from even my heightened senses. On instinct, my shield flares to life, my powers snaking along the walls, probing, listening for anything off.

Myron and Herinor are still in the kitchen together with Tata, whose voice carries through the suspicious silence. “The door,” she says, both males humming in confirmation. The bond with Myron flexes an inch as cold air rushes the building, and, turning on my heels, I follow him.

“They aren’t here. None of them are,” Clio murmurs at the same time I decide to go with Myron while Kaira and Silas stalk toward the narrow backdoor. “Be careful.” Her words of concern follow me as I rush toward the front door, holding my breath and shield firmly in place.

“Let me know if you find anything,” I tell my sister, but she’s already showing me an image of the meadow between the barn and the house. Nothing out of order.

A flicker of worry floats along that has me pausing as I cross the threshold, catching up with Tata, Myron, and Herinor, all three of them armed with steel and magic, shields of translucent silver enclosing them. Joining my shield with theirs, I bring up the rear as we follow the tracks leading to and from the door.

Many of them.

Large boot prints. And lines that suggest something was dragged from the threshold. Or someone.

“Over here,” I call Kaira in my mind, trusting her to inform Clio and Silas of what we found.

“This doesn’t look good,” she comments, her presence growing stronger in my mind with every step she makes her way around the building. She flashes me an image of Clio taking the other direction so we won’t miss any other tracks leading from or to the house. But the frost covering the ground is hiding any earlier marks, leaving the disturbances at the front door the only proof someone came or left at all.

“How many?” Silas crouches by the dirt-colored shapes with narrowed eyes, one hand on his hatchet while the other pokes a finger into the mud. For a moment, I believe he’ll taste it, but he merely smells the freezing crumbs with a grimace. “Human.”

As if sensing my surprise that he can scent the species from a mere trace of a boot, he holds out the finger to me.

Reluctantly, I take a whiff. And my eyes shutter as I realize the distinct smell of human that I hadn’t been able to make out inside the house where herbs and spices covered it up. I haven’t encountered any humans since my shift into this fae form, so I wouldn’t know this was even a thing.

“Only three coming to the house, but at least six leaving it,” Herinor notes, already following the tracks along with Tata, whose gaze is on the seam of the forest a hundred feet away.

Her arm shoots up, pointing at a large brown spot halfway to the tree line ahead, “Plenty more joining over there.” I smell it before she continues, the rust and salt of blood. “And it looks like there was a fight.”

In a flash, Silas shifts into his crow form, wings moving in powerful beats as he scans the area from above.

Myron’s fingertips leak black smoke, the tendrils spilling onto the white beside his feet like a slitted tongue tasting the ground, teasing it to yield its secrets. When he glances at me from the side, his eyes are the usual ocean blue and colder than the winter sky above.

“Do you think they were kidnapped?” I ask, refusing to consider the alternative, that they were slaughtered and their bodies dragged away and hidden.

“Hard to know.” Shoving past me, Clio lifts a hand, ice cracking at her fingertips. “It’s clearly human assailants who came for the rebels.”

“Humans can kill just as well as fairies of all sorts,” Kaira points out, falling into step beside me while Herinor shifts in front of us—of her—like a wall of solid muscle.

Clio chuckles a melody of violent memories I’m certain I don’t want her to share. “Oh, I know.”

Mercifully, the lack of a breeze harbors our hushed conversation until we make it to the blood-drenched area and loose a collective breath when we notice the many bloody bootprints leading from here into the forest. No dragged, crimson lines etched into the white hoarfrost. No abandoned weapons.

I don’t know why the sight of it gives me hope when knowing this could very well mean Andraya and Pouly have been captured alongside the other rebels staying with them, and they might be suffering the torture Erina and Ephegos have both proven capable of.

The tracks are fresh, the blood still warm. At least, Silas says so when he lands and shifts, digging a finger into the mud once more before gesturing at the forest. “They could be less than a mile ahead.”

Staring into the haze forming between the tree trunks like clouds sinking into the forest, Tata says, “The Crows can follow them in the air, and we can sneak up on them on foot. We’ll have them trapped within a heartbeat.” Her gaze swings to Silas. “What do you think, Crow?”

The challenge in her tone is obvious, an invitation to go on a killing spree, even when these people—my people might not mean anything to her.

With an incline of his head, Silas turns toward me. “These are your rebels, Queen Ayna. It’s your call.”

Myron doesn’t as much as bat an eye when his subject excludes him from the decision, but through the bond, I sense the fierce, burning pride when Silas addresses me as queen. “If they are carrying the injured, it’s likely they haven’t gotten far,” he merely says, no sign of that passionate king surfacing in his tone, only cool assessment, while the darkness coiling from his hands slowly retreats as if knowing there is no immediate danger waiting for us.

I don’t need to think about it when I say, “We go after them.”

No one questions my decision. Herinor and Silas merely shift into their bird forms while Tata, Kaira, and Clio start moving along the bloody tracks, their feet silent on the frozen ground.

“Are you ready to shift?” Myron asks, watching the other two Crows lift into the air.

We haven’t had this conversation yet, the one where I admit how afraid I am of returning to my bird form for fear I’ll be stuck again.

With a shake of my head, I unsheathed my dagger, following the three females. Myron falls into step beside me a moment later, opting to remain on the ground with me, his power curling around my shoulders in an invisible embrace, and I know he understands why I’m not ready. Why my nightmares are still filled with the feeling of being trapped in that tiny, fragile form, helpless, powerless.

“I’ll shift again,” I murmur, not afraid the others will hear. They are my family now, and who would I confide in if not them?

Gently, Myron’s power gives my shoulders a squeeze. “I know, little crow.” And there is no judgment. Even if my not shifting would mean losing this war, he wouldn’t judge.

And I’ve never loved him more than in this moment when everything he is converges in that breath of understanding. We’ve both lived through pain and loss and trauma, have both suffered and fought our way back. This is just one more stop on the journey of eternity I now share with this male.

Just as my heart is about to get all warm and fuzzy from the love pouring in through the mating bond, a thin flash of silver catches my eye and one of the crows flying above the trees ahead plunges from the air. I don’t care if it’s Silas or Herinor as I take off, running into the forest, Clio, Tata, and Kaira following suit while Myron shifts in a dark swirl of feathers. He doesn’t fly ahead, instead remaining directly above me like a winged, deadly bodyguard as we dart between the evergreens kissing the skeletons of maples, elms, and oaks.

Branches whip at my shield, and I need to draw it closer to my body as the forest grows denser. I should be tiring, but my fae heart pounds steadily even when I run, run, run, until I enter a small clearing, finding myself face to face with Andraya and Pouly. Both bloodied and half frozen. And both tied to a tree trunk at the edge of the clearing.

Andraya’s eyes widen as she takes in Tata, Clio, Kaira, and the crow fluttering overhead. Then her gaze finds me across the frozen ground, and pure horror spreads on her bruised face as she mouths, “Run.”

Thirty-Eight

Ayna

I don’t know what happens first: Myron’s silver power slashing through the ropes binding the two rebels to the tree or Clio’s magic spraying in a flash of icy crystals crumbling the fibers that make up those bindings, but Andraya and Pouly stumble to the ground, leaving bloodied handprints where they catch themselves on the white-coated forest floor.

“It’s all right,” I tell Andraya as I rush toward her, sheathing my dagger to help her up. “We’re here to help you.”

The lady doesn’t even look at me, gaze locking at something behind me as she keeps shaking her head.

“Get Pouly and leave.” The Fairy Princess usually isn’t someone who appreciates being ordered around, but she doesn’t object, instead grabbing the elderly rebel by the arm and dragging him to his feet.

“Move,” she orders, and he does. On unsteady legs, he staggers forward, but his gaze remains behind me the same as Andraya’s.

“Where are the others?” Myron prompts from a few feet behind me, and the command in his tone explains why the two rebels are still staring like that. With a glance over my shoulder, I find Myron and Tata, both of them with their weapons drawn. Myron is scanning the clearing for signs of Herinor and Silas, who haven’t reappeared since the river of light drew one of the two Crows from the sky.

“I don’t know,” Andraya admits, but her face is weary, not a hint of relief at their rescue showing in those sparkling blue eyes. Eyes that are still fixated on a point behind me.

Something is off, and it’s not in the way it was off when we were fighting Erina’s soldiers north of Aceleau. It’s a different, more fundamental sort of off that has my gut tightening and my pulse launching into my throat even when there is no obvious danger.

“We’ll find them,” I reassure Kaira through our mental connection when her gaze won’t stop scanning the space within the bare patch of land. “We’ll get the humans to safety, and then we’ll find the Crows.”

I hate that I need to prioritize lives, but between two magical creatures with healing powers and millennia of combat experience and the two humans before me, Andraya and Pouly need our help more. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Who knows what happened to the others? They might already be engaged in a fight they can’t win somewhere out of our reach, damned to defeat. I refuse to let the thought fester.

Instead, I drag Andraya to her feet, stabilizing her with my free hand as I guide her back toward Myron while, with the other one I’m still clutching my dagger. “Who tied you up?”

Digging in her heels like a stubborn donkey, the lady shakes her head. Whatever happened traumatized her in a way that she can’t differentiate friend from foe. Or she wouldn’t shy away from Myron, who stands a few feet ahead like a statue, death leaking from his fingertips as he sends his power around the clearing in search of Herinor and Silas. Guardians, how I hope whatever trouble they have found is something they can maneuver themselves out of—or at least hold their ground until the rest of us can join them.

An instant later, Kaira is on Andraya’s other side. “Have you seen Herinor and Silas?” With a careful hand, she helps me guide the lady forward, who merely shakes her head.

“No sign of anything or anyone,” Pouly informs us a bit too hastily.

All right. No Crows. We’ll need to find them once Andraya and Pouly are safe and we know what we’re dealing with. My heart and my conscience aren’t at all happy with the delay in helping my friends, but leaving the only people who know what we’re dealing with behind and setting out into danger would be sheer stupidity, and I’m not willing to risk anyone else’s lives. We set out to retrieve Andraya for a diplomatic mission, not to head into battle.

“Where are the other rebels,” Kaira tries again, asking a question Andraya and Pouly more likely have an answer to.

But the lady freezes again, and Pouly shivers as he follows, one slow step after the other.

“South,” he utters under his breath, but I catch it with my fae hearing, wondering if he even meant to speak.

I don’t pick up any sounds from the surrounding trees other than the occasional scurrying of an animal in the thicket, but Andraya and Pouly seem to be afraid of something.

When I glance sideways at her, Andraya’s gaze is still on Myron, panic shimmering in the brown of her irises. “They were taken by the—” A cough racks through her with such force she almost slips from my grasp. Catching her at the last moment, I sit her down on the fallen tree splitting off the side of the clearing to my left.

Tata is there to help Andraya settle down, her hand steadily guiding the lady onto the tree trunk until she sits with her shoulders rounded and head bowed. The cough is gone, but she won’t meet my gaze even when I kneel in front of her, pushing for answers while I check on her bruises with my magic. Surprisingly, the purpling skin on her cheek lightens under the touch of my healing power—a power, for once, that I don’t need to spend hours and hours training to control. “Who took them?”

Pouly remains standing, gaze flickering around the tree-seamed patch of blood-and-ice-frosted clearing.

“I can’t tell.” Another cough shakes Andraya, and her shoulder twitches to the right where Myron has walked up to stand behind Tata whose soothing hand remains on the lady’s shoulder.

“Why?” I demand. Time is of the essence. We might have found them in time, but if we fail to rescue the other rebels before they can shed their secrets under torture, any attempt to remove Erina from Tavras’s throne might be lost.

Trying to get more comfortable on the hard seat, Andraya shifts her weight, the toes of her boot turning to the right at an odd angle that has me wondering if she injured her leg in the fight.

“Was it the same people who tied you up?” Clio prompts, earning a nod from both Andraya and Pouly. The first non-evasive response since we found them.

“Who was it?”

“Does it matter?” Tata cuts her off, retrieving her hand from Andraya’s shoulder. “They can’t have gotten far. I’ll take Andraya and Pouly back to Aceleau while you hunt for the kidnappers.”

It’s the way Andraya cringes at Tata’s offer that gives me pause, and as I follow her gaze, finding it resting on Tata’s sword—a sword that’s casually angled at the lady, just enough to indicate a quick stab is all it takes to bring the human down—Pouly gives me a pleading look.

I don’t fully understand the dimension of betrayal, even though its sour taste already coats my tongue as I grab Andraya by the wrist, pulling her to her feet and tucking her to my side as if in support. “Protect Pouly,” I think at Kaira, whose surprise rings in her silent response, but she doesn’t question me as she steps closer to the man.

Something is fishy here, and it’s not the fact that Herinor and Silas disappeared. It’s that Andraya and Pouly are afraid of Tata. They weren’t keeping their eyes on Myron earlier, not afraid of the terrifying Crow King leaking night and darkness. A glance at Myron tells me he noticed it too; that’s why he’d stepped to Tata’s side, not out of curiosity over Andraya’s answers but because he saw the hints the lady tried to give. The shake of her shoulder, the toes pointing toward the fairy female.

“We need to get them out before Tata realizes we suspect something.”

Kaira doesn’t object, and when I ask her to open a mental channel to Myron and Clio, she relays my thoughts directly to them. “I think Tata is somehow involved in this attack.” Not staring at Tata as I share my suspicion is one of the hardest things I’ve done since shifting out of my bird body and into my fae form. “Clio, take Andraya and Pouly back to the palace. Don’t let Tata get anywhere near them until we know for certain she betrayed us.”

Myron shifts his weight, dark power coiling toward Tata’s wrist hovering an inch from her blade, ready to restrain it should she attack.

“We need to find Silas and Herinor before we search for the rest of the rebels,” Kaira throws in, a hint of panic in her mental tone that makes me believe she is half out of her mind not knowing where Herinor ended up. Honestly, the longer we don’t see any sign of the missing two males, the edgier I become, too, and it takes all my willpower not to leap to Myron’s side like a shield between him and the potential traitor in our midst.

“We will,” I reassure her, and Clio nods her agreement even as she holds out a hand to Pouly and Andraya, her jade eyes unreadable as she tells Tata, “I’ll take them. You help the others find the two missing Crows.” An order from the Fairy Princess.

For a moment, I think Tata will submit, her expression serious like the soldier I’ve gotten to know, her eyes two dark, sparkling stars. Then, so fast not even my Crow eyes can fully make out the movement, she punches Myron in the face—not with the sword hand he’d been watching but with the free one. The one that was not comforting Andraya but a gesture of warning not to tell on her.

His shield takes the brunt of the impact, but he’s pulled it too tightly to his skin to have much of a buffer as Tata’s knuckles connect with his jaw. A scream escapes my lips as his head snaps back, blood splattering the fairy’s hand where she split his lip. Tata twirls on the spot, blocking my path as I instinctively reach for Myron at the blinding pain exploding through the bond connecting us, and even without the sound of boots and blades arriving from the edges of the clearing, I know beyond a doubt that the female betrayed us.

Thirty-Nine

Herinor

My legs are made of lead, my head throbbing like someone is trying to forge a nasty blade between hammer and anvil inside my skull, and my clothes are sodden with blood and mud. At least the freezing cold clears the haze in my mind quickly as I open my eyes to the mess of broken branches and twigs surrounding me—and Silas’s weight on my chest like a gargantuan unconscious bird.

With a groan, I shove him off, careful of potential broken bones, and roll over to check on his breathing.

Slow, shallow puffs of air fog before his half-open mouth, proof I didn’t just crack my ribs in vain.

Scrambling to my knees, I bend over him, searching for signs of open wounds.

Nothing. Not even the whiff of blood laces the air.

“Fucking gods.” I can’t even think from the relief spreading through my limbs, all the way to my toes and fingertips, at the sound of Silas’s rasped curse. “What happened?”

Sitting back on my heels, I wipe the mud off his forehead, watching his pitch-black eyes blink into the hazy forest.

“Not exactly sure,” I grumble, suppressing a whimper at an attempt to straighten and glimpse beyond the first row of trees enclosing us. “Something hit you, and you plunged like a rock. I caught you just in time to prevent you from bashing in your head on a tree. I don’t know when we both shifted, before or after we hit the ground.”

With a groan equaling the one I just bit back, Silas sits up, taking in the mess of broken evergreens. “I guess it happened a while before we landed.” With a shaking hand, he gestures at the tip of a fir at his feet. “Left quite a trail of destruction there, didn’t we?” The dark humor in his tone is barely there—but there anyway.

“At least, your skull is harder than the trees.” I force a chuckle, which ends in a cough, making me wince. Hand clutching my broken side, I stagger to my feet and hold out a hand. “Come on. We need to get back to the others.”

He pulls himself up, the weight almost bringing me back to my knees, but I hold steady. There is no way to know who or what brought us from the sky, and if they’re still lingering nearby, staying out in the open like this is too risky.

“Any idea who shot at us?” Silas leans on me just long enough to catch his breath. It’s a miracle we’re both alive and standing. The fall could have easily killed us. At least, my waste of an existence would be ended for a good cause, saving one of the few people in the world who don’t look at me with disdain.

Silas shakes his head. “All I remember is a flash of bright light. Then … nothing.”

“Because you fucking fell from the clouds like the sack of bones and muscle you are,” I quip, but Silas isn’t laughing. His gaze is on the broken trees ahead, head tilted as if he’s trying to figure out a riddle.

“Do you think it was Crows?”

I try not to think of what encountering Ephegos’s traitor Crows on their own in the middle of the forest would mean. “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility. The power that struck you was a bright light. I couldn’t tell the exact color because of the angle of the sun, but it could as well have been silver.”

My pulse is hammering, headache forgotten and the pain in my ribs shut behind the wall I’m so used to pulling up to compartmentalize pain. It’s served well enough making it through Ephegos’s experiments with the magic-nullifying drug, so I’m keeping that mechanism. “If Ephegos is nearby, he’s probably already on his way to Myron.” And Ayna, I add in my head, not admitting aloud how much the thought of the insane male laying a finger on the Queen of Crows fills me with terror. The deal with him would destroy me. And I truly don’t want to see both my king and queen caught again nor the infuriating Flame who’s crept into my heart and settled there, a tantalizing and painfully tempting presence I don’t know how to rid myself of. Or whether I even want to rid myself of her.

The glance Silas gives me in answer suggests I’m not the only one close to panic. Wide black eyes scanning the trees, he holds his breath, listening to the sounds of the forest—to the unnatural silence that always comes with the presence of our kind, like the animals instinctively know not to draw our attention. The question remains whether it’s Silas and me who they sense or if there’s something more waiting in the gaps between the haze.

“I bet you my next dessert that this was Ephegos’s doing.” Silas gestures at the bruise blooming beneath his collar, spreading along his neck and the side of his jaw.

Measuring him how he stands more steadily, hand on his hatchet and teeth gritted against the pain as he’s slowly healing the worst of his injuries, I try not to quake with fear at the thought of Ephegos actually waiting around the next tree. “It sure wasn’t an arrow.” My laugh is half-hearted. “But I’d happily watch you eat my next dessert if that means Ephegos hasn’t set foot into this forest.”

My side tingles as I send a burst of healing energy into my ribcage, sensing the bone mending in increments. The effort it takes drains a good chunk of my power, but it’s even riskier to remain injured should we cross our enemy’s path.

“It’s not like we can hide here,” I continue because it’s the truth. Whoever shot us from the sky knows we’re here. They probably watched us fall and are most likely on their way to collect us.

Silas gets the notion. “It’s time to get out of here. Better we sneak up on them before they sneak up on us.”

I hate the sound of it, and I hate even more that it makes me feel like a coward. But we both know he’s right, and I’d have suggested the same thing had he not beaten me to it. “We need to at least figure out what we’re dealing with. Then we can warn the others.” Or, if the army waiting for us is too big to fight, lure them away from the others and get reinforcements.

Stomach tightening, I point ahead. “Let’s start south.” I don’t need to explain to Silas that’s probably the direction they were attacking from and that we’d better hurry. He’s been roaming this world as long as I have, has fought enough battles and tracked down enough enemies to know the game.

We both draw our weapons, setting out toward the thicket ahead, ears on the absence of noise other than the hammering of our own hearts. If we don’t find them before they find us, we’re all fucked.

Forty

Ayna

They are everywhere, tall, powerful soldiers with grey leather armor, swinging nondescript swords at us as we rush into an efficient formation at the center of the clearing. Kaira has my left side while Myron covers my right, my back to Clio’s with Andraya and Pouly safely stored between the four of us.

“I can’t believe she betrayed us,” the Fairy Princess hisses through her teeth, scanning the clearing for Tata, who disappeared the second the soldiers arrived, while I try to ignore the urgency the scent of Myron’s blood instills in me. Of course, he’s already healing the cut on his lip, but it doesn’t change that the bond is screaming at me to protect him and punish the traitor who punched him in the face.

Not that I’m not busy otherwise with those soldiers flooding the clearing.

“That’s a discussion for later,” Myron stops Clio before she can go down the road of blaming herself. “Let’s get out of here alive first.”

He has a point and a good one at that. The thirty-plus men surrounding us are clearly here to collect us—for torture or worse. Their faces are all half hidden by the headpieces of the magic-repellant armor Erina’s armies are now equipped with, but that doesn’t mean the Tavrasian King is the one who sent those sentries.

If only Herinor and Silas were here, we’d have two more capable warriors to stand against this small army, but odds are these are the ones who shot them out of the sky and our Crow friends have been captured.

“Can you site-hop back to the palace and get reinforcements?” I suggest more than ask Clio, praying to whichever god will listen that she says yes.

Her voice is low enough I need to strain my ears to catch all her words as she responds, “It would take too long to get there and back in time before they skewer you all.”

“Thanks for illustrating our pending fate,” Myron growls, his power leaking from his hands once more like ink in water while his shield shimmers like silver in the frosty air.

Monitoring the approach of the enemy, Kaira shifts into a defensive stance. “If they’re human, we can defeat them easily, even if they spray us with that damn magic-binding drug.” A few more moments and they’ll be upon us. Running isn’t an option. It never was. Clio can’t site-hop us all at once, and on foot, we’d be too slow. With Andraya and Pouly injured, we’d need to leave them behind, and that’s not an option.

“I doubt they’re all human,” Myron says, flipping his sword. With a casual step, his shoulder is half in front of me, shielding me from part of the attackers who have almost closed the gap.

Gripping my daggers more tightly and pulling my silver power to the surface, I shove out of Myron’s protection. “I’m a big Crow girl, Myron. I can handle myself,” I remind him with as much merit as I can muster in the face of the approaching danger.

Through our bond, a flicker of warmth caresses my soul, and he brushes his shoulder against mine. “I know, little crow.”

“Sword or magic?” Clio asks, coiling to spring while Andraya and Pouly ready the extra knives we handed them.

A spark of silver flies from Myron’s palm, swirling up the length of my dagger before rushing across the closing distance toward one of the soldiers where it’s sucked into the gray armor like a raindrop into a cotton towel, not leaving a single trace. “Steel it is.”

His words are carried away on a gust of icy wind, and like on a silent signal, the soldiers attack.

Two men are upon me before I can curse Shaelak’s name, their swords unrelenting even against my fae strength. Beside me, Myron is fighting another two, his sword a flash of silver and menace as he slits their throats with ease.

Pulling my shield more tightly to my front, I extend it behind my back to include Andraya and Pouly, who both seem ready to claw the soldiers’ eyes out but hover where we’ve placed them at the eye of the storm.

Each strike landing on my blades rattles my bones, but my Crow strength parries them with ease, my magic rising beneath the surface, ready to tear my opponents to shreds.

Too risky, I tell the power lapping against my skin from the inside. You’ll just get drained when you touch the magic-defying armor and won’t cause the least bit of damage.

But my daggers do cause damage. Throwing my full weight into the blow, I pierce one dagger into the throat of the soldier trying to land another blow. The steel pierces through the leather headpiece covering the sensitive sides of his neck, and a spray of crimson hits my shield as I watch the life leave the man’s eyes.

I shouldn’t be so thoroughly pleased by a life gone out, but a primal part of me knows it’s either them or me, and I’d rather it be them.

Steel clashes with steel behind me, Clio’s voice carrying on the freezing air as she mocks her opponents. I don’t need to turn around to know she’s cut down more than one of them, just as I don’t need to glance at Kaira or Myron to know they are relentlessly fighting the onslaught of soldiers. At least, they haven’t started with arrows yet. If they used the same magic-nullifying missiles they’ve shot at us before, our shields would be worthless.

Another sword swings my way, making me hop out of its path before I can strike back. Despite the cold, sweat is building on my forehead, my heart beating frantically as I wonder how long we’ll be able to keep this up.

Yes, it’s easy to keep them at bay—for now. But while the first soldiers falling at our feet like cut wheat stalks were clearly human, the one I’m fighting now seems to be something more. His blows are harder, more precise, and the unearthly wrath in his narrowed brown eyes speaks of a grudge older than a human lifetime.

My intuition is confirmed when a streak of fire races along the blade aiming at my shoulder, and I twirl out of the way just in time to avoid the impact.

“Fire Fairy!” I shout to warn the others, using the condescending term for their kind on purpose and relishing the ire flaring in those eyes as the male growls a warning at me a heartbeat before he swings his sword once more.

Myron is busy hacking his way through the two men who replaced the ones he already cut down, and I’m not proud to admit that my attention is only half on my own attacker when I sense his frustration as each blow is deflected anew. My shield merges with his instinctively, feeling him in my protection. At least, the searing heat of the Fire Fairy’s magic can’t penetrate that layer of power that easily.

As if picking that thought from my mind, the Flame throws another wave of fire at me, so strong, this time, that I can taste ash on my tongue. The magic enveloping me melts just enough to make the temperature inside the shield climb to a toasty summer climate.

A part of me wonders why they haven’t sprayed us with the serum the way the Flames did when we ambushed them what feels like a lifetime ago. Before I can ponder any possible reasons, another strike of fire blasts against the silvery power surrounding us.

“Tighten your shields,” Myron orders, moving closer to my side, luring his opponent to follow before he runs him through with his blade. With one efficient stab, he cuts clean through the chest armor made of gray leather. Another soldier takes his place the second he drops to the ground, and this one is equipped with two sabers of white-hot fire.

“Shit,” Pouly’s curse is a whisper at my back, and we all realize that, even though we’ve neutralized a good third of our opponents, those first ones were merely to wear us down. The real threat is lingering at the back of the rows, and each man who falls gets replaced by one more powerful.

Ducking away from the soldier aiming at me, I shift in front of Myron, silver power drawing to the surface. As long as no one uses that Guardiansdamned drug on me, I can use my magic to meet the Flame’s burning blades. Drawing upon the well of power inside me, I pull up a wall of silver power, sending it to encircle the humans at the center of our group like a shield of translucent, liquid metal.

The soldiers around us slow their attack, halting as if giving us a moment to breathe before bestowing upon us an all-crushing assault.

“Get out of the way,” Myron hisses into my ear, stepping around my shoulder so he’s right next to me, an inch closer to the enemy than I can stand.

I shake my head in defiance, lifting my own daggers and coating them with my Crow-silver power to meet the fiery weapons of the Flame as he raises the fire sabers above his head, aiming to strike.

“Ayna—” Myron’s warning growl is lost in the thundering shout from the back of the rows.

“Hold!”

Ice slides down my back at the sound of that voice. A familiar, cultivated voice that has starred in my nightmares ever since I woke helpless and weak in the Fire Fairies’ residence in the borderlands. A voice who’s given orders to torture me. Who’s summoned the God of Darkness to make a deal with him.

“Ephegos—” I spit his name, holding onto the strength and anger Tata’s betrayal instilled in me.

Don’t show weakness, I tell myself. Don’t revert to the naive, human Ayna who trusted Ephegos. You’re strong. You’re immortal. You’re powerful.

It doesn’t matter what I tell myself. When the rows of soldiers stand down and form a corridor for the traitor Crow, my knees go weak, and my pulse flutters with panic.

“We need to attack before he can give the order to kill us all,” I speak into the mind link I hope Kaira is still keeping up within our little group.

Myron’s chin dips the tiniest bit, but I know he heard me.

“I could try to freeze their blades over so they break more easily,” Clio’s voice enters my head, and I almost do a double take as Andraya cautions her. “If their weapons are coated with the drug, you’ll only drain your magic.”

“It’s worth a try. None of you has lost your powers, even though you all suffered a cut here and there,” Pouly joins the conversation, and I realize only now the throbbing ache on my forearm where a blade sliced through my sleeve just above my wrist. It’s a small injury but deep enough to let the drug enter my bloodstream had the blade cutting me been coated in the damned serum.

I hear them all. Kaira, Clio, Andraya, Pouly, and Myron’s grumble of, “Just because there was no serum on that particular blade doesn’t mean there won’t be on others. You don’t honestly think Ephegos left one thing to coincidence. He’s planned this all out. Tata must have told him we’re coming—might have already been steering us toward this moment for weeks—and Ephegos set the trap.”

How Kaira managed to make the mind link omnidirectional I have no time to consider as Myron’s words sink in.

A trap. Not Tata’s trap but Ephegos’s. Tata, Ephegos’s minion.

“It’s been a while, Wolayna,” Ephegos drawls, oblivious to the conversation going on outside his reach, and like a ghost materializes in the haze engulfing the clearing. Clad in the same gray leather armor, he could have been just another soldier, but that gait—slow, deliberate, proud, sleek. I recognize him even before he pulls off the gray headpiece to reveal that too-warm and welcoming face. The mask of the diplomat he’s perfected and is wearing like an armor of its own. “You look rather”—he tilts his head, rye blond hair shifting over his shoulders—“different. Not in a bad way, don’t get me wrong.” With elegant strides, he marches closer, and my magic tingles to lash out.

“Careful, Ayna. He’s planned something. Save your strength.” Myron’s warning leashes the tossing power to a straining force simmering beneath my skin—except for that liquid metal shield around the two humans in our midst.

“We need to get Andraya and Pouly out of here,” I hiss into the mind link. “Clio, can you do it?”

“We won’t abandon you,” both the rebels object.

“Neither will I,” Clio agrees, sending a fuzzy sense of warmth through my chest that I’ve learned to recognize as our bond of friendship.

“And Myron,” Ephegos continues, halting a good ten feet away from us, framed by his men, all of whom are sporting fire sabers or fireballs in their hands, ready to launch their magic at us should we even consider attacking. “What a lucky male you are.”

My magic strains against my grasp as Myron tenses beside me, bracing for a blow of words rather than one of a blade or of magic. Guardians, how I want to hurl that power right at the traitor Crow. How I want to rip him to shreds. But the small army of Flames surrounding him is now directing their own magic right at us. One wrong move and we’ll be roasted.

“I could siphon their power if they shoot at us,” Kaira suggests, obviously fully aware of the scenes of doom circling in my mind.

“And burn yourself out? I don’t think so,” Clio jumps in before I can. “You’ve barely tested the limits of your ability.”

“He wants you to ask why?” Pouly nudges, and I only understand he’s talking to Myron when the latter shifts uncomfortably, arm brushing against mine in a gesture of comfort.

We’re both here. We’re alive. We can get out of this. He doesn’t need to share that thought through the mind link; the sentiment is flowing through the bond like crystal clear liquid.

“He can wait for me to play his games until he rots.” The darkness in Myron’s voice doesn’t scare me. Neither do the shadows creeping from his fingertips.

Shaelak’s power, that darkness running through his veins. Maybe, as Shaelak’s descendant, I might harbor the same shadows within me. Maybe, one day, I’ll bathe the world in inky black for what it’s done to me and mine.

“Well, Myron?” Ephegos slinks a step closer, his Flame guards tightening their ranks so they form a line behind him and shift closer to his sides. I wish there was a gap somewhere for us to bolt through, but they thoroughly encircled us, locking us in. And now, we’re facing a building wall of fire.

At the sight of flaring flame, my own shield wavers, forcing me to throw more of my strength into keeping the shimmering protection up.

Herinor and Silas are still somewhere out there—if Ephegos didn’t find them first. They’ll come for us. The likelihood that they’re already dead is just as high. Stomach clenching, I hold on to my daggers like they can give me the support needed to keep upright.

And Ephegos smirks… He knows we’re afraid. Knows we’re aware of how hopeless our situation is turning with every Flame revealing their power. “I’d been hoping you’d come to your senses, you know, realize that giving up is the only way to save our people. And to save Eherea.” He flicks an invisible fleck of dust from his shoulder, scarred fingers as elegant as I remember. “And then I’d thought you’d been smarter. After managing to break the curse, after escaping from the palace in Meer… After figuring out that the only temple of Shaelak is located in Aceleau and that the God of Darkness might be the only one to help your little bird mate, I thought, you’d be smart enough to realize I infiltrated the Fairy King’s circle of trust.”

“Tata,” Clio grinds out the name like she’s imagining chewing the female’s head off.

“The very one.” Ephegos’s grin spreads wide and warm, making me want to tear it away with my bird claws. The heavy darkness inside my chest spreads, a calling to let it grow into inky feathers and sharp talons, but I can’t shift. I can’t allow myself to give in to this instinct and risk getting stuck all over again. So I remain locked in place, shoulder to shoulder with Myron, Kaira on my other side, her back half turned to the traitor as she monitors the Flames behind us. Clio’s fingertips crack with ice. I know even without looking since a flurry of snowflakes dances along my shield. She’s leashing her anger well, but not well enough to hide it, and that’s all Ephegos is waiting for.

“You wonder why Jeseida didn’t kill her like the rest of the fairies, don’t you?” With painful slowness, Ephegos adjusts a buckle on his forearm. “You wonder how we got her to turn on you.”

He’s right. We all wonder, even if we can’t put the betrayal into words.

“Let me clear things up for you so we can move on with this … situation.” Casually, he reaches for the slender silver blade on his hip—a Flame sword. “Even the strongest of minds breaks under torture. And Tata was an easy case. She resigned herself to death so quickly she stirred our attention.”

Hadn’t the female mentioned she had never intended to survive the war when she joined Rogue’s army? The thought makes me want to scream.

“It would have been an easy kill,” Ephegos muses. “But she’s more valuable alive, you know? In your court”—and he’s directly addressing Clio now—“she had a place by your king’s graces. She had a role but a limited one. No prospect of a future. But we gave her something better.” A dramatic pause. “We gave her a family.”

My stomach turns, and I need to swallow the bile in my throat as memories of Tata in our midst race through my mind. Tata, who we rescued from Jeseida’s estate. The sole survivor of the fairies captured by the enemy. Not because she was lucky but because she made a deal.

“She had a family in Recienne’s court,” Clio snarls, and I believe she’ll throw that ice magic right at Ephegos—I want her to—but the ice flickers into a layer of frosty air in front of us, another wall of protection should Ephegos order the Flames to strike.

“A family who saw her as nothing more than a soldier.” The grumble in Ephegos’s tone tells me he’s smart enough to see through whatever objections we come up with because, when I look back at the past months since meeting Tata, she was there for all meetings. She was there for even some of the meals. Recienne sat at her bed when she was recovering from her injuries in Flame captivity. She even trained with us. Strategized with us. But had I ever asked her where she came from and why she hadn’t cared to live? Had I truly given her a kind word over all those weeks of her help? And did it matter? She’d made her pact with Ephegos before we ever met.

“So what place is she getting in your family?” Myron prompts, ice lacing his tone, even when Tata wasn’t part of his court—of our court. I don’t know how many hits this male can take before he’ll never trust anyone again.

Ephegos’s grin fades. “The Flames took me in like a brother, and so I’ll take her in like a sister. Sister to the king of oh-so-many realms.”

It’s the first time he phrases it like that, and I don’t even need to reach into the mind link to know all of us understand the implications. Tavras. Askarea. Cezux. He doesn’t need to say it.

If we don’t manage to warn the Fairy King of the traitor in his court, we might not be the only ones to lose everything. Ephegos has set his eyes on all of Eherea. And perhaps all of Neredyn if he gets bored with his conquests on this continent.

“Go, Clio,” I all but beg. “Grab Andraya and Pouly, and go. Rogue needs to know about Tata.”

If Tata hasn’t already returned to Aceleau to slit Rogue’s and Sanja’s throats.

“Don’t even think about it,” Kaira warns through the mind link, the cold in her voice so different from her usual fire. “If the female lays a finger on the pregnant queen, I’ll personally gut her.”

It goes without saying that all of us are ready to skin Tata alive merely for what she’s done, but if she touches the Queen of Askarea and her unborn child, skinning won’t be enough.

“Please, Clio.” I’m not too proud to let my desperation leak through the mind link. We’re all drenched in the stench of it anyway.

“That will leave you three against twenty.”

Clio is right, but I don’t care. “The kingdom won’t fall if it loses two Crows and a part-Flame.” I ignore Myron’s rumble of protest as I basically offer the three of us for slaughter. “All of us will die if you don’t go. And then no one will be able to warn Rogue. His army is what can stop this madness, and if we’re all dead, he’ll be easy prey.”

“Go,” Kaira seconds, grief lacing her tone. “We’ll be fine.”

No one listens to Andraya’s and Pouly’s protests as Clio spins toward them, grabbing their wrists and spiriting them away, leaving Myron, Kaira, and me to our fate.

Whether Silas and Herinor are still alive and on their way to us is up to the gods. Clio is the only one who can buy Eherea a chance at freedom now.

“I hope she won’t be too late,” is all I can think at them before I pull up my brave face and smirk at Ephegos. “Does your master know you’re here?”

Forty-One

Myron

“Does your master know you’re here?”

The hairs stand up at the back of my neck as Ayna grins at our enemy like at a puppy who lost his owner.

She’s trying to distract him from Clio’s disappearance. Gods, I wish I could unleash my power upon Ephegos and end him. It would buy us at least a semblance of a chance at survival. At least, we could pretend there is one, because, even if no one has addressed it, we all know it: We’re fucked. There is no way out of this alive. Not even with Clio and the two humans would there have been. Chance at survival with twenty Flames aiming their power at us and none of our own magic able to penetrate their armor. Blades won’t even get close to their throats before we’re all dead.

“I don’t have a master, Ayna.” Ephegos’s voice turns cold, all traces of the diplomat washed away with one simple question.

“You sure? Because last time I checked, you weren’t king or emperor. You were working in a human king’s army. A soldier. Nothing more, nothing less.” She takes a casual step closer, bringing her shoulder between me and the menace before us, and my chest constricts at that instinctual act of protection. She no longer needs me to protect her because she’s just as strong and capable as any of us is. Stronger perhaps with Shaelak’s blood running through her veins. She’s always been capable, though. In different ways when she was still human, but never one to be cast aside, never one to be overlooked. Always spirited, skilled, and so well-versed with more than just her hands.

A streak of heat runs through my blood at the thought of how those dangerous fingers and curses-spitting mouth know how to pleasure me, and for a breath, I can put that fear at ease because there is no way in this universe that we’ll both die here today and I’ll never feel the fire of her passion again. I won’t allow it.

As if the message made it to Ayna through the bond, the palm-sized mark over my heart burns beneath my leathers, and Ayna’s marked hand fists her dagger tighter.

“Careful, Ayna,” Ephegos warns, and the absence of his grin is enough to chill the heat from my blood in an instant. “You don’t want to get on your future lover’s bad side.”

And the cold turns to flaring fury. I swallow it with my dry throat, biting down on the remarks I could spit at him, not willing to give him the satisfaction of reacting to this provocation.

Ayna is already covering it for both of us with her barely contained anger and the sneer mingling with her smirk, turning her face into a gloriously vicious thing. “Lover,” she spits. “The day I become your lover is the day you’ll need to watch out for sharp items in your bed. And I don’t mean the sort that cut to the heart. I’m happy to simply cut off your balls.”

“Problem solved,” Kaira retorts into our minds, reminding me of her presence. “I doubt Clio will come back with reinforcements in time, don’t you?”

How she can think so rationally with the atrocity Ephegos just suggested, but I appreciate the voice of reason literally in our heads.

She doesn’t give us time to ponder a response. “If Tata made it to the palace, Clio will be busy doing damage control there, and Rogue and Tori will be busy figuring out if Tata managed to convert any other soldiers to her cause. I wouldn’t put it past her to have built her own little legion to fight the fairy court from the inside.”

“I’m a little busy not attacking Ephegos and dooming us all.” Ayna’s strained tone tells me she’s barely capable of fighting that instinct to protect-protect-protect. I’m not much better off despite the long centuries of practicing restraint I have on her.

“Twenty Flames. All of them seem to have strong magic,” she assesses, her back brushing against mine as she closes the gap that Clio’s and the rebels’ absence created. “If we can provoke them into attacking, I might be able to siphon some of their power and redirect it at them.”

All of us know where that would lead with the magic-repellent armor.

“I’d rather you save your strength for running while Myron and I fight a path out of here.” What Ayna doesn’t need to say is that would mean sacrificing ourselves to buy Kaira a window of opportunity. If she manages to sneak through, at least, one of us would survive.

I’m so busy following the others’ thoughts I almost miss Ephegos’s growl of warning.

“Careful, Ayna. I don’t need a feather bed to make you mine. Chains will do just fine.”

My magic flares, black tendrils emerging from my fingers and palms, and my vision turns a shade darker as I feel the veins around my eyes spider into inky lines beneath my skin. The monster is awakening inside of me, a primal power so much stronger than my Crow magic alone. Part of me wonders if this is the same force of nature that pushed me to destroy half an army of Flames that day at Jeseida’s estate when Erina had them burn the mate mark from Ayna’s shoulder.

Ayna’s hand shoots out to grab mine, fingers half-slipping from the hilt of her dagger. “Don’t.” She doesn’t speak through the mind-link, uncaring of whether Ephegos hears. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.”

But I am. The thought of Ephegos anywhere near her. Touching her. The threat of chaining her up to get close—a growl slips from my lips, turning into a near hiss as my Crow nature pushes to the surface. I can sense the tingling of a pending shift, but I grasp Ayna’s hand, grounding myself in the moment instead of giving in to what used to be my life for too many centuries. Into the form of the monster thirsting for blood and death and pain.

Instead, I lean in, uttering by her ear, “He won’t get a chance before I personally cut out his heart.”

“So illustrative, Myron. I must say, I’m surprised you haven’t lost your shit and attacked.” Ephegos doesn’t look the least surprised with his returned grin and his casual stance, like we’re not standing between blood-leaking corpses in the middle of winter. “Tell me, what is it like to have such a powerful mate?” His hungry gaze flicks from me to Ayna, roaming up and down her body, and I nearly wince as Ayna’s fingers squeeze mine hard, the hilt of her dagger wedged between.

“Such an ass,” Kaira narrates in our minds. “He could just as well tell us what he really wants.”

“Why don’t you shut your useless mouth and tell us what you really want to tell us.” Ayna’s bravado is impressive. Even more so when I can sense her anger and fear screaming through the bond, a force so strong it’s outmatched only by my own.

“He’s playing with us,” I hiss into the mind link, hoping Kaira won’t tire of keeping it open and ready to give her an extra special position in our court if she manages to cultivate this ability and use it at will the way she can with the one-directional mind link. “He knows we don’t stand a chance, but he’s stalling. There is something he’s waiting for.”

“Perhaps he enjoys riling us up before he strikes us down,” Ayna suggests, but I fear that’s not enough of a reason.

“Want…” Ephegos slides his blade free from his weapons belt. “You’re smart, Ayna. You have probably already figured out the deal I made with the God of Darkness. What do you think I want?”

Ayna’s eyes dart to the side, colliding with mine as we both realize that Ephegos might want Askarea and Tavras and Cezux, but there is something he wants even more. Something that drove him to betray his own people. Something that he hasn’t been able to get, even when he kidnapped Ayna and sold her to Tavras then captured and tortured me. Revenge.

It all comes down to revenge.

Hurt Ayna to hurt me. Hurt me to hurt Ayna.

And even worse: the deal with Shaelak.

I’m not fast enough to hold Ayna back as she pulls her hand from mine, adjusting her grip on her dagger and sending that shield of liquid silver right at the traitor Crow who intends to kill me so Shaelak will honor his promise and make Ayna his.

Forty-Two

Ayna

That bastard. He can go suck Shaelak’s cock for all that I care, as long as he disappears from this world right now.

“I will kill you.” I don’t care about the violence in my tone or Kaira’s shriek of warning as I break free from our reduced formation. I don’t care that Ephegos hasn’t commented on the disappearance of Clio and the rebels. I don’t care that Myron’s power is engulfing me in a solid layer of protection as I send my own magic right at Ephegos’s cold, dead heart.

Ephegos’s grin disappears behind a bright white and orange flash as my power hits the wall of fire the Flames pull up in front of him. For a moment, everything is consumed by light, my heart pounding hard as my fae senses slither through the inferno of power consuming the ice in the air and on the ground.

“Fuck it, Ayna,” Kaira exclaims in my mind. She doesn’t get any further than that, because swaths of fire surge for us, beating against our collective shield.

I can sense Myron reaching deep into his power to hold up the wall of magic, reinforcing it where the barrier sizzles into nonexistence, sword in one hand, and silver light laced with inky black rising from the other.

Ephegos disappeared somewhere behind the smoke of colliding powers, no trace of him visible as the explosion of light fades, and I want to shout my anger at the world. But visible or not, Ephegos finally gave the order to attack, and the Flames are coming for us, circle of fire-wielding fairies ever tightening around our spot at the center of the clearing.

We can’t run. We can’t fight our way out. The only thing we can do is make sure we don’t survive and get captured—and to take down as many as we can as we go.

“Where did he go?” Kaira asks aloud, but neither Myron nor I answer, our focus on the lines of Flames approaching with their fire raining on us and their blades ready to take over as soon as they get within reach.

Myron’s magic is racing across the battlefield now, swirls of silver and black battering against the onslaught of fire. To my left, Kaira’s power is humming as she siphons from the flames licking at our shields. Under different circumstances, her power could have been the one to turn around this battle, had that Guardiansdamned serum not coated the enemies’ armor. She could have sent their flames right back at them and watched them burn. Instead, all she can do is throw up a stronger shield with the hijacked magic, pushing it out farther to keep those bastards from our hides.

Another volley of fire hits my silver shield, the heat melting right through it, and I need to draw upon my reserves to patch it up fast enough to avoid being burned alive.

Myron’s curse suggests he’s either not faring any better or he noticed the instability in my shield. The way black and silver lines thread through the air before me tells me he’s taking care of the holes I’ve missed. It’s a whole lot of little gaps the Flames burned into the layer of protection, but they aren’t pushing any harder to put me down. As if they were ordered not to harm me.

But Myron—my heart all but stops as I realize that the holes in my own shield are nothing compared to what they are doing to his. Half of the side has been melted away, Myron drawing the layer of silver and black in closer and closer to his body, a retreat of a different sort when we have nowhere to run.

“They’re going to kill you.” The words taste like poison, even when only spoken in my mind. “You’ve got to shift and fly to safety.” Even as I think it, I know there is no way he’ll slip through the fire surrounding us, drawing tighter in a circle. Clio could have frozen the ground over and the air. She could have created ice crystals from the fog and sent them to douse the fire. But Clio isn’t here, and I must rely on myself to get us out.

Two Flames are close enough to reach us with their swords now, and sure as Eroth’s Veil, they swing their weapons at Myron and Kaira, artfully sweeping past me as I push out my power once more, regardless of the risk of touching their cursed armor. My Crow magic won’t be what saves us. Neither will my daggers if we don’t manage to reduce the number of opponents. If only⁠—

Tuning out Kaira’s pants as she struggles to juggle both her own power and the magic she siphoned from the Flames, and Myron’s growls and grunts as he parries blow after blow, I reach for the cool sensation of Vala’s water magic. I haven’t felt much of it since I turned immortal, haven’t managed much of wielding water, but the tiny droplets clouding the air are calling to me the way Vala’s voice once had.

So fast a spell of dizziness sways me, I delve into the thin string of power that’s not Shaelak-given and disperse it into the haze before me. Like growing crystals, the haze collects and hovers above us until heavy balls of water float toward me.

“Douse the fire,” Kaira shouts into my mind, but I have something else on my mind.

The Flame closest to Myron swings at him again, gaining a foot of space as Myron is forced to duck under the blade. Myron twists out of his path, knocking the side of his own sword against the fairy’s arm. Bones crack, and I want to take a breath, but two more Flames have made it to the front, working their way through Myron’s frayed shield.

They are my first targets. I don’t hesitate as I direct the balls of water right into their faces, savoring the splash followed by muffled screams and coughs as the liquid trickles down their throats. The first Flame goes down, drowning, while the other two realize where the attack came from and turn toward me.

They make it all of one step in my direction before Myron sneaks up on them, reaches around their necks, and slits their throats. The spray of blood evaporating on my shield is nothing compared to the puddle forming on the ground where the two Flames drop and roll over, life leaving their eyes.

“That went well,” Myron huffs as he pulls up his shield again, my magic knitting into his to stabilize it.

“Don’t celebrate just yet.” Because two more Flames have stepped up toward us, and these aren’t holding swords.

Without warning, one of them pierces through my shield with a spear of fire while the other one holds a flask up in front of him, using an attached mechanism to pump some of the liquid inside of it right at my face. A sharp inhale is enough for the sheen of liquid to enter my nose and mouth, and the tasteless, odorless serum is inside my body.

Myron is right there to pull me out of harm’s way, but I shove him back with my magic—while I still can—and watch him stumble into Kaira, who’s still fighting to keep up that shield of fire on her side.

“Drug,” I cough, before my legs become unstable, and I stagger to the side where more Flames are waiting, their blades at the ready and their fireballs hovering at their fingertips.

They got me with that fucking drug. And now my shield is faltering, magic slipping from my grasp like a rubber band snapping back to my center.

“Fight it,” Myron orders through the mind link, his presence reaching through the bond right into the essence of me. “Fight it, Ayna.”

“I can’t hold this much longer.” Kaira’s warning touches the back of my consciousness as I pour every ounce of willpower into holding onto my magic. Even when my power cannot touch the Flames through their armor, the water I’d collected could suffocate them. If I’d thought of that sooner. If I’d tried instead of allowing myself to submit to anger and panic⁠—

“Breathe, Ayna. Don’t give in.” Myron’s voice rings through me like a command. “Promise me.”

I can’t.

Because my strength is fading alongside my magic, and all I can think of is to lie down and close my eyes.

“Ayna!” Myron’s voice is no longer in my mind, his hands locking around my biceps as he drags me against his chest, preventing me from toppling over. He slides one arm under my shoulders, tucking me to his side as his power circles us in a swirl of black and silver. “Stay with me.”

Nodding at him, I will strength into my legs. This was a small amount of the drug. Even if it went right into my system, I’m not feeling the nausea yet.

Perhaps this is the improved serum Erina spoke about. The thought alone brings on a wave of despair.

“Kaira,” I try through the mind link, but silence is all I get, so I whisper her name, unable to find her in my field of vision.

“Still fighting,” Myron reassures me, blocking another volley of fireballs with his shield. The ground trembles as he locks his knees against the force of it.

“Focus on yourself, Ayna,” Kaira orders from behind me, and my body instantly feels lighter with the relief of knowing she’s alive. “You still have your daggers to work with.”

I do. And Myron and Kaira both haven’t given up, so I won’t either.

Clutching my daggers with everything I have, I push a step away from Myron, bracing my feet apart against the relentless pull of my body toward the ground.

Fight, I tell myself. Because no goddess or god is pushing me to do so. I need to fight. If I don’t, Myron and Kaira will both die. If I don’t, Shaelak’s bargain will be fulfilled. If I don’t, I will be at Ephegos’s mercy.

Another spear of fire tears through the shield, and a scream erupts from my throat as the tip burns through the leathers at my shoulder, right at the edge of my collarbone. Myron’s head snaps toward me, his all-black eyes locking on mine, and I notice how similar he looks to the monstrous king I was first sold to. Black veins creep around his eyes, branching out like spider legs, and for a moment, he appears surreal, like a beautiful, dangerous creature from fairytales. Then, he is. And if the wrath on his features is anything to go by, the end of the world is nigh.

The moment passes as the smell of my own blood drenches the air, and the pain catches up with my senses.

It hurts like the burn and stab wound it is, the agony lancing down my arm and up my neck from where the spear pierced into me.

“It’s not deep,” I pant between my teeth. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Neither Myron nor Kaira believe me because they’re both at my side, Myron’s healing magic seeping into me while Kaira draws the shield of fire more tightly around her back while she extends it around us.

“Save your magic, King.” Kaira’s reminder that his power won’t do much to a body laced with the magic-nullifying drug doesn’t keep Myron from trying, though. The way he’ll always try anything to save me.

“Stop fighting,” Ephegos orders from too close by, making all of us whirl to the side where three Flames are stepping aside to let their leader pass through.

My body is weak and my pulse too fast as I will myself to remain on my feet, daggers firmly in my grasp. Beside me, Myron’s magic is whirling toward the voice, silver and black braiding into a rope he’s ready to throw around Ephegos’s neck while Kaira keeps pushing the shield to its limits to protect us all.

“There’s no escape for you.” Ephegos ignores Kaira’s curses as the Fire Fairies shove against her shield, his gaze remaining locked on Myron. With a wave of his hand, the three Flames flanking him set into motion, burning spears in their hands and that armor on their bodies that will prevent us from using our only advantage—well, no longer mine. Myron and Kaira are the only ones left with their magic.

My palms are sweaty from the effort of fighting the drug, but at least, I’m not nauseated or falling asleep. I’m weak but wide awake, every breath allowing my focus to sharpen even when I have nothing to hurl at my enemies.

Or do I?

They are aiming right for Myron, allowing me a moment of unobserved movement as I make a fool’s choice. A deep breath. A flick of my wrist. And my dagger is flying at Ephegos, sailing right for his eye.

Like in slow motion, I watch every spin of the blade, every sparkling reflection of the pale winter light as I wait for it to hit its mark. Someone grabs my arm, shoving me to my knees so fast I can barely catch my breath, and I taste blood as my teeth clang, the edge of my lip caught between them. I don’t care. All I can do is watch with rapt fascination as my dagger continues to spin toward its target. A heartbeat longer and Ephegos’s eye will be replaced by the hilt of my blade. I don’t care what they do with me afterward as long as I end this cycle of vengeance and hate that keeps driving Ephegos to work against his own people.

And since he made up his mind a long time ago, there’s no use appealing to his reason or compassion.

The dagger is a few inches from its mark, my heart hammering against my ribs at the thrill of anticipation, as a wall of translucent silver ripples from Ephegos’s hands, diverting the blade which spirals out of control, slicing into the leather armor on Ephegos’s shoulder.

The shield he pulled up flares and dies down where his armor covers his body like it can’t fully function with the magic-repellant enclosure, and had I not cried out with frustration at the near miss, I would have read more meaning into Ephegos’s inability to protect himself thoroughly. I would have pointed the others’ attention to the thought that the same had to apply to all opponents surrounding us in this clearing.

But Myron’s scent of wind and earth and moss, of pine and salty brine envelops me alongside the taste of his blood as he slumps to his knees beside me.

“No—” A long gash is splitting the skin of his cheek, blood raining down the side of his face onto the muddy ground before us.

“Drug,” Myron whispers through gritted teeth, his eyes back to their normal ocean color and those dark veins vanished, and I know this is it. Especially when Kaira’s knees land in the dirt to my other side, a Flame pointing a slender, silver sword at her neck as he forces her head low.

They sprayed them both with the serum. No shield of fire or silver and black is surrounding us, but we aren’t dead either. I still hold my other dagger loosely in my hand like a straw that could save me.

One glance at Ephegos, and I know he’s prepared for whatever fight I may put up. He might even enjoy a good struggle if the glint in his eyes is anything to go by.

“I wouldn’t try if I were you, Ayna,” he purrs, hair whipping around his face in the icy breeze howling through the clearing as he approaches, one slow step after another. With one hand, he examines the cut in his armor, fingers coming back bloodied, and he pulls a handkerchief from a hidden pocket in his jacket, wiping off the blood first then pressing the fabric to the wound. Cocking his head, he stops just out of reach, glaring down at Kaira then Myron, then at me. “I must say, I expected more from you, Ayna.”

The oily sensation of his gaze roaming over my hunched form doesn’t go away even when I spit at his feet, forcing his attention to the bloodied speck right before his boots.

“You’re one to easily trust your enemies. You have always been. You trusted Myron when you knew he’d be the death of you. You trusted me when I’d long planned to use you to punish him. You trusted Herinor even when he could never fully be part of your court. You trusted the Fairy King who locked us in that joke of a forest and doomed us. And you trusted Tata.”

He’s right. But he’s forgetting one thing. “I’m still here against all odds. Without trusting any of them, I would be dead by now.” Not that I was proud of misjudging Ephegos and Tata, but the rest of them—I wouldn’t change a thing.

It’s that moment when I realize that it doesn’t matter what Ephegos thinks or says. I’ve made my own family of people who support me. I have friends and a mate. I have two kingdoms that depend on me. I can’t die. I can’t give up, no matter what happens to me. No matter what Shaelak promised Ephegos.

Fingers tightening around the hilt of my dagger, I straighten an inch.

“Who do you trust, Ephegos?” A bitter laugh laces my gravelly tone as I lock my gaze on the traitor Crow. “Who do you trust but those you forced into loyalty by a bargain or an oath? Are you that afraid that no one will follow you without leverage over them? Are you worried no one will ever love you if you don’t have a god make them?” I see the pain coming before the Flame behind me grabs my braid, ripping back my head, and punches me in the face. Ephegos won’t allow anyone to question him. But I won’t be silenced. I won’t stop fighting.

Myron’s growl of fury is weaker than I care for, but at least the sound grounds me when the drug circulating in my system is ready to take me down.

On my other side, Kaira’s fingers dig into the wet soil.

“I don’t care what you think—” Ephegos coughs on the last word, unable to finish his sentences, and I show my bloodied teeth in a victorious grin. The Flame behind me is still restraining me by my braid, and I don’t bother to try to break free. What a waste of energy when I have found a weapon so much better than steel.

“If only you could lie.”

Another punch lands on my jaw, my teeth singing and stars dancing in my vision. I’m vaguely aware of Myron shouting my name, of his presence sliding through the bond as if he could catch me from the inside as I’m thrust face-first into the dirt.

A boot steps onto my shoulder, holding me down, and my dagger slips from my grasp, useless and weak as I struggle to keep my consciousness.

If Shaelak wasn’t a treacherous bastard of a god, I’d call for his aid, but he doesn’t seem to care about his progeny as long as he can ensure his creation continues to exist. To him, it doesn’t matter if I’m Myron’s mate or Ephegos’s as long as the Crows carry on.

Biting back a whimper, I brace my palm on the ground, pushing against the weight on my back hard enough to turn my head to where Myron’s eyes are already waiting, endless agony defining his features.

“Oh, look at that image of misery,” Ephegos drawls, no longer hiding behind polite facades. “Look at the souls entwined, how they’re suffering.” Like on a command, the Flames surrounding him laugh, and a shudder rakes down my back, making the pain in my jaw flare anew. “Pathetic.” He doesn’t meet my gaze though as he spits that verdict. Instead, his gaze lingers on Myron as he points his blade on my mate’s neck.

“No—” Again, I buck against the weight on my spine with everything I have, but my strength has left me, and all I can do is watch as Ephegos sets his blade to Myron’s skin.

“Leave him alone.” My words die in my throat as I’m shoved harder against the ground, but I’m not ready to give up. Never.

Ephegos merely chuckles, not even deigning to give me a glance.

“Let him go,” I whimper, pushing against the boot holding me down. “Please, Ephegos. I’ll do anything.”

“No.” Myron’s response cuts like a knife, but I don’t care. Anything to ensure he’ll get out of this alive.

At least, this gets Ephegos’s attention. “Interesting.” Tilting his head, he turns toward me, blade not moving an inch from Myron’s throat.

“Please let him go. I beg you.”

“Don’t,” Kaira hisses, and I get the faint idea that she’s already picked up on what I’m still putting together. “There is no way you can win if you make a bargain with a tyrant.”

“A bargain,” Ephegos muses as if he’s having the idea only now when we all know this is what it will come down to eventually. I don’t have leverage through weapons or magic. I don’t have a secret army waiting to step in. All I have is myself and the hope that I can outsmart Ephegos in a bargain.

“It’s all right, Ayna,” Myron murmurs, his ocean eyes boring into mine, and I need to fight the tears rising behind my eyes. “It’s all right. I knew I’d asked the gods for too much the day I begged them to return you to your human form. Eternity with you was a gift I never deserved.”

“Stop it.” I don’t intend to bite at him like that, but if I allow for any emotion to shimmer through, I won’t be able to do this. I won’t be able to give him up so he can live.

With a heavy breath, I direct my gaze at Ephegos. “He doesn’t need to die for me to be yours, Ephegos.” Inside my chest, my heart cracks, a fissure that won’t be sealed if I can convince Ephegos I mean it. So I shut down all thoughts of what could have been, all hopes of a future with Myron and this court I’ve been fighting and bleeding to build and protect, and speak those words that will damn me. “I’ll be yours if you let him live. I swear not to try to return to his Crow Court if you let Kaira go as well. Alive. The bargain is valid as long as you promise to never lay a finger on either of them again.”

Myron’s eyes fill with horror, but I ignore the surge of guilt as I bargain away our future. A future we won’t have if I don’t buy us a way out of this situation. Kaira’s silent sobs tell me she’s realized it too, that if I don’t succeed, I’ll be the only one to walk off this battlefield, and I’ll belong to Ephegos anyway. So as long as I buy them freedom, they can still fight to make a future for themselves.

“Please,” Myron murmurs, tone dead, and I know he’s not pleading with Ephegos whose expression has turned unreadable as he calculates the benefits and disadvantages of my offer. Myron is speaking to me, appealing to my heart that’s already shattering at the mere thought of what I’m signing up for.

But it’s worth it. If I can buy them freedom, it will be worth it.

“I love you, Ayna,” Myron murmurs.

Ephegos cuts a dark glance at the Crow King in the dirt and waves a hand for the Flame holding me down to release me.

“Deal.”

And the ancient magic of bargains snaps into place, binding an iron sash around my heart that will never be the same knowing everything I love is out there, waiting for me. Yet I’ll never return to it.

Forty-Three

Myron

Deal.

I can’t unhear Ephegos’s voice. That one single word that sealed all our fates.

The cold of the soil beneath me seeps into my bones, and part of me remembers to get to my feet and run after Ayna. Ayna, who Ephegos hauled up by her braid and dragged along as she screamed while I flailed in the mud, battling the force of the Flames holding me down until all I could do was watch her disappear. Then someone knocked me out with a blow to the back of my head. The rest is a haze of pain and a blur of motion as the Flames disappeared from the clearing like they never existed.

I’m too weak to straighten and bolt after them. If I’m honest, I wouldn’t even know what direction to start looking. Ephegos marched west, but he might have done that to confuse us, and I don’t dare follow my sense of smell for fear I might actually find Ayna and set off a chain of events that will lead to the magic of bargains punishing her in the worst possible ways.

“Myron,” Kaira hisses from a few feet away, and something sparks inside my chest. A flicker of hope that the part-Flame might still be able to reach into my mate’s mind, even from a little distance. “You all right?”

I straighten to my knees with a groan, cursing all the gods as I wipe the blood from my forehead where it is seeping through my hair from the injury at the back of my head. Whoever knocked me out must have used the pommel of their sword or a thick rock.

“No.” Bracing my hands on my knees, I glance over at where she’s rolling into a sitting position. “You?”

“No.”

The wind racing through the evergreens surrounding the clearing is the only sound for a long moment as we both catch our breaths. With each inhale, my heart fractures a bit more as I realize this is real. The words Ayna spoke, Ephegos accepting them—all of it is real.

I’ll be yours if you let him live. I swear not to try to return to his Crow Court if you let Kaira go as well. Alive. The bargain is valid as long as you promise to never lay a finger on either of them again.

I should be grateful to be alive, to get a chance to return to Aceleau and help Recienne win this war, but all I feel is a bleakness weighing down every last one of my heartbeats.

“She’s gone.” I don’t know if it’s Kaira or me speaking the words, but the pain lashing through my veins is mine.

“We’ll get her back.” That’s definitely Kaira’s voice because I know better than to hope a fae bargain can be broken. Herinor has been fighting his deal with Ephegos for months without much success. But when it comes to the core of his promises, he hasn’t made any progress. “As soon as our magic returns.”

“If we survive that long.” Ephegos and his Flame army aren’t the only ones to fear out here. “Without our powers, we might as well fall victim to wolves or bears.”

The look Kaira gives me might have made me laugh had I still had an ounce of humor in me. “We’re both bleeding and worn down from battle and that damned drug. If it’s not predators, it will be the weather. The storm brewing in the graying sky will hit soon. Nightfall is perhaps an hour away. We need to find shelter before we think about getting anyone back.”

I know I can’t go looking for Ayna. She promised not to try to return to my court. Exposing her to the possibility might kill her. Shoving aside the new wave of pain, I stagger to my feet, holding out a hand for Kaira. “Can you hear her?”

She understands without explanation, shaking her head with a grave expression as she takes it. “The serum made sure I’m as magically gifted as a human.” A ghost of a smile crosses her face. “Ayna isn’t the only one missing.” Pointing at the trees to the southeast, she takes a step closer to my side, her form shivering as another gust of wind assaults us. I have no cloak to offer and no magic to warm her, but I place a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Herinor and Silas,” I think out loud.

A long silence passes between us, the thin stream of warmth seeping through our leathers the only affirmation we’re both still here.

Then—“Do you think that was Ephegos shooting them from the sky?”

The image of the tumbling birds flashes through my memory, graciously blocking out pictures of Ayna’s gaze as she bargained away her freedom to save us. “Possibly. I wouldn’t put it past him to have brought backup Crows, though. The other rebels are still missing, too.”

Like a shell, my rationality isolates the throb in my chest, subduing it the way I learned over ninety-nine years of losing one bride after another before the curse broke. My mind is so adept at it, I barely blink before Ayna’s encapsulated in the depths of myself, the bond between us the only thing that won’t be restrained no matter how hard I try. So I close my eyes for a beat, allowing the pain of loss and the despair to fill every last fiber of my being before I think of the love I hold for her and send that emotion down the bond like a silver lining. If she feels it, she’ll know I haven’t allowed myself to break, the same as I don’t want her to break.

“Do you think they’re still alive?” Another shiver shakes Kaira, and this time, the icy wind pushes through my layers as well. We need to find shelter before we make any decisions.

“If they are, they aren’t in a position to save us, or they’d have long come to our aid.” The words hurt, but even as I speak them, I know them to be the truth. With a shake of my head, I gesture behind us, north, the way we came into this clearing. “Let’s get back to the rebels’ safe house. If we’re lucky, Herinor and Silas are already waiting for us with the leftover rebels.” I don’t expect us to be that lucky, though the tension in Kaira’s shoulder seems to ease a tad at that small hope.

Together, we turn around, limping between the slain Flames toward the trees where we slip into the shadows.

Twilight cloaks the rebels’ house when we arrive what feels like hours later. The door still hangs open, the footsteps leading from and to the threshold multiplied by our own boots from when we ran out to find Andraya and Pouly. One of those pairs is Ayna’s.

The throb in my chest becomes strong enough to make it hard to ignore.

Kaira detaches from my arm, hobbling toward the stove where she bends over the pot sitting there. “The stew’s still warm.” Stirring with the ladle, she adds, “Not that I feel like eating.”

Neither do I, but we’ll need our strength before the end, so I square my shoulders and pick up a bowl from the counter, reaching for the ladle.

She hands it over without objection.

“If you want to go searching for Herinor and Silas anytime soon, you should eat, too. We’ll both need our strength.” With my chin, I gesture at the stack of bowls where I picked mine from, filling up the one in my hands and holding it out for her before picking the empty one she sets on the edge of the stove.

“Thanks.”

The soothing smell of herbs circulates in the kitchen, mingling with the odor of blood and sweat. At least, the temperature is rising quickly now that we’ve closed the door.

Kaira watches me ladle stew into my own bowl while she picks up a piece of bread from the cutting board at the center of the dining table and takes a hearty bite.

“How long do you think it will take for the drug to wear off?” She places a hand on her stomach as if expecting she’ll purge her system the way she’s experienced before by puking into a corner.

“I don’t believe we’ll go through the same painful detoxing process as before.” It’s a small hope, but I’m happy to grasp at straws right now. Filled bowl in hand, I walk over to the table and sit down across from her, following her lead with the bread and taking a bite. “We need to recover our strength and make a plan. If Herinor and Silas are still out there, they’ll do the same. They might even be searching for us.”

The last bit I add for Kaira’s sake, to give her something to cling to while I wonder if I’d sense if they died. We aren’t bonded in any way, but apart from my cousin, those two are the only Crows left in my court, and maybe that makes our connection special.

“Clio will come back for us,” Kaira huffs into her stew, bending low enough to warm her freezing face as she clutches the spoon tightly in her fingers—her bruised fingers, I notice. Black and purple blooms all over her hands like someone smashed them with a boulder.

“What’s that?” I reach for her hand, stopping a few inches away as I try to find a spot that isn’t playing all shades of night.

With a shrug, she lifts the spoon to her mouth. “Apparently, this is what happens when I siphon too much power.”

“A sign of burnout?” Not that I’ve ever seen anything similar.

“More like too much magic pushing at my skin from inside and outside my body at the same time.” Her gaze lifts from her hands to my face. “You don’t look any better by the way.”

On instinct, my fingers trace the scabbed wound along my cheek.

“I can clean this for you.” Gaze roaming the clay jars along the kitchen counter, she takes another bite of bread. “With my comparatively tiny gift, I needed to learn how to handle wounds without magic.”

“Your gift is the opposite of tiny,” I object, but we both know this was a past where she had been taught about her insignificance, where she’d learned to believe she was nothing more than a nuisance, not good enough to hunt or to fight for her own people. This new Kaira can siphon magic, turn it against its wielders.

Shaking her head once more, Kaira gets to her feet, obviously having found what she was looking for. “I still can’t heal myself much with magic.”

“I’d heal you if I could access my powers.”

“I know.”

Kaira picks the lid off one of the jars, pulling out a few dried leaves and throwing them into an empty bowl.

“Boil some water.” She doesn’t wait to see if I get to work but heads for the basin in the corner and rinses her hands until no trace of dirt or blood remains. Then she picks up a mortar and grinds the leaves before adding another few from a different jar while I set a pot of water on the stove and put another log of wood into the fire to keep it going.

For a moment, we both stare at the flames. My thoughts scream to return to Ayna, to pursue ways of getting her back from Ephegos’s claws, but that’s a dead end, so I force myself to make different plans instead, no matter the insistent throb in my chest that comes with having my heart ripped out.

“We should rest after we eat, wait to see how much of our powers will be restored. Then healing wounds is the next priority. If Clio returns, she’ll know to search here if she doesn’t find us or our corpses in the clearing.” I attempt a grin, but all that happens is a grimace matching the turmoil inside my mind.

“What if Tata got to Rogue and Sanja first and hurt them?” Kaira’s hands are shaking as she reaches for the pot of now-boiling water and pours a few drops into the bowl she set down on the counter.

“Then let’s hope Rogue’s wrath ended her.” I rarely wish for anyone’s death, but this betrayal—even though she isn’t part of my court, I feel it bone-deep. “And if she was too late, then there is nothing we can do from here right now—nothing but to find Silas and Herinor and the rebels so we bring back as many reinforcements as possible. Every blade counts, not only fairy ones.”

Kaira nods, picking a clean cloth from a cupboard and dipping it into the bucket of cold water next to the stove before she lifts it to my face. “Hold still.” She dabs at my cheek, cleaning away the crusted blood while I bite down on the grunts of discomfort the pressure causes. “We failed pretty miserably, didn’t we?” Before I can respond, she continues. “I’d hoped that this would solve everything, you know? That Andraya would help us with Cezux, that we’d get reinforcements, that we’d have enough forces to not just fight off Erina’s armies when they invade Askarea but to stop them before they get close. I’d hoped that it would be a fast and clean war and we’d all walk away from it to start new lives.” She pauses, dropping the now-bloodied cloth to the floor and dipping her fingers into the paste she’s created instead. “This might hurt for a moment, but at least, the wound won’t get infected if you don’t have your magic available right away to seal it.”

I can’t stop myself from sucking in a sharp breath at the stinging from the first contact, but Kaira halts, waiting for me to breathe normally again before she smears the edges of the wound.

“I’d hoped that maybe Herinor could break the oath to Ephegos.” Her voice is so soft I need to focus to hear her past the pain. “I’d hoped that this court would be more than a temporary thing forged by alliances of convenience.”

“Is that what you think it is?”

The moisture in Kaira’s eyes makes me wonder if I’ve ever taken the time to truly understand the female who’s so relentlessly worked for my own happiness. All those times she offered her ability to link my mind to Ayna’s when she was still stuck in her Crow form, but even before that—how she returned to Erina’s palace to make sure Ayna got out alive…

“I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for all you’ve done for her.”

Kaira’s gaze locks on mine, fingers stopping on the edge of my wound. “She’s my sister.” It’s all the explanation I need to understand that she did all of it for Ayna and none of it for me, even when I’ve benefited so greatly from her kindness.

“But she’s my mate, and what you’ve done for her, you’ve done for me. My gratitude is yours, Kaira. You’ll have a place in my court, always.”

A smile ghosts across her lips as she lowers her hands and washes them in the basin once more. “Try not to wipe the paste off.” She gestures to my cheek, heading back to the table to finish her meal.

“We’ll search for Herinor and Silas first thing tomorrow morning, Kaira.” The wound tingles where the ground herbs are drying into a thin layer covering and protecting it. Too exhausted to remain on my feet much longer, I slide back into my seat and pick up my spoon. “We’ll leave a message for Clio in case she comes looking for us, and then we’ll set out in the direction where we saw them fall.”

“They might be dead,” Kaira whispers without lifting her gaze from her stew, hands trembling around her spoon.

“Or they might be sitting in a cave, waiting for the night to pass.” It’s not the most probable option, but I’m ready to cling to hope if it means I can give something back to the female who’s so faithfully supported my mate all these months.

When Kaira finally meets my gaze, the fierce determination I’m so used to has returned. “They better not freeze.”

I force a smile. “They better not.”

Forty-Four

Myron

Dawn has barely broken, its watery grays and yellows washing out the stars from the firmament as Kaira and I leave the rebels’ safe house, bundled up in extra cloaks we found hanging in the bedroom where we’d curled up for the night. Our powers haven’t fully returned, but we have a modicum of them at our disposal. My wound hasn’t sealed entirely with the lack of full access to that magic usually flowing in my veins, but it’s getting there. A few more hours and all that will be left of that gash in my cheek will be a pink line ready to fade into murky memories.

Soft thuds give away that we’re moving through the half-light as we cross the meadow leading to the forest, the same path we took the day before, and each stride tightens my chest a little further as I wonder which of the freshly frosted bootprints belongs to Ayna. A glance at the horizon confirms the absence of crows in the sky, the hoot of an owl the only indication there are birds in the woods at all. If Ephegos brought more Crows to take down Silas and Herinor, they most likely wouldn’t be hunting for us, especially since the two males have already disappeared.

The bitter taste of guilt coats my tongue at the thought of all the people who have suffered on my behalf, Ayna being the pinnacle of the group. Her most recent sacrifice should bring anger to my veins, should make me want to destroy the world, yet all I can think of is that this can’t be the truth, that I missed some minor detail in their deal, and she’ll walk from the darkness between the trees, a broad smile on her face and mischief in her eyes as she slings her arms around my neck and kisses the ache in my heart away.

Apparently, lying to myself is something I can do without combusting into dust.

“You thinking about her again?” Kaira prompts through the mind link she’s reestablished. It’s a strange feeling, having her in my head without Ayna nearby, not wrong, but strangely intimate in a way I haven’t even experienced with my cousin whom I’ve trusted for millennia. Rather than like an invasion of my thoughts, her presence is oddly comforting because this conversation won’t be disturbing the winter morning layering the world with silence.

“I try not to.” Truth. And not even one twisted to make it sound acceptable. “We have other things to deal with.” When Kaira doesn’t respond, I slow my pace so she catches up with me. “Your sister didn’t strike this deal for us to sit in a corner and whine. She bought us freedom so we can do something about this war.” Stop Erina. Save Askarea and Cezux. And if we’re lucky… If we’re lucky, we’ll win against Erina’s armies and face Ephegos again one day. And then, I’ll be ready.

“Ready for what?”

I wasn’t aware I’d allowed my thoughts to slip through the link, so I tighten the shield protecting my mind, allowing only the thoughts consciously directed at her to pass through the connection.

“To kill Ephegos.”

Kaira’s responding silence allows for me to direct my mind toward the tasks at hand, my attention returning to the tracks marking our path. None of them are fresh, which means that at least no one snuck up to the house during the night to spy on us. Unless, of course, it was Crows, and they flew in and out in their bird form. The unease in my stomach reminds me the drug is still circulating in my blood. If I could shift into my crow form, I’d cover more ground in a shorter period of time. I could scout ahead while Kaira follows an extrapolated route toward the location where Silas and Herinor must have crashed.

“If my powers keep recovering at this rate, I’ll be able to siphon at least small amounts of magic soon.” Kaira tears me from my thoughts, her voice remaining firmly in my head.

Nodding my agreement, I let my eyes adjust to the half-light between the trees as we step into the forest. “They must have used a relatively small dosage if it’s fading this fast.” A small mercy.

Kaira’s thought bolts into my mind, full of doubt. “Do you think something is wrong with the drug? Did they change it? Or do they want us in good enough shape to fight?”

It makes an odd lot of sense that they’d want us able to defend ourselves just enough to squash our spirits alongside our bodies. Its own sort of torture. Shaking my head at Kaira, I reason, “Perhaps it’s the improved version of the drug that’s less aggressive in its side effects. Maybe they got the dosage wrong, who knows with those bastards.” I force a tiny grin. “I can already sense a ghost of my own powers, and I’m not feeling nauseous at all. If we’re lucky, this—” I pat the sword strapped to my hip—“won’t be the only thing to rely on if we run into any problems.” I purposefully leave out what sorts of problems those might be—Crows, Flames, human soldiers, or all of them.

Of course, Kaira understands anyway. “Realistically, Ephegos took Ayna far away so we can’t try anything.”

“He knows I would never be stupid enough to follow them.” The words hurt like a betrayal of their own as they slide off my tongue, and trust Kaira to know.

“You’re not giving up on her, Myron. You won’t ever give up on her because that’s not who you are. Even if you know you can’t save her right now, it doesn’t mean you’ll ever stop looking for a way to get her back. You didn’t give up when you were still under Vala’s curse, and you won’t give up now.”

Forcing a smile, I pick up pace, following the scent of blood and scorched leather to the clearing of doom where all our fates changed not even a day ago. Kaira is right that I won’t ever give up on my mate, but she’s wrong about the rest: I had given up on breaking the curse before the moment Ayna came into my life. I’d resigned myself to spending all of eternity as a cursed monster unworthy of love or freedom, and I can sense that creature bucking and thrashing inside me now as I think of what succumbing to hope will do to me. That it would be so much easier to shut down all emotions and become the heartless, vile monster once more.

As if in answer, darkness shades my vision, and the skin around my eyes tingles. Catching up with me once more, Kaira eyes me from the side, a deep frown furrowing her brow.

“You know you’ll need to talk to someone about this at some point.” Pulling a hand from her cloak, she gestures at my face.

“There is nothing to talk about.”

An eye roll followed by a huff of fogging air is all the response I get, and the gesture reminds me of Ayna so much I immediately feel guilty.

My mate hasn’t confronted me about the monster pushing to the surface at every other occasion, and I’ve gladly avoided thinking about the meaning of it because I couldn’t handle any more bad news. But this isn’t Ayna, and whatever this magic inside of me is, it won’t change anything about the situation, so I gather my courage and face the part-Flame still frowning at me.

“It’s been happening since Erina had the mate mark burned out of Ayna’s shoulder,” I admit, eyes on the path ahead instead of her reaction. “I’m not sure what it means or where it comes from, but it’s not the usual power of Crows.”

“You’re not the usual Crow,” Kaira notes, a warmth in her voice making me turn my head after all to find her smiling.

“What’s so funny?”

She shakes her head. “By falling in love with you, Ayna really signed up for an eternity of interesting turns.”

Raising a brow in question, I stop at the edge of the clearing, trying not to notice Ayna’s scent clinging to the frosty ground.

“She fell in love with a cursed king, and since then, she’s been kidnapped, twice, she’s been drugged and tortured, locked into her bird form by the gods who should have been supporting her. Don’t forget becoming immortal.”

“I wouldn’t call that interesting,” I point out, scanning the treeline across the clearing for signs of enemies.

Nothing.

“What would you call it, King of Crows?” Kaira’s tone is patronizing, like she knows something I don’t and she can’t wait to rub it in my face.

With a shrug, I start walking, waving her along. “We should focus on finding Herinor and Silas instead of musing about the miserable consequences of Ayna’s gracious choices.” What I don’t say is that sometimes I wonder if Ayna would have been better off hating me after all, to die from the effects of the curse and leave us Crows locked in our misery. She’d never have suffered Ephegos’s vengeance or Erina’s desire for her bloodline.

She’d never have become your mate either, something whispers at the back of my head, and I’m not proud to recognize it as the voice of my selfishness.

We march through the forest for a while, our attention on the bootprints of the Flames that took Ayna away. The scent of her blood is coating the air as we follow the trail a short distance south before turning east to where Herinor and Silas must have hit the trees. Ignoring the twinge of pain in my chest as I leave the proof of Ayna’s existence behind, I scan the firs for signs of two fae males having come by. Naturally, there are none. If they had to resort to walking, footprints would be all over the place—that would also mean that they were injured to a degree that doesn’t allow them to shift into their bird form and take off. A small relief that we don’t stumble upon more blood and uneven prints in the hoarfrost.

“We can’t be far.” Kaira has been walking parallel to me, a few tree rows south so we cover more ground. Her idea. With the mind link, communication over such a short distance is possible without drawing attention to us by needing to speak up.

I only wish Kaira understood Crows well enough to know we become untraceable if we choose to. So, unless Silas and Herinor crashed through the trees in their fae form, there will be little proof they fell from the sky at all. Picking up my pace, I examine the narrow space ahead.

It’s too small to be called a clearing but wide enough to see the long, broken branches hanging high up in the firs—and the imprint of two long bodies in the soil at the foot of the trunk. My heart beats faster at the pair of bootprints leading between the trees on the other side of the space.

“Found them,” I report, refraining from admonishing Kaira for making too much noise as she bounds through the thicket to get here faster.

Eyes wide with fear and hope, she searches the space for the two males until she finds the dent by the tallest fir. “Where are they?” In her excitement, she forgets to use the mind link, her voice bouncing off the trees. Her eyes grow even wider as she realizes she practically shouted out our location for any enemy close by, and flaps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispers through the mind link. “I hope I didn’t just alert Ephegos’s men of our presence.”

In response, I shake my head at her. “Chances are equally high we alerted Silas and Herinor of our presence and they’ll come to us before we need to go looking for them.”

Kaira does an excellent job at pretending she isn’t struggling to stop herself from shouting Herinor’s name into the forest as she observes the footprints leading away. “These tell me they both walked out of here alive.” The relief in her tone is so pronounced I feel it wash through my body for a moment. “And no blood⁠—”

Before her impatience can get the best of her, I gesture at the tracks. “Let’s go find them, shall we?”

Kaira is jogging ahead before I can finish my sentence, and I follow, my Crow senses taking in our surroundings for any hints of danger. Even with the sun fully risen, its pale light catching in the ice crystals on the trees casting little rainbows into the bleak, gray world, the forest is still too quiet. Not the gentlest of breezes stirs the air, like the forest is holding its breath so as not to draw the attention of a predator eyeing it from a distance.

“They didn’t shift into their bird form,” Kaira narrates as we follow the winding tracks beneath naked oaks and sad evergreens. “That means they were either injured or preferred to remain on the ground.”

“They have access to their weapons and magic in their fae form while they are faster and more agile in their bird form,” I explain as we turn hard east, Kaira ducking into a thicket blocking our path and picking aside the already bent and broken branches where the two males must have passed through. I follow, one hand on my sword while the other is shoving aside the twigs assaulting my face. “There are valid reasons for choosing either form independent of injuries.”

The look Kaira throws me suggests she’d prefer I stop talking, even if it’s only through the mind link. But when I exit the cluster of young firs, neither of us remembers to speak because the clearing we step into is drenched with blood and scattered with corpses.

While I’m making a quick tally in my mind—seventeen bodies—and assessing their armor (all gray and nondescript), Kaira is covering her mouth with both hands, smothering a scream as her eyes dart from body to body on the search for the black leathers of the two males we know walked onto this killing field.

“They’re not here.” I loose a breath, bracing for the assault of iron and salt coming with the next inhale. So much blood. “Whatever happened here, Silas and Herinor didn’t fall in this battle.”

“Or someone dragged their bodies away.” Sadly, Kaira’s horrified tone is fully justified. It wouldn’t be the first time soldiers brought back the corpses of their enemies as a token to their generals and kings.

Before she can spiral into a place so dark there’s no coming back from it, I grab her hand and squeeze gently while I send out the feelers of my recovering magic to assess the space ahead. “They might as well have slaughtered all their opponents and walked away.” When she gives me a doubtful glance, I add, “Both Silas and Herinor are seasoned warriors. Even before the Crow Wars here in Eherea, they stood on the battlefields of Neredyn. They know how to handle themselves in an attack.”

“The same way we handled ourselves?” The fear shines through in every word, and I’m not proud to admit that she’s right. The day before, we’d been a group of four magically gifted creatures and two human rebels, and had it not been for Ayna’s sacrifice, none of us would have walked away from that clearing.

Listening to the silence of the forest, I make my way around the edges of the bloodied area, pulling Kaira along as I look for signs of magic involved in the battle that obviously took place. A battle very different from the one we fought.

“No burn marks,” I comment as I step past a female soldier whose arm has been chopped off, the crimson puddle beneath her shoulder and head frozen. Her unseeing eyes stare up at the treetops from a bluish-tinted face. “These corpses have been lying here for hours. Probably through the night.”

Kaira withdraws her hand from mine to pat my shoulder, a gesture so familiar it could have been Royad, whose presence used to be my biggest comfort for all those cursed centuries. Now I have a family so much bigger than just my cousin. A family worth fighting for.

It’s that thought that has me crouching low to examine the human-made blade still clutched in the hand on the detached arm, but before I can touch it, something else catches my interest.

“Careful with the armor. If it’s coated in the serum, you might lose what little of your powers you have back when you touch it,” Kaira warns as I reach for the leathers covering the forearm, for the long, thin vial strapped to the inside just beneath the elbow.

“What’s this?” Instead of picking the vial from the arm with my bare hands, I slice through the leather strings holding it in place with the tip of my sword and toe it away from the dangerous clothing with the tip of my boot.

“If you have me guess, I’ll say magic-nullifying serum.”

And despite the picture of violence and death spreading at our feet, when our gazes meet, a grin spreads on both Kaira’s and my faces.

Forty-Five

Myron

We spend valuable minutes doing a thorough sweep of each corpse, careful to cover our hands in a piece of fabric cut from the lining of our cloaks as we collect vials from pockets and hidden compartments in their armor. When we’re done, we have gathered at least three vials from each dead soldier, bringing us to a total of over sixty vials.

“I have no idea how potent the serum is, but we should be careful not to break any of these and risk losing our powers all over again,” Kaira muses, collecting the final vial from the body farthest from the thicket we’d entered the clearing through.

“If this is even what we think it is. I don’t want to squash any hopes, but we might as well be wrong and this could be some sort of spirit human soldiers use to keep warm in this godforsaken weather.”

Kaira cuts me a glare. “You don’t actually think they’d place alcohol strategically along their fighting outfits.” I can sense the eye roll before it’s coming. “This is clearly a weapon.” She points at the vial before sliding it into the makeshift bag I made from another piece of my cloak. “If it’s not the magic-nullifying drug, it has to be something else of value, or they wouldn’t have hidden the extra vials along their bodies.”

I don’t disagree. Instead, I weigh the bag in my hand, eyeing the cluster of footprints leading in and out of the clearing in front of us.

“That’s where they came in.” I gesture at the broad streak of brown and crimson.

“And left,” Kaira amends.

Part of me wonders if her stomach is as tight as mine at the thought that the males we’re hunting down might have been taken prisoner.

“How many survived?” Kaira knows full well this is a question no one can truly answer before we find the survivors.

I wish the frost hadn’t covered all of the soil. This way it’s near impossible to tell how many people left the battlefield. “My guess is that the group was similarly large as the one ambushing us with Ephegos. Unless these poor bastards were part of the same group and merely didn’t survive the first battle. That, of course, would imply our friends either didn’t leave this field alive, or they were taken prisoner.” I try not to let the anger at either of those two options get a hold of me when I need my head to be clear to function for whatever atrocity fate is about to throw at us next.

“Let’s hope you’re wrong and there was a third option where they got away.” Her mental voice is shaking like she’s struggling with the same anger, but there is something more in her expression when I meet her gaze, and my heart splinters for her as I piece together what I’ve learned about her in the past months.

“You love him.” It’s not a question—and it explains why she is so anxious to find them. Find him is more accurate. “You’re fucking in love with him.”

I’ve never seen anyone turn that pink that fast. Kaira averts her face, gesturing at the bag in my hand instead of responding. “We should hide this somewhere. If we get into another battle, we don’t want sixty vials on us that can break if not stored properly.”

Deciding to let her change the topic, I turn around and aim for the edge of the clearing, assessing the nearest tree for holes in the trunk and am delighted to find an abandoned hollow that must have once provided a home for a squirrel or a bird family. Wordlessly, I stuff the bag into the opening, careful not to crack the fragile glass. Before I return to Kaira, I pull two vials from the bag and pocket them, then break a few brown twigs from the branches above me and cover the hole up. We’ll return later to get the rest. When I return to Kaira, I pull one of the vials from my pocket and hold it out for her.

“So we’re prepared in case we run into someone to test it on.” The grin I add should be comforting, but I can sense the feral edge to it. Her being in love with Herinor doesn’t change anything about our task at hand. Since the bloodied tracks in this area are the only ones leading out of the clearing, we need to assume Herinor and Silas went that direction. Unless they shifted and flew away.

Kaira takes the vial and shoves it into the breast pocket of her jacket. “Let’s hope we are wrong with all our assumptions and those two are hiding somewhere up in a tree, laughing at us as we try to find them.”

How I wish that were the case. There isn’t much I can tell Kaira that wouldn’t raise false hopes, but I can give her this: “If Herinor is up somewhere in a tree, he won’t waste a heartbeat reuniting with you, Kaira. He might be a fool, but he’s not a fool when it comes to you.”

The way she glances sideways at me makes me wish I could tell her everything is going to be fine—at least for her and Herinor if Ayna and I can’t have a happy ending. The echo of pain claws at the lump beating deadly in my chest, and I shove it back down. If I allow even a hint of it to flare, I’ll become useless to the female Ayna left in my care. And I won’t disappoint my mate.

“Let’s go find them,” I say instead. “Maybe we’re lucky and find the other rebels, too.”

A slow nod from Kaira and we’re on our way, sneaking along the edges of the tracks as we both try not to spiral into our darkest places.

The sun is a shrouded, silver disk up in the sky as we decide to take a break an hour after we’ve left the clearing. While both our attentions remain on the forest around us, on every flap of wings and song of a winter bird, we have been discussing the reasons the soldiers we found frozen over are human.

We’ve come as far as wondering if those weren’t even there on Ephegos’s order but a group of Tavrasian scouts who coincidentally roamed the same part of the borderlands at the same time. Ephegos has preferred to work with Flames so far, to use the magical advantage of the fire-spitting creatures who Kaira once called her family.

“Or they could be a special unit trained by the traitor Crow,” Kaira suggests. “I wouldn’t put it past Ephegos to test all types of troops against fairies and Crows.”

She’s not wrong. Insane as Ephegos might be, he’s still an excellent strategist, and testing the limitations of his soldiers on a small scale will buy him an advantage in the long run. “We’ll ask Herinor when we find him.” I refuse to say ‘if’, because that would break Kaira’s heart, and Kaira is the closest connection to Ayna I still have—except for the bond lying dormant beneath the effects of the drug still leaving my system.

The tracks at our feet are no longer accompanied by drops of blood, but it’s clear more than two people walked away from that clearing. If only I could determine from the scent if one of them was Herinor or Silas the way I can with Ayna, but to be able to isolate a scent out of a cluster of others even hours after they’ve actually touched a place seems to be something specific to mates.

That gives me an idea⁠—

“Can you smell Herinor?” Not that I believe any of this could work if Herinor and Kaira haven’t accepted and solidified a mating bond, but if there’s a chance they could be mates, perhaps she’s more sensitive to his perfume than I would be.

The horrified expression she gives me almost makes me laugh.

“I have no idea what he smells like.”

Trying not to notice the defensive tone, I shake my head. “I’m almost certain he would answer that question differently.”

The sound of Kaira’s teeth grinding together almost makes me cringe, that’s how loud it is in comparison to the silence of the forest.

A silence that nearly fools me.

But when I turn back toward our path, I spot movement ahead where the trees part, letting more light pour into the seam of the forest.

“Let’s hope those aren’t all enemies,” I think at her, drawing my sword as I duck deeper into the shadows.

Kaira follows suit, unsheathing both her daggers as we sneak toward the cluster of people perhaps two hundred feet ahead.

My pulse accelerates as what’s awakened of my magic strains against the remains of the drug, but it isn’t enough to draw up more than a thin shield big enough to enclose the two of us.

“We stay hidden and try to figure out what we’re dealing with,” I order, the tone of the king slipping into my voice, even if it’s just through the mind link, but Kaira is smart enough not to call me out for it.

“If they have Herinor and Silas, I swear I’ll rip their throats out.” The level of violence in Kaira’s voice is new to me, but I’m familiar with the rage burning in every last word. It’s the same rage that I keep locked up so tightly as I try to avoid thinking about Ayna to be able to focus on the matters at hand.

“I’ll be right there with you.” Because, no matter how well I can suppress that rage about Ayna’s fate, I’m still the King of Crows, and my fury blazes at the thought that someone might have hurt two of the last Crows left in my court.

The trees become a blur as we hurry closer to what seems to be a camp at the edge of the forest. I spy sepia and gold on the banners floating on the wind—a wind that I can’t feel here between the trees.

“There are too many,” Kaira narrates as we crouch behind a row of young evergreens, the movements of the camp almost tangible.

“To barge in and kill, there are too many, yes. Especially with our weakened powers.” Touching the almost-healed wound on my cheek, I count the soldiers in the camp. “Twenty that I can see. No idea how many are in the tents.”

Kaira follows my gaze along the small grey tents indicating the soldiers have been staying in this place for a while.

“Are they human?” I almost jump as she prompts me through the mind link after what feels like half an eternity of silence.

A slow, steadying breath filling my lungs, I assess what I can make out from a distance, frowning at the absence of the smell of the army. “They must have at least some creatures with powers in that camp, or they wouldn’t be able to shield it that well. But from what I can tell, most of the soldiers out and about are human, but you already know that.”

Kaira has spent enough time between both species to tell the difference at a quick glance. It’s more like she’s hoping for me to invent a more bearable truth. I’m the last person to be able to deliver, though, with my inability to lie.

“And Herinor and Silas? Where could they be?”

Both our eyes sweep the camp for possible locations to hold prisoners. Between the larger tents, soldiers are bustling about, a group clustering around an open fire where a man stirs the contents of a cauldron with a long wooden spoon. Plates and loaves of bread sit on a split log serving as a makeshift bench. The tents bordering the cooking area seem to be the residential area. What I’m looking for is a place swarming with guards who aren’t there for the food, but find nothing standing out.

Just as I want to tell Kaira I have no idea, movement catches my attention by the side of the camp where the last row of tents stands a few feet from the thicket. I can’t see all the way to the gap with the trees blocking out my vision, but I see enough to understand prisoners aren’t being put into tents. They are chained up at the foot of a tree, shoulders slumping over the knees and heads bowed as they sit on the frozen ground.

“Over there.” In my mind, I’m already calculating the options of freeing them, factoring in Kaira’s emotional stakes in Herinor’s rescue—not that I don’t have emotional stakes. I merely learned to detach myself from them. Catching her arm in a cautioning grasp, I gesture at the group of figures in the shade of the trees, making sure she doesn’t leap and run for them without making a plan first.

A whimper escapes her throat as she freezes in place, eyes scanning the half-light behind the tents for faces I’m still looking for.

“Are you sure they’re there? I only see … people. I can’t tell if any of them are Crows.” The hope in her mental tone nearly breaks my heart.

Because if Herinor and Silas aren’t there, chances are they got away.

Or that they’re dead.

I turn back toward the camp where activity seems to be buzzing in the western area, farther away from the forest, people lining up to grab food, before unfolding from my crouch, pulling Kaira along. “Only one way to find out.”

Forty-Six

Herinor

This fucking camp reeks. It reeked when they brought us here hours ago, and it reeks even more now that the first of the prisoners are freezing in their own piss and blood after bumping fists with Hel for good. One of them is lying so close I’m worried my leathers will stink like the dead permanently if I ever get out of here.

The smell isn’t the worst about this place; it’s the eternal cold. I’m a millennia-old Crow Fae with tons of experience of captivity, torture, and all those other lovely things keeping immortality interesting, but if there’s one thing I despise, it’s the cold. And it’s fucking freezing.

With a shiver, I turn my head to find Silas staring at the back of the tent blocking the fireplace from view. If a tendril of heat ever makes it around the corner, it’s because the soldiers checking in on us every other minute carry wafts of it with them.

As if feeling my stare, Silas cuts me a glance telling me how very unamused he is by the most recent turn of events. After we picked ourselves up in the clearing, we ran into a group of soldiers herding the leftover rebels before them. A group led by two Crows I hadn’t seen since I fled Ephegos’s hand. Those very Crows who must have shot us from the sky with their silver power. And I can’t even blame them. I betrayed their master and, with him, all of them. Given a chance, I would shoot them from the winter-pale blue yonder for betraying Myron.

Naturally, they were equipped with the magic-nullifying serum and didn’t hesitate to use it on us the moment they got close enough. Didn’t keep us from cutting down their soldiers like stalks of wheat, though, before we went down from the influence of the drug.

The rest is a blur of murky memories laced with pain and insults not even half as creative as I’d deem appropriate. I only opened my eyes to the dull gray of the tent fabric in front of us an hour ago and have been observing the comings and goings of guards as well as assessing the weaknesses of this makeshift prison.

The cold has been wearing us down in addition to the drug for sure, and the chains are thick and solid, nothing I could break without my full strength at my disposal.

“Any ideas yet?” Silas grumbles, his voice too weak for it to be fake. Then there’s the cut across his chest that keeps me wondering how much longer he can be out here without joining those poor rebels drawing their final breaths, one after the other, weak and human.

“Not unless you develop bear claws and slit the next guard’s throat before taking their keys and freeing us all.” I wish I could simply say I don’t dare hope for a way out of this after a mostly human group of soldiers defeated us. Guess I’m too much of a coward for that.

“Not likely.” At least a half-grin graces Silas’s bruised and bloodied features.

“Perhaps we can just die on them then?” I suggest. “That would guarantee freedom.” Not that I’m at all ready to meet Hel before personally having words with Shaelak about the deal he made with Ephegos. My queen won’t be handed over to a traitor, and most certainly not at the cost of my king’s life.

I halt my thoughts, listening for the effects of Ephegos’s bargain at my thought of saving Ayna and Myron.

Only silence reigns where I can sometimes feel the idea of punishing magic.

“Not yet, my friend,” Silas coughs. “Not yet.”

A few feet behind me, a moan of half-conscious pain disturbs my temporary peace, and when I turn the few inches my chains allow me to, my gaze lands on one of the rebels still alive and breathing.

“You all right?” The old Herinor would have never asked a human such a thing, but the new Herinor can’t help but care.

The rebel crawls into a half-sitting position, the chains around his neck and wrists binding him too tightly to straighten—the same way the rest of us are bound in magic-defying steel.

“If I could actually feel my body, I’d tell you.” He glances down his front, grimacing at the half-frozen blood on his thigh, and shakes his head. “I guess not.”

“None of us here is all right if you ask me,” Silas chimes in, his tone a bit stronger but still weak enough to give me shivers. At least those damned soldiers didn’t slice me open the way they did him. A small mercy properly extended by the oath to Ephegos. He’ll want me alive and unharmed so I can step back into his service the moment he gets his hands on me.

I swallow the rising fear of what will happen if I must face him again—and fail to find the courage to risk everything and kill him.

“Perhaps we should all work together to get out of here,” I suggest instead of the million words of despair I’m about to offer. “The guards who’ve checked in on us over the past hour were all human. If we unite what’s left of all our strengths, we might make for one decent opponent.”

None of them grins as I’d intended, but that’s all right. They’ll grin once we’ve rid ourselves of these chains.

“You’ve never been even half-decent,” Silas spits, blood staining his lower lip like the strain of a harsher word tore an internal wound open—or like Vala’s curse is plaguing him all over again.

Trying not to let fear take me into a chokehold, I straighten my shoulders an inch or two, as much as the chains will allow, and check on the rest of the rebels. Three of them are dead, the stains on their pants and beneath their hips proof their bowels and bladders relieved themselves at their passing. But the three others are still moving. Of course, they look like shit, more blue and purple from bruises as much as from freezing, but they are breathing. The one farthest from me is wearing a thick woolen hat, the toes of his boots moving as if he’s doing his best to keep warm as he tucks his hands beneath his armpits, protecting his fingers from frostbite. Fighting to keep his tired brown eyes open, he peeks in my direction—and immediately looks away the moment I meet his gaze, a frightened animal shying away from a predator.

“What’s your name?” Putting on a friendly face doesn’t come naturally, but it’s the best I can do to make sure the man doesn’t die from fright as I address him.

Teeth chattering, he huffs one syllable. “Ed.”

“Ed,” I repeat. “Short for…” I prompt.

“Edunis. But no one has called me that in a decade.”

He doesn’t look old enough to have been alive for another decade where people could have called him that, his face that of a man yet one who’s grown into adolescence only recently. My immortality rolls with amusement at the thought of calling a boy of perhaps sixteen or seventeen a man, yet I manage to not make a snide remark.

“Ed,” I repeat. “Short and efficient.” I tilt my head as much as I dare so the chains don’t slide from my leathers onto my bare skin above my collar and attempt a smile. “How would you like to be free, Ed?”

“Very much.” His voice shakes as a shiver rakes through his form, and he winces, but his gaze doesn’t shy away this time. “I’d like that very much.”

“So would I,” the human who spoke earlier notes, scooting a few inches closer to Ed as if in silent support. They are both dressed in clothes too light to allow them to survive the day. A few more hours and they’ll succumb to hypothermia, and then Silas and I would be on our own—if my fellow Crow makes it that long.

That leaves the third human tied up a foot away from Silas the only one who hasn’t made a statement. That might have been because she’s asleep or unconscious, I don’t dare guess. At least, she’s wearing a cloak, her limbs bundled up where she’s curled up on the ground as best she can be.

“That’s Gabrilla,” Ed says with a hint of worry that tells of the sort of bonds I know only from families, long before Vala spoke the curse and the Crows fell into doom. “She’s the best sharpshooter among us, but that won’t help much when they’ve taken her bow and arrows.”

“And our swords,” the third human comments, glancing down at his hips then at mine and Silas’s. “I’m Rochus, by the way.”

All right. That’s a start. “My name is Herinor, and this is Silas.”

“Pleasure,” Silas murmurs, his breathing too shallow for comfort. We need to get out of here and fast. Preferably before the guards return to check in. If we manage to sneak away, we could find a cave and hide until our powers recover. A tug on my chains tells me there won’t be any sneaking.

We’d probably fight to the death and be glad our ending comes mercifully fast compared to that of the rebels frozen between us.

“How bad are your injuries,” I ask Rochus, gesturing with my chin at his thigh where blood keeps leaking.

He merely shakes his head. “I can fight if you get me out of these chains.” The determination in his voice leaves no room for doubt, even when I’m almost certain he won’t make it if we need to run.

“And yours?”

Ed shrugs awkwardly as I turn toward him. “I can barely feel my feet and hands, but that’s from the cold, not from injuries.” His gaze glides to Gabrilla. “I’d be more worried about her.”

As the one closest to the woman, Silas slides one foot to the side, pushing against her knee with his toes. I try not to cringe at the grunt of pain escaping him at the movement. Whatever injuries the humans have suffered and however willing they are to work together, when it comes to running, Silas will be the one I’ll carry because there is no way in Hel’s realm he will be able to make a mad dash for freedom.

To all our surprise, Gabrilla stirs at the touch, rolling to her knees and cursing when her hands are restrained by the chains binding them tightly. Her back is bowed, wild dark hair spills over her shoulders and face from under the rim of the cloak’s forest green hood.

“What’s happening?” Disorientation resonates in every squeaked syllable, in every movement, until she manages a glance at Ed and Rochus.

“Shhh, Sis,” Ed whisper-shouts across the short space separating them. “You’ll summon the guard before we can actually formulate a plan.”

That silences the woman, and she sits back on her haunches, the hood sliding back a few inches to expose a face as tan as Ed’s and Rochus’s, but her features are finer regardless of the clear blood relation. Brother and sister. And Rochus? Their father, perhaps? I don’t ask. It won’t matter if we don’t get out of here, and if we do, we’ll have time to clarify all relations over a fire while we recover from the worst.

When Gabrilla doesn’t speak, Ed and Rochus both turn to me as if I’m some sort of a leader. “Aren’t you two fairies?” Ed asks, initial fear gone enough to make the wrong assumptions without fear of reprimand.

“Crows,” I correct, and when they shrink back an inch, I quickly amend, “We’re not loyal to Ephegos, though.” Not in the ways it counts, I add in my mind, just to keep the oath happy. “You know Ephegos, right? Andraya and Pouly told you everything about what we’re up against?”

The cautious nods I earn are better than needing to re-explain everything that happened since Ayna arrived in Tavras and was outed as the Milevishja heir by their own king. We can go over the details later—if there is a later.

“We were on the way to your true queen when we were captured by those soldiers,” I continue, wondering how long until those soldiers turn the corner to pick us up for whatever plans they have.

“I saw you fight them,” Rochus interjects. “For a moment, I believed you’d kill them all and free us.” I don’t know whether to take it as a compliment or a mockery.

“Well, we clearly didn’t.”

“Because they used the drug on you,” Ed jumps in, his voice stronger as if the adrenaline of a pending battle is heating his body and infusing him with new strength. “A shit move if you ask me.”

“No one is asking you, Ed,” Gabrilla notes, but there is no humor in her tone, just a cold efficiency that speaks of too much routine in last-minute combat planning for a woman her age—barely older than Ayna and already that bitter.

From the corner of my eyes, I note Silas shifting his arms to better support his weight against where he’s braced his hands on his knees. He must be in unspeakable pain, yet, he manages a grimace of a smile in Gabriela’s direction. “If you show half as many teeth when the guards return, we’ll be good.”

A huff of a laugh builds in my throat, the pressure increasing until I allow it to slip out, and for a moment, things don’t seem as bleak. Perhaps we’ll get out after all. Perhaps, the kitchen in the rebels’ hideout won’t be the last place I’ve seen the fiery part-Flame who set out to save the rebels. Perhaps they are on our tracks and will barge into this camp to save us all. Perhaps her droplet of flame will save the freezing humans, and she’ll finally see that she has the greatest power of all—the relentless fire of her compassion, a strength that will never stop burning.

There is a reason I’ve forbidden myself to think of her from the moment the soldiers ambushed us in the forest: Any hope of ever seeing her again might force me to take risks. That will damn not only me but the friend at my side who needs my help.

“I don’t know how many magically gifted soldiers are in this camp.” The words grate against my throat, unwilling to be spoken for fear of an answer that might doom us for good. “But I assume some since there’s a shield surrounding it.”

The humans’ eyes go wide with surprise. Of course, they’ll never have heard of all the things we can do with our powers. Except for killing, of course.

“I saw a few of them do tricks earlier,” Silas whispers, his voice failing.

Shit. We don’t have much time.

My gaze follows his toward the corner where a small gap between two tents allows the view of the activity of the main corridor in the camp. Whether the soldiers didn’t notice we’re awake and communicating or they simply don’t care, I leave it up to the gods. Right now, every heartbeat of remaining unobserved is a blessing.

“The next human guard who comes by, we’ll lure close enough so one of us can grab them. We’ll somehow tackle them and bring them down. Once we have a key—or a blade thin enough to pick a lock, we’ll get out of here.”

I put all my conviction into my speech, willing them to become true.

“We’ve got one chance, and we can’t waste it.”

Forty-Seven

Herinor

When the next guard turns the corner, we’re all pretending to be asleep or unconscious. Silas barely needs to fake it, blood loss and cold weakening him faster than I’d hoped for. The guard—a man of perhaps forty years, tall and powerfully built for what I recognize to be clearly human—eyes us for a minute, hand on the pommel of his sword as he toes the dead rebel closest to him.

“He died a while ago,” Gabrilla croaks, putting on a good show of barely being able to roll to her side from the awkward angle she’s assumed on the ground, close enough to Silas so the two of them share some warmth.

“Didn’t deserve any better, the traitor,” the guard grumbles, sharp blue eyes cutting toward one dead body after the other until they return to Gabrilla, a flash of interest sparking there. “But I could see ways you could escape freezing in your own piss, girl.”

The innuendo in his tone makes my hair stand on edge and not just because the stench of said piss makes it impossible to think of anything other than getting out of here. Gabrilla, however, plays her role too well, leaning forward an inch and glancing at the guard from under her lashes.

“I’d do literally anything to get close to a fire.”

Trying to ignore the mild jerk of Silas’s shoulder at the remark, I focus on my own task, keeping my head down as I wait for Gabrilla to lure the man in.

One step. Two. And he’s near enough for me to spit on his boots.

Come on, Gabrilla. One more step.

When I don’t move, she understands we need the man to get closer, and she lets herself tumble over, her hand flailing toward the guard as she moans. “Please. I’ll even go with body heat if that pleases you.”

For a moment, the guard is torn between drawing his sword and grabbing for Gabrilla’s hand, and it’s that moment of inattention he makes a move forward, stepping within my range.

Willing strength into my legs, I push off the ground, striking like a snake. My arms are bound too tightly to attempt a hit or a grab, but even from down here, I know I’m taller than the man, and my forehead connects with his sternum as I unfold myself as much as the chains allow. The impact makes my teeth sing, stars dancing in my vision as I push the guard over. Twisting to the side, I manage to align my hand with his, and my fingers fall around the hilt of his sword, drawing it as he collapses to the ground.

“Down,” I hiss at Ed and Rochus, who have readied themselves to attack, even when their chains end far out of reach from where the guard dropped.

They both slump back to the ground, pretending to be asleep or dying or already dead. I don’t care as long as the movement in this corner of the camp doesn’t draw the attention of more guards.

“Is he out cold?” Gabrilla asks, hovering on her haunches, coiled to spring, not at the guard but to Silas’s aid, I realize as she takes in the male’s gray and unhealthy features.

“Let’s hope not. I don’t want to have to carry him. Heavy bastard.” I don’t check if she took my disdain seriously or detected the well-hidden affection in my statement, already getting to work with the sword I stole.

My bound hands make it near-impossible to wedge the tip of the blade into one of the iron links of the chain wrapped tightly around my ankles, but I manage, wedging the flat of the blade between my knees and twisting until the link loosens with a groan.

Ed and Rochus follow each of my movements with sharp eyes, hope driving back the icy cold from their features. “You’re almost there,” Rochus notes, his view on my ankles so much better than my own as I wind on the ground like a worm to break that fucking link.

I don’t know how much longer the guard will be unconscious—or how long until someone will come looking for him—but as soon as I can properly move, I’ll slit his throat so he can’t tell what happened.

“Come-on-come-on-come-on,” I hiss through my teeth, sweat building on my neck as I throw all my strength into moving that sword just an inch deeper into the link—and nearly stab my foot when the iron gives and the chain slackens around my ankles.

For a brief moment, I allow myself to breathe, regathering a modicum of strength before I roll into a kneeling position, angling the blade at the guard’s exposed throat. At the touch of the frozen steel beside his windpipe, his eyes flutter open—just long enough to recognize death is coming for him in a slice delivered by my hand.

“Help—” His shout dies on his tongue as I push with both my hands, leaning my full weight onto the pommel of the sword. A splatter of crimson covers his plain gray leathers, and his gaze turns distant as his mouth fills with blood.

I don’t wait for his heart to stop beating. We need to get out of here now before someone answers his call.

Hands still tied too closely at my wrists, I turn to Rochus, gesturing at his hands. “I’ll free your hands first so you can free mine.”

An efficient nod is all the answer he gives, already crawling into a position that will allow for the bloodied tip of the blade to dig between chain links without pushing into his chest or his arms should the blade slip. Smart human. His expression is a contorted grimace, gaze on the point where I insert the narrow tip into the link above his right wrist.

“I won’t cut off your hand,” I say, even when there is no way of telling what will happen without full control over my body. It’s a Shaelakdamned miracle I haven’t injured myself with the steel bindings keeping me from properly using my limbs.

Closing his eyes, Rochus nods. A few feet away to both sides, Gabrilla and Ed hold their breaths as I shove the blade down similarly to how I did with the guard’s throat.

It takes more effort than I care to admit, but the link eventually breaks with a plop, chain loosening around Rochus’s arm and releasing him from the odd angle where the bindings restrained his hand close to his chest. With a wince, he pulls his right hand free, flexing his fingers and studying the bruises blackening his skin.

“Other side.” Without hesitation, he rolls to his left, placing the still-bound wrist on the frozen earth, and I push the tip of the sword into another chain link while Gabrilla and Ed keep their eyes on the camp.

When Rochus’s hands are free, I get to work on his ankles so he can get me out of my own bindings without accidentally slitting my throat. The relief crossing his features at the regained freedom to move is almost worth the wait—only, it won’t matter that I did a good deed freeing someone else first if he won’t get me out of my chains, too.

So I hold up my hands what few inches the chains allow and pin him with a gaze.

Lucky for him, Rochus understands the benefits of freeing the strong Crow before Ed and Gabrilla, even when his expression gives away he’d rather break their chains first.

On all fours, Rochus crawls closer, careful not to make any rash movements that would draw attention should someone glance our way from the main corridor of the camp. This human must have lived through his fill of danger and stealth to function like this while injured in an enemy camp. I’m almost impressed.

He inspects my chains, one hand gliding along the sturdy links connecting the bindings on my wrists to the ones around my neck.

“It would be best to just break these,” he comments. “Then we only need to break one chain.”

It’s too thick for him, though, and he’s weak from cold and blood loss.

“Do my right hand first.” Once that one is free, I can fight. Even if my left one remains trapped. I can search the guard for additional weapons, and together we’d be faster freeing the others.

Trying not to flinch as Rochus lowers the blade to the steel, I think of all the things I yet want to do with the part-Flame who never ceases to infuriate me. If I get out of here alive, I’ll show her just how much she affects me. I’ll run my fingers along her delicate neck and wait for her reaction—if she’ll send a weak ball of fire flying at me or if the fire I ignite in her will burn in a different way.

It’s an oath I make to myself, and I’m not surprised as the magic of fae promises coils around my essence, locking into place until I can follow up with it.

A clicking sound brings me back to reality, and I almost cry out with relief when I find my hand free and able to move.

Rochus gives me a curt nod, turning toward my other hand, but I stop him. “Take care of Ed first.” Instead, I dart for the dead guard, patting down his drug-covered armor for a key to more efficiently get us out of the rest of our shackles. All I find is a knife in his boot.

It’s all I need, though. With shaky fingers, I pull it out, getting to work on the chains on my other wrist. This size of a blade, I can insert into the lock holding together the thick chain connecting to the bindings at my neck, but my fingers slip on the hilt, the angle wrong, and I’m unable to pull my left hand farther away from my body.

“Let me help you,” Gabrilla hisses from where she’s still pretending to be dead, her eyes sparkling with challenge as she watches me fumble with the knife.

I shake my head, sliding closer on my knees and slipping the tip of the blade into the lock on her chains instead. With a few twists and turns, her legs are free, then her hands and her neck. She flexes her arms and stretches her back with a groan on her lips before she takes the knife from my hands and gets to work on the chains still restraining me.

By the time she’s done, Rochus has freed Ed, leaving Silas the only one tied up like a shrimp.

Gabrilla doesn’t pause before all chains fall away from the male’s body, and he sprawls to the side as if the bindings were the only thing holding him together.

Fuck—

We’re running out of time.

“The shield might provide an obstacle,” I whisper, hoping that I’m wrong. That the shield is more to protect the camp from the worst of the elements—storms and snow—and attacks from the outside rather than to lock us in.

If the latter is the case, passing through the shield will be the last thing we ever do.

Rochus inclines his head. “If it kills us, we’ll still die as free men.”

The determination in the humans’ eyes as I meet each of their gazes is more convincing than my own hope that we’ll get out of here alive. So I reach for Silas’s arms, heaving him onto my back as I push into a half-upright position.

“Ready?”

Ed comes to my side, supporting Silas’s weight as best he can, while Rochus with the sword and Gabrilla with the knife flank us.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Forty-Eight

Myron

“They are moving.” Kaira notes it first, even though I see it at the same time. The prisoners are moving.

At first, I believe it is merely to relieve discomfort from remaining in one position in the cold for too long, but then the guard comes in, a tall, bulky man who could be a Flame, judging by his build.

I don’t get to think on it more, because one of the prisoners shoots up, knocking the man out with a shove punch to the sternum, the force of which could stop hearts.

“Herinor.” Both Kaira and I think at the same time, and I’ve never been happier to see the morally questionable warrior.

“If he’s here, Silas should be here, too.” I don’t care if speaking my hope is foolish. Something is happening over there, and we need to help them before they are discovered.

The twigs slide along my shield as we sneak closer to the edge of the camp, observing the slow movements of Herinor as he frees his legs, then one of the other prisoners. By the time we make it to the thicket behind them, Herinor is carrying a prisoner who looks very much like an unconscious Silas, the other three beside him, and they are making for the near-invisible barrier of magic around the camp. The fear in my stomach spreads into my entire body at the thought that they are mere feet away from the magic and that we need to prepare for anything between a mild zing and a flesh-and-bone-splitting explosion of power.

“The shield could kill them,” I speak my concern into the mind link, leaving out the details. I have no idea how to prevent it, my powers not having recovered enough to tear through the shield, and if I touch it, I might alert whoever cast it, and I’m not sure any of us are in a condition to fight right now.

“I’m surprised none of the soldiers have noticed their man hasn’t returned from his check-in,” Kaira mumbles, her gaze darting back and forth between the fleeing prisoners and the soldiers lining up to get lunch.

“Perhaps they’re simply hungry.” It would be such a human thing to succumb to one’s appetite. When Ayna was still human, before the curse was broken, she’d needed food a lot more regularly, or she’d be even more easily provoked by my mere presence.

A pang of despair attempts to fill my chest, but I lock it down before I can spiral down it like a black feather on a stream of ink. I can’t go there—not until we’ve saved what’s left of my court—of our court, whether Ayna is here to lead it at my side or not.

The glance Kaira gives me speaks volumes about how she believes Crows are no different when it comes to food. “How do we get them out?”

I hold my breath, watching the prisoners’ slow approach until a foot’s worth of branches is all that’s left separating us—that, and the shield they need to get through.

My gaze locks on Herinor’s as he halts to assess the barrier, and something like hope flickers across his dirt-and-blood-smeared features as he recognizes it’s not an enemy waiting in the shadows.

Myron, his lips form my name, but his gaze scans the thicket until he finds Kaira crouched at the base of a young fir. The expression forming on Herinor’s face is one I wish every person experiences once in their lives to understand the depths of feeling living within even the most enigmatic of creatures among us. Herinor’s lips twitch upward at the corners, completely ignoring the three humans to his left and right as he lifts his hand, reaching for the female I know he cares more deeply about than I’d ever believed him capable of.

“No!” Kaira’s shout rings through the mind link as she leaps to her feet, throwing out her hands to stop Herinor from carelessly touching the shield.

Too late.

A trickle of crimson runs down the shield where he’s pulling back his hand with a wince, examining the tips of his fingers while he’s struggling to balance Silas’s weight on his back.

“It will shred them to pieces,” Kaira squeaks in my head. “They’re trapped.”

The blood suspended midair is all the proof we need, yet, I refuse to accept it. “I’ve already lost my mate; I won’t lose anyone else.”

The humans’ mouths are moving, their eyes wide with fear as they watch the blood slowly slide toward the ground along the invisible wall. Apparently, the shield soundproofs the camp as much as it prevents people from passing through without permission.

Ignoring the cautioning voices screaming in my head, I pluck a pebble from the frozen earth and throw it at the shield—to find it crumble at the impact.

“Impenetrable from the inside and out,” I narrate, not even close to giving up while Herinor’s features set into a hard mask. The one of resignation I’ve seen so many times on him when he couldn’t take action due to the bargain with Ephegos.

“Perhaps for stone and flesh.” Kaira braces her feet apart, careful not to lose the cover of branches as she opens the mind link beyond the two of us, her entire body shaking as she throws her power beyond the barrier. “Herinor?”

Her voice is decimated to a whisper by the effort it takes to get through, but she does get through.

“Get the fuck out of here, Kaira,” is all Herinor spits at her even when his features soften for a beat before fear distorts them once more.

“Not a chance.”

While the part-Flame waves at the humans, the two men and one woman wait impatiently for something to happen that will get them out of there.

“No need to piss yourselves,” Herinor’s bodily voice slides through the mind link as he reassures what must be the last of the rebels in his own unique, charming way. “That’s my king and the female who likes to torment me with her hot and cold attitude.”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard him make such a specific statement about how he views Kaira, but the longing in his eyes as they lock on hers says more than words ever could.

“We don’t have much time,” I interrupt the moment before the humans can come up with questions. “If Kaira’s magic made it through the shield unharmed, chances are I could create a passage using my own powers.”

“You’re too weak, Myron.” Kaira grabs her daggers more tightly.

“I’m the only one in possession of a power that could block out a piece of the shield,” I remind her because, with one look at Herinor and Silas, I know they are in possession of neither their magic nor their physical strength, or they would have long blazed through this shield, carrying the humans along. “And I’m not leaving them behind.”

Gaze cutting to mine with more upset than I’d expected, Kaira takes a deep, steadying breath. “Neither am I.”

Before I send out my power, there’s only one thing I need to know. “How many magic wielders are in the camp?”

Herinor doesn’t need to say anything for me to know that the answer is ‘too many’, but he does anyway. “The guards who’ve checked on us were all human, but the shield is too strong to be cast by only one Crow.” He sways on his feet, the woman with the green cloak bracing him as much as she can manage. Beside me, Kaira makes an unintelligible sound that could have been worry or disapproval.

For a moment, I think she’ll leap right into the barrier at the sight of the woman so close to the warrior Crow, but she merely reaches into the pocket of her jacket, withdrawing the vial we plucked from a soldier’s corpse in the clearing before.

“This could melt a hole into the shield.” She doesn’t wait for a response as she uncorks it, ready to splash it onto the wall separating us from the last of my court.

“It could also draw the attention of whoever cast the shield,” I warn her, though we all know whatever we do to break the shield will eventually draw the camp toward us. So I nod, an unnecessary approval when there is little else we can do without wrecking ourselves to shredded, bloody ribbons.

Holding her breath, Kaira takes aim and splashes, the clear liquid colliding with the near-invisible shield with a slick, wet sound.

I don’t know what we all expected, but most certainly not the smoke rising from the spot where the liquid evaporates like ice in the desert.

Leaning closer, Kaira and I inspect the shield, looking for any sign the liquid has left a hole, but all we find is a small spot where the wall of magic has thinned, the view a bit clearer, less laced with glimmering silver.

The shield must be too strong to break apart at a mere vial of the drug.

It doesn’t change anything, and I’m not trying to figure it out when rallying my power is taking everything out of me. The disappointment on Kaira’s face is enough to make me tap into the shallow depths of what’s returned of my magic. If this is the only way, so be it.

A thin silver glow appears in my free palm while I keep the other one firmly wrapped around the hilt of my sword. The humans stumble a step back on instinct.

“Prepare to run.” Not giving myself a moment to doubt whether this will work, I send the power collecting in my hand at the shield, willing it to burn through the protective layer. For a moment, nothing happens, and I wonder if I’m doing it right or if the amount of magic at my disposal is so minuscule the barrier will simply ignore it like a crow does a slight breeze. Then, silver light flares, and shouts erupt from the center of the camp as we draw the soldiers’ attention.

Not long and they will figure out what’s going on, and I really don’t want to test our luck after the past hours. If they get us before we can get the prisoners out, there won’t be an escape. There will be only pain and death, with death being the more merciful option.

“Hurry, Myron,” Herinor grits out, his teeth bared even though he’s using the mind link.

I don’t pause to inform him I’m not planning on drawing this out. Footsteps approach. Fast. And from the side of the camp, two men come running, their swords drawn. At least, they aren’t wielding bows and arrows, or we’d be fucked.

“Faster.” From the way Kaira shifts on her feet, I should wonder if she’s ready to leap into the shield and risk being grated like cheese, then her hand locks around my wrist, fingers digging in with painful force. Before I can wince—or demand what she’s doing—she drops the empty vial still in her other hand and opens it toward the shield. “This is magic the way fireballs thrown by Flames are magic,” she merely says as if that’s an explanation, but when tendrils of silver peel away from the shield, turning soft orange as they creep and coil into her open hand, I understand.

“You’re siphoning from the shield.”

Her victorious smile is almost worth the blast of power erupting and throwing us all to the ground as the shield collapses a few heartbeats before the two guards would have made it to the prisoners.

“Kaira?” Ignoring the searing pain lashing down my side, I collect my limbs and roll over, preparing to fight.

Kaira is right there with me, blood dribbling down her chin and bracing her hand against a tree a few feet back where the explosion delivered us.

“Crow magic and Flame fire,” I muse into the mind link, thinking back to all the theories we’ve had over the combination of those two.

Kaira huffs a dark chuckle, already limping toward Herinor, who groans as he pushes off the ground, Silas still on his back. A glance at the blasted tents confirms nothing is moving there, the soldiers who were shouting now silenced, perhaps forever.

“Can you walk?” the male asks the older man struggling to get into an upright position. The ugly wound on his leg is spewing blood, and his complexion is so black and blue from old injuries I can’t tell if any new ones were added in the explosion.

The man hobbles a step, staggering into the younger one, who is more stable. The woman crawls toward them from a few feet away, shaking her head as she takes in the destruction behind her: Torn tents flap in the wind like banners of doom, the stench of blood and pain laces the air, and where a cauldron had been sitting on a fire, ready to feed a company of soldiers, the flames are eating up whatever they can get their scorching tongues on as they spill into the icy land.

“How are we alive?” The woman stumbles to her feet, almost tripping over her cloak. Unharmed.

They are all unharmed—at least by our magic. As if on instinct, it destroyed everything surrounding us, but not us. Not the court we are trying to save or the allies they brought along.

Holding out an arm to help the older man across the debris of trees and ashes, I give Kaira a clipped smile.

We did it. We found them. Now we only need to make sure they survive the escape.

Forty-Nine

Ayna

I wake to the swaying of a carriage, the motion so familiar I want to vomit. The stench of blood and sweat fills the plain cabin large enough for four where I’m stored on the floor between the two benches. My head swims with dizziness, my vision sluggish as I scan the narrow space, the worn gray curtains drawn in front of the windows. A crimson trail runs along the scratched wooden bench on one side, indicating I must have laid there before I slipped to the floor. No one else, whose blood it could be, is in here with me. This means that, at least, there’s no one witnessing my weakness as I come to.

Every last inch of my body aches, most of all the area at the side of my collarbone where the arrow of fire pierced through my leathers, the shirt beneath still sticky—either I’m still bleeding, or it hasn’t been long since Ephegos hauled me off the battlefield and hit me over the head like a barbarian. A shiver rakes through me as the cold leather presses against my chest, and I reach for my head, stifling a groan as I rub the tender spot right over my ear where the pommel of Ephegos’s sword struck. On the bright side, that saved me having to look at him and wonder whether he’d kill me after all and declare the bargain moot.

The smell of urine climbs into my nose as I shift to my hands and knees, and I realize the freezing, wet sensation isn’t coming only from the blood drenching my front but I peed myself. Great.

Telling myself it doesn’t matter, that it’s probably for the best I’m gross and reeking when Ephegos or his minions check in on me, I ignore the shame. If Myron could see me this way, he’d rip someone’s head off.

A whole new surge of pain followed by a bone-crushing sadness assaults my chest at the thought of what I had to do to buy him and Kaira a chance at escape—and by that a chance to rally the rest of Eherea to work together against Erina and his betraying-ass general.

Like another hit to the head, the moment in the clearing rushes back to my memory, and the threads of magic locking the bargain I made with Ephegos in place tug and pull like they are asking to be recognized.

I’ll be yours if you let him live. I swear not to try to return to his Crow Court if you let Kaira go as well. Alive. The bargain is valid as long as you promise to never lay a finger on either of them again.

Even if I want to tell myself I didn’t mean any of the words, I did. To save them, I meant every last letter, even if our future has been inevitably altered by my decision.

I want to reach out to Myron through the bond, make certain he’s all right and I can still feel him, but a part of me is too much of a coward to face the wrath of the Crow King. I hope he listened carefully, though. Perhaps he’ll be able to forgive me for my choice. At least, he’ll live. It’s all I can ask for. And so will my sister. Together, they’ll find a way to raise an army large and powerful enough to smother the full force Tavras will be throwing at us soon enough.

At them, I remind myself. Tavras won’t be throwing anything at me when I’m compliant with the bargain. Perhaps this little feat will have the side effect of sowing mistrust between the Tavrasian King and his general. In Erina’s eyes, I’m still his bride and his ticket to an eternity of unchallenged rule for the Jelnedyn bloodline, so Ephegos’s claim might create conflict that I can use to aid my family in the fairylands.

On instinct, I reach for the thread of magic connecting Myron and me and startle as my palm glows with warmth, the mate mark shimmering ever so slightly.

Still there. He’s still there and the bond untarnished. Even the magic-nullifying drug cannot dim the bond. A thin smile spreads on my lips, followed by a tear rolling down my cheek.

I’m here, Myron. Sending the thought down the bond, I wipe my face with the back of my hand, the arm still braced on the floor buckling at the emotion blazing through the path between us in response.

Love. So much love. And despair.

I have no idea where Myron is or whether his injuries from the battle have healed, but I know he’s alive and he felt me.

I love you. It’s the last thought I allow down the bond before locking away every last feeling that could be used against me by Ephegos and his minions. The moment the traitor Crow opens the carriage door, it won’t matter how much I love my mate or that I wish I could go back in time to save him in a different way. All that will matter is my strength of will and my ability to suffer.

With a sigh, I heave myself to sit on my haunches, reaching for the curtains with a shaky hand, drawing it back an inch—just an inch, a gap so small no one will notice, and I’ll be able to orient myself before they realize I’m awake. Outside, bright stars and a heavy moon illuminate the crop-less fields covered by night. On this side of the carriage, not one tree is visible far into the distance. Instead, barns and sheds are scattered across the landscape, none of them close enough for me to reach should I manage to escape this carriage.

Because when I offered the bargain, I promised not to try to return to Myron’s court, but I never promised not to try to run.

I can’t help the sense of smugness at that thought—and the terrifying uncertainty whether the magic of bargains understood my intentions when it spilled into the universe to bind me to the one Crow who has caused so much misery among my court.

Careful not to make any noise, I turn around to check the other window. Maybe we’re still close enough to the forest for me to disappear in the thicket. I don’t have my full powers at my disposal, but the way my fingers find the wound by my collarbone almost sealed when I reach beneath my leathers tells me the drug is wearing off and they’re recovering fast.

The ache in my limbs makes it a challenge, turning on my knees and crawling for the other window. With a shaky hand, I manage to shift the curtain just enough to peek through, though, and my heart kicks into a gallop at the sight of the forest’s dark silhouette. If I make it out of here and reach the tree line, I might actually get away.

A shadow moves outside the window a moment before the carriage stops, and the door opens so fast I can’t pull back the hand braced against it. Like a stone, I tumble out the gap, croaking a sound of surprise as much as terror as a pair of arms catches me a split heartbeat before my face could meet the ground.

“Well good morning, Ayna,” Ephegos chirps, my stomach instantly turning at the knowledge of who kept me from crashing onto the frost and gravel just a few inches beneath. He folds me back into the carriage, heaving me onto a bench, then climbs in after me.

Tracking his every move, I press as far into the corner as I can, bringing distance between us while he settles on the bench across from me, his signature warm grin faltering as his nostrils flare at the stench inside the cabin. “You could have given a sign that you need to relieve yourself.” The emotionless tone tells me he couldn’t care less that I’m squirming from embarrassment, but he considers it an inconvenience anyway that his conquest smells like pee.

Instead of coming up with explanations, insults, or even excuses, I opt for silence, buying myself time as he tries to figure out how to get me to talk. I have a thousand questions, though. Like where are we? Are we headed to Meer? Will he hand me over to Erina or keep me as a toy? Will he eventually kill me? And what will he do to me before it comes to it?

It doesn’t matter what he’ll do because you’ll get out of here before he can harm a hair on your head. I want to tell myself that it is Myron’s voice in my head, or even Shaelak’s. I’d settle for Vala’s, too, but it’s my own weak thought that lingers in my mind. My hope. How I despise that thing with its tendency to shatter me completely every time I dare harbor it.

“Aren’t you going to spit some of your vile words at me?” Ephegos leans back in his seat, bracing one hand on his hip where his sword hangs at his side. It’s obvious he doesn’t trust me despite the bargain. Good—because I don’t trust him either.

I don’t give him a single grunt.

“Oh Ayna… I’d imagined such a sweet reunion for us.” His head tilts as he studies me with half amusement, half disdain. “Of course, in those imaginations, Myron was always there to make things worthwhile.”

“You mean to make him bleed for your revenge?” The words are out before I can make a conscious choice, I can’t help it. So much for the silent treatment.

That costs Ephegos a mild chuckle. “I wouldn’t have insisted on blood,” he tells me graciously. “I’d have settled for pain.”

My stomach turns at the mere thought of Myron being tortured by this vile male, but I put on a brave face, sticking with the path I chose in the forest. “Good I made that bargain then.” It’s a small reminder of what we agreed upon in the clearing, and Ephegos’s grin indicates he believes he already won this battle because I chose to go with him. He doesn’t realize how deliberately I chose my words back then.

“Good, Ayna. A very good girl, that’s what you are. And a very good Crow, Tata tells me.”

The moment of smugness passes at the mention of the traitor fairy, and my mask slips, allowing Ephegos to read from my face the fury at how Tata sold us all out.

“Yes, Ayna. I know everything from your useless attempts to change back into your human form to Shaelak’s little revelation of his involvement with your ancient ancestors.” When I don’t respond, he leans forward, rye blond hair swishing over his shoulder as he draws the sword and rests it across his knees, ready should I try to make a move. “You have the God of Darkness’s blood, Ayna. The God of Crow’s blood, to be more specific.” Now he’s the one who’s smug, that grin returning and staying as he observes me backing farther into the corner. “Tata told me all about your bloodline and how you chose immortality.”

Instead of confirming, I wipe my hands on my thighs, reminding myself that Ephegos will leave this carriage again, and I will take a better look at what’s out there. I’ll wait until the opportunity presents itself, and then I’ll run. “Tell me, Ephegos, what other stories did Tata tell you?”

Two fingers gliding along the flat of his sword, Ephegos observes my every movement, every blink as if waiting for a sign of my powers. Thank the gods my leathers are covering up most of the healing wound, or he’d know I’m not entirely helpless anymore, even when my strength isn’t exactly what it should be. Damned drug.

Stall. Don’t let him see you’re recovering.

I rest my head against the wood next to the window, faking a dizzy spell.

“Oh, Tata tells me everything. How do you think we found that traitorous merchant lady and her lover?”

Lover. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but when I think back of the way Pouly always looks at Andraya, I can’t help but recognize the adoration.

Fluttering my eyelids, I let my shoulders slump a little more, pretending to be drowsy.

He leans in even closer, breath washing over my face in a hot, cinnamon-scented gust. I don’t dare cringe away. “We’ll ride through the night and the entire day tomorrow before we rest. Sleep while you can, Wolayna. Erina is waiting for us.”

My chest seizes, but I breathe through it. It doesn’t matter that I want to claw Ephegos’s eyes out. Right now, I’m too weak to even land a scratch. I know it, and he most certainly knows it, too. All I need to do now is fool him into still believing it when my powers return more fully and I’m ready to run. I’ll have one chance. One tiny, fickle chance. And if I don’t make it then, I can tell my hopes goodbye.

Fifty

Herinor

“Do the gods ever watch over us, or are they merely observing us in our misery for their own amusement?”

I lift my head from the rough woolen blanket covering the bed I’ve curled up in, barely daring a glance at the stars-and-ink-woven night sky outside the window.

“Observe,” I answer Silas’s question. “Definitely observe.”

A soft chuckle sounds in the corner of the room where Kaira sleeps in a bed as close to the kitchen as possible. After all, she’s the one who’s still shivering after a full day of sitting by the stove and a night of sleeping under a stack of covers. I’m not sure I’m surprised she’s suffering from the burnout she got so close to when channeling the magic of the shield to break through it. Brilliant idea, really. But my stomach still turns in knots at the memory of her shivering form when Myron carried her back to the rebels’ hideout.

I allowed him to carry her because time was of the essence, and discussing whether he could take Silas instead would have cost precious moments neither of us had. Perhaps the gods were watching over us after all that day when they allowed Kaira’s magic to blast everything but the people she was determined to rescue. Even Rochus, Ed, and Gabrilla have recovered by now.

When I cock my head and glance at Kaira’s peaceful, sleeping face, I find Gabrilla sitting on the edge of her bed, pulling the covers higher on Kaira’s shoulders, and stifle a sigh. The rebel girl has been taking care of the part-Flame since the moment we dragged ourselves across the threshold into the warmth of the farmhouse. It’s a godsdamned miracle Ephegos’s men haven’t found us in the two nights we’ve been here because I’m pretty certain we left a bloody trail in the frost all the way from the camp, which now lies in rubble. It’s also annoyingly frustrating none of the fairies have come looking for us. Surely, Clio must have sent aid the moment she made it to Aceleau. Unless Tata managed to do proper damage before the Fairy Princess made it back. A shudder shakes my shoulders, and I nestle deeper into the blanket, feeling deep into my powers as I ponder what happened after Silas and I got separated from the rest of the group.

Myron shared enough to last for a lifetime of terror. His mate—gone. Even if she went willingly, she’s still in Ephegos’s claws. Even if she’s an immortal Crow now, he can still hurt her in ways I don’t even want to imagine, and I would know. I used to be a master at torture.

Another glance at Kaira and I wonder if I could lie down and close my eyes even for a heartbeat if it was the part-Flame in Ayna’s place. Clutching the blanket around my shoulders, I roll out of bed and pad across the room, careful not to wake the others.

When I stop next to Kaira’s bed, Gabrilla lifts her head, staring up at me as if I were a ghost appearing out of thin air. I keep forgetting the rebels are humans and she probably didn’t notice me until I was right next to her.

“I’ll take over the watch.” It’s not a question, and Gabrilla is smart enough not to question me. With the fluidity of a trained fighter, she shoots to her feet and, with a curt nod, makes her way back to her own bed where she slides under the covers and rolls over.

For a moment, I wonder if I can simply sit on Kaira’s bed. She hasn’t spoken to me more than the most necessary words since the disaster by the camp. Then, she hasn’t spoken much to anyone else either. If the rebel girl can sit with her, I most certainly can.

My heart picks up pace as I lower myself onto the mattress, sitting next to her hip, and sweep her form with a glance. She looks so fragile under the heavy covers. Lost, almost, her hair tangled around her head and her features pale from the aftereffects of coming so close to burnout.

I don’t know how much more time she’ll need to be back on her feet, but the others are nearly ready. Myron and I recovered enough to heal Silas’s and the humans’ wounds. The rest was a good night’s sleep and a few warm meals—thank the gods the rebels’ house was properly stocked up with storable foods.

But Kaira⁠—

Kaira wasn’t able to walk from the kitchen to the bedroom without help before getting to bed. Myron helped her while I cleaned up the kitchen and discussed the situation with the oldest rebel, Rochus. We couldn’t stay much longer in a place where the enemy knows to come looking. And we can’t go after Ayna either. That leaves us with the option to head back north and make our way to Aceleau. If none of the fairies have come looking for us, that means there’s a chance they need our help more than we do theirs.

The bed creaks, and Kaira stirs, eyelids fluttering as if she’s having a bad dream, but she doesn’t wake. I don’t care who hears it when I bend over her a few inches and whisper, “From now on, I won’t let you out of my sight, Kaira.”

I tell myself that it is because I don’t want her to get into any more trouble, and it is a part of the reason. It truly is. But mainly, ever since she showed up behind the camp exactly at the right moment to save my sorry ass, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her. Every moment I turn my back to her feels like a waste. Every minute I don’t tell her there’s been something brewing inside my chest and I will no longer ignore it is like breathing under water.

Since I’ve spent millennia in denial of any emotion, I’m not exactly fluent in sharing my feelings with anyone. So I’ll wait until she’s no longer fighting burnout to tell her what she means to me.

I don’t know how long I sit there, but eventually even Silas’s breathing returns to the even cadence of sleep. When day eventually breaks through the wall of shadows and a ray of sun wanders the worn wood of the floor, the others rise and make their way to the kitchen, Gabrilla giving me a smile of understanding and thanks as she pads by in her woolen socks, her pants and thick woolen shirt hanging loosely on her athletic frame.

Myron pats my shoulder, briefly stopping to check in on the patient. “She looks better.” He brushes back a strand of hair from Kaira’s forehead, assessing her temperature, and nods with approval. “No fever. And the color is returning to her cheeks.”

He doesn’t need to point that out. It’s the first thing I noticed when the first light climbed into the room. A light blush lingers on her bronze cheeks, the tint so delicious I want to bend down and brush my mouth over it.

Myron eyes me like he’s seeing right into my black soul. “You wake her,” he orders. “I’ll help make breakfast.” And he disappears through the door, letting it swing shut behind him.

Drinking in the sight of Kaira’s face—the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the messy tresses spilled across the pillow, the arch of her neck where it meets her collarbone an inch above the rim of the covers… I swallow hard.

I don’t know nearly enough about this female. Yes, I know about how hard her life was with the Flames before Myron and Ayna adopted her into their court. I know I didn’t do a stellar job at helping her out when we first met at Jeseida’s estate, or later, when she was trying to get Ayna out of Erina’s palace. I was an arrogant, cowardly, selfish bastard, and she saw me anyway. She didn’t give up on believing there was a kernel of good in me. She has no idea that, without her, I would have remained an observer of Ayna’s misery instead of finding ways to help everyone around her. With her fierce, unwavering loyalty to her sister, Kaira burned a path right to my heart until I could no longer live with myself just watching the Crow Queen waste away.

“Good morning.”

Her raspy voice startles me from my thoughts, but the calm in her eyes anchors me before my heart can kick into a frenzy.

“Good morning.” I attempt a smile but am almost convinced it’s a grimace at best.

Kaira manages a weak grin in return, and my heart all but explodes.

“You look better.” Keep it casual. Breathe.

She digs her hand out of the covers and reaches for her face, the side where a bruise was blooming less than a day ago. “I feel better.” Closing her eyes, she takes a few deep breaths as if taking inventory of her body—or her magic. When her eyes open again, a yawn stretches her mouth, and she rolls to the side, hiding it in the pillow.

I want to tell her that she doesn’t need to hide anything from me. I’ve seen her at her worst when she was purging from the drug after the first escape from Erina’s palace. I want to tell her that she’s beautiful. That I’m anxious I’ll never be able to look away again. “Hungry?” I ask instead. “The others are preparing breakfast.”

Rolling out of the pillow, Kaira gives me a glance of mock-disapproval. “What? So you’re the only lazy bastard not helping out?”

Biting back a laugh, I give her a wicked grin. “Technically, you’re the lazy one. You’ve been sleeping most of the time since we returned here.”

Her expression of outrage is equally adorable as it is reassuring that her energy is returning.

“I blasted you out of that camp, in case you don’t remember.” Her voice is back, the croak vanishing as she falls into a pattern of banter I realize only now how much I’ve missed. “While you preferred to cuddle with Silas on his deathbed.”

“Not deathbed,” I correct. “Death-frosted-ground, in case you don’t remember,” I counter, warmth filling every last corner of my body as this female gives me her full attention after so many weeks of barely speaking. No hint of the judgement or disappointment from after she learned how much of the knowledge I’d held back lingers. And I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a boulder crumbling from my chest.

Before I can spill any of these thoughts, I get up from the bed and hold out a hand for her. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

At that, she smiles a real, broad smile that pierces straight through all layers of protection I’ve built, and I nearly fall to my knees to confess all the hundreds of ways I’ve dreamt of her, that shoving her up against the wall is no longer connected to that ire sometimes flooding me when she hits a nerve but mainly to the way I want to feel her pressed up against me.

“Breakfast sounds perfect.”

I don’t know why she’s whispering as she lays her fingers into my palm, folding back the covers. I don’t know why my hand is shaking as I hold hers firmly but gently, pulling her to her feet and failing to stop pulling until she’s half a foot from me, her face tilted up as her eyes search mine for answers I’m not sure I have. The warm, woolen pants and shirt Garbilla helped her into before bed look so soft and cozy I can almost talk myself into using them as an excuse to touch her.

“You smell like sunshine.”

She gasps like she’s trying to take back her words, but I already have a retort ready on my tongue—one I’m not speaking because who cares that she still features the lingering scent of fatigue and terror. At least the odor of blood and gore is gone, and since I’m certain the terror has nothing to do with me, I’m happy to keep my mouth shut for once, merely smiling.

For a long, heart-stopping moment, Kaira tightens her fingers around mine, the brown of her eyes splintering into an array of colors as I dare look into them. Hues of moss and hazelnut laced with sprinkles of a blue so deep it barely shimmers through. Thin lines of gold and burgundy weave together around her pupils so wide I can glimpse the dawn and the end of time.

Before I can piece together what I see, her stomach growls, and she blinks, stepping away and dropping my hand. “We better go eat.”

“We better,” I agree, my gaze still glued to her face as she starts walking, and I follow like a dumbfounded fool.

Fifty-One

Myron

I felt something through the bond last night. A flash of heat that could have been an actual flame burning on my chest. However, I much more suspect it was Ayna’s way of communicating with me, of letting me know she’s alive and awake. Carrying that sensation in my heart like a talisman, it was easy to cook breakfast for what’s left of my court and the three rebels—Rochus and his son and daughter—who aided Herinor and Silas in their escape.

They are all sitting at the table now, their mouths full of the scrambled eggs I made after raiding the stables together with Ed. The boy is a delight, carrying himself like a warrior, even when he’s barely entered manhood.

“We’ve spent too much time here,” Rochus says around a bite of stale bread, his gaze restlessly flying from window to window as if expecting a group of soldiers to show up in bright daylight.

The man has proved surprisingly complex, a veteran rebel who’s fought this war with the Jelnedyn bloodline all his life like his parents before him. I’m not surprised and definitely not too proud to listen to his advice as he tells us it’s unwise to stay here another day, and it’s easy to shut up the voice at the back of my head telling me not to trust anyone after Tata’s betrayal. Those rebels have no stakes in the conflict between Ephegos and my court. They have no reason to betray us, and they most certainly bear the scars and bruises to prove they were kept prisoner by the same villains who captured my Crows.

“I’m not sure Clio will come back for us,” Kaira murmurs, barely sitting up straight but so much stronger than last night. Perhaps Herinor’s presence at her bedside was better for her than I expected. “If she hasn’t come for us by now,” she adds even more softly.

Silas drains his teacup, pouring himself another one. “As soon as we can shift, one of us could fly back to Aceleau to find out what’s going on.”

Probing my power, I assess whether I am close to recovering this ability. It’s strangely unsettling not to be able to turn into my crow self and soar across the lands, even when that ability was blocked before by the drug.

“Or we could take the horses and ride north,” Herinor suggests, earning a disapproving glare from Gabrilla.

“We’re not riding north.” She takes another bite of eggs, chewing while the fingers of her free hand drum on the worn oak table.

“And that is why, Sis?” Ed sets down his fork, almost falling from the bench as he leans back and realizes at the last moment there’s no backrest.

A mild chuckle escapes Rochus as he catches Ed by the elbow, setting him back onto the bench. “Because our war is south, Ed.”

Gabrilla nods eagerly, shoveling more eggs into her mouth. If she wore a nice dress and had her hair tamed, she could pass for a lady in a human court—except for her manners, of course. Refraining from raising a brow at her, I focus on the middle-aged rebel who doesn’t seem to have comprehended that partnering up with us is pretty much the only way to save their precious Tavras.

I must admit, I find Rochus’s stoic expression when Ed shakes his head with the words, “Whoever held us prisoner was riding under the Jelnedyn banners. They came for us, and they didn’t shy away from taking two Crow Fairies prisoner,” slightly disconcerting. “Do you really believe their war isn’t our war, father?” Ed gestures at Herinor and Silas, who are both chewing, eyes vigilant and power simmering beneath their skin.

“It’s Crow Fae,” Silas says in that tone ready to cut stone, making Ed almost fall out of his seat again—followed by a grin making his rugged features nearly handsome. With a brief grin at Rochus and Gabrilla, he shrugs. “And Ed is right. We are fighting the same war. We are even both fighting it for the same queen.”

“The Queen of Tavras,” Ed confirms with more confidence now that he’s seen Silas’s teeth don’t mean he’ll bite.

The male grins again, a deadly expression this time. “The Queen of Crows. But the same thing, technically.” Before any of the rebels can question him, he rolls on. “Queen Wolayna is our Crow Queen and your Queen of Tavras, but you already know that. What you don’t know is that, unless you want to fight a war against the Crows, Tavras and the Crow Realm are one until further notice.”

Usually, I don’t enjoy when others speak for my kingdom or my queen, but Silas is doing a darn good job at painting the picture.

“If you don’t want us to turn on each other, we better accept that both of us have an interest in the Queen of Tavras and the Crows’ future.” I tell them, hopping in before this can escalate. Rochus surely gives the impression he’s ready to draw blood, even when he knows he’d never stand a chance against any of us now that we’re all remotely recovered. “Ephegos is on the move. He took the queen of both our people.” I don’t need to remind them that same queen is my mate. “He won’t rest until his revenge on me is done. This means our queen is to suffer.” Holding up my index finger, I list the issues we should be facing together rather than apart. “Erina made Ephegos his general, but you already know that. Tata kept you up to date with her brief visits.”

“Until she betrayed all of us,” Gabrilla interjects, and I could swear Silas flinches. It was bad enough that he left the room and shut himself in the stables for an hour after we initially informed them all what happened in the clearing. Whatever had been going on between the two of them, Silas didn’t see this betrayal coming, and he is fighting hard to hide his hurt.

“She played us from the very first moment,” he says with that stony expression I’m used to from our days as monsters. “Who knows how many half-truths she told the rebels? How many lies?”

“It doesn’t change that we need to get out of here before those bastards come looking for us,” Herinor changes the topic, and for some reason, I believe he does it to spare his friend more pain. “Even if Kaira’s outstanding display of siphoning blasted the camp apart and probably killed every last badger in a fifty-foot radius, someone will notice the soldiers are missing, and once they do, there’s no guarantee they won’t send a group of Flames after us.”

“Or Crows,” Kaira croaks, bracing her hands on the edge of the table to keep herself upright. Much to my surprise, Herinor’s arm slides around her waist, pulling her against his side so she can lean on him for support. Who would have thought the cold-hearted warrior could be that fuzzy?

Kaira doesn’t shy away, closing her eyes and mouthing a word that looks very much like ‘sunshine’.

“We have no idea where Ephegos stationed the remaining Crows, but some of them were in the camp, or the shield Kaira brought down wouldn’t have been silvery.”

Herinor dips his chin at Silas’s observation. “Pure fool’s luck they went down in that explosion. They could have dragged us to Ephegos.”

And we all know what it would have meant if Ephegos got his hands on Herinor.

Swallowing the dread rising in my throat, I drain my tea and set down the mug with too much force to keep up the semblance of calm I’ve been clinging to. “He has Ayna. Whatever we do, it has to be soon. Not to free our queen, because who knows what that magic of bargains will do if we try, but to bring down Ephegos once and for all. One megalomaniac human king is enough to deal with. We don’t need to wait until a megalomaniac Crow takes that crown and declares tyranny over Tavras and all of Eherea.”

“I very much hope we won’t wait that long.”

I’m not the only one to leap to my feet, drawing my weapon and digging for my power at the voice from the corner of the room. My gaze swivels around to find the fairy general leaning against the crooked wall beside the threshold to the bedroom, dressed in battle black and wearing an expression of both amusement and urgency that makes me want to throw my sword at him, despite the relief lifting my chest.

“You have seen better days, Crow King.” Tori stalks closer, throwing his arms wide and, before I can object, folds me into a bearhug. “Thank the Guardians, you’re alive,” he whispers, only for me to hear.

When he pulls back, he gives a curt nod to Silas, Herinor, and Kaira, who has managed to summon a tiny fireball despite her unstable legs. “Put down your toy, Flameling.” Tori flashes her a grin then turns to the three brave humans, the two men with daggers in their hands, while Gabrilla has picked up a butter knife and masterfully pinched the tip of the blade between her thumb and index finger. I don’t need to see her throw it to know she won’t miss. “And you are?” He cocks his head at the woman.

“None of your fucking business.” Gabrilla bares her teeth, earning a warning glare from Ed, who seems more comfortable around fairies than the other two humans.

Tori barks a laugh. “I like her.” Pointing at the woman with a thumb, he drops onto the bench and reaches for the pan at the end of the table, helping himself to some scrambled eggs with a spare fork. He hums his approval and turns back to me. “Where’s Ayna?”

My heart drops into my stomach as I need to retell, for the second time, what happened in the clearing and how I’ve failed to protect my mate.

With every word, Tori’s expression turns sadder, and when I’m done and Herinor and Silas tell their part of the story alongside the rebels, Tori merely gets back to his feet and holds out both his hands. “We need to get back to Aceleau. Now. I can take four of you at the same time.”

A glance at Herinor and Silas is enough to have them step forward, but Herinor isn’t the one reaching for Tori’s palm. “You should go first,” he murmurs to Kaira, guiding her along as if she might collapse at any moment, and for once, Kaira doesn’t challenge him. With a small smile, she takes Tori’s hand while Herinor waits for Silas to steal to Kaira’s side, keeping his hand braced on his sword as he falls into the pattern of the guard he used to play for so many decades during the curse.

With a quick nod of thanks at Herinor, I eye the three humans, gesturing at Tori. “If you want to come, now is the time.”

No one is more surprised than I am when Ed leaps for Tori’s free hand, defiance on his young face as his father is about to object. “If we don’t work together, we’re dead. Tavras will be lost without the rebels, and Erina is already hunting us down. It’s a matter of time until the rest of the rebellion will be ratted out and slaughtered like the others.” And by that, he means how Ephegos’s men killed the rest of the rebels before dragging a few select ones to the camp for questioning or torture—or both.

“Wise kid.” Tori jerks his chin at Ed, his eyes finding a furious Rochus. “You should listen to him.”

“Andraya and Pouly went with the fairies,” Kaira says, gaze darting to Tori as if to check for any tell what happened to them in Aceleau, if they caught Tata or if the traitor fairy managed to wreak havoc before the others could warn Rogue, Sanja, and Royad.

Tori doesn’t give any indication of what happened back at the palace. “They’ll be happy to see you,” is all the fairy general says, but it’s enough to ease the anger in Rochus’s eyes.

Reluctantly, he steps forward, placing his hand atop his son’s in Tori’s palm. “Promise me you’ll return for my daughter and bring her, too.”

Tori is about to say something when Silas steps aside, making space for the human woman. “Take her. I’ll wait with my king.”

And just like that, Tori disappears with Kaira and the three humans. It takes about five minutes for him to pop up in the exact same place, a frown on his face and his hands open for us.

“What’s wrong, Tori?” I place my hand in his, clasping his calloused fingers securely while Herinor and Silas take the other hand.

Tori shakes his head. “Let’s get you back to Aceleau first. Rogue will share with you what happened.”

I want to tell him to take me to Aceleau, but not without picking up the bag of magic-nullifying serum Kaira and I left behind in a tree. “First we need to retrieve something that might come in handy.” When all three of the males cast me a curious look, I ask the fairy, “Can you site-hop based on memories of locations I show you?”

He ponders for a few heartbeats. “It’s worth a try.”

Without hesitation, I drop the shield around my mind, pulling up the image of the clearing full of scattered bodies.

Tori grimaces. “You sure you want to return there?”

“Absolutely.”

Herinor and Silas only shrug at each other at our exchange.

The world tumbles away, and we race through the fabrics of time and space as Tori moves us to exactly the tree I need, and I race the final few steps, ignoring the frozen bodies, the lingering stench of blood and death, or the possibility that someone may ambush us here. The fairy general and two of the most experienced Crow warriors I know are watching my back as I swipe the twigs away from the hole in the tree trunk and gently, carefully pull on the bundle of cloth hosting more than sixty vials of the magic-nullifying drug.

It dangles in my hand, a silver lining in this Shaelak-cursed war, and a grim smile finds its path to my mouth. “Ready.”

“What is it?” Silas asks, probably wondering why a sack at the edge of a killing field is of such importance to me. I haven’t told anyone about it, and Kaira sure as Hel’s realm wasn’t in any condition to tell. This flicker of hope won’t be revealed to the others before we’re back to safety.

Tori understands without waiting for an answer. Lips pursed and auburn gaze sweeping the clearing one last time for danger, he reaches for our hands and takes us back to the Fairy Palace.

Fifty-Two

Herinor

The first thing I notice when the fairy general lands us in the throne room of the palace in Aceleau is that everyone in the room is wearing fighting leathers. Even the pregnant Fairy Queen has put on vambraces, shoulder and chest pieces, and low-cut leather pants that hug her swollen womb where they end in a sleeve of elastic cotton. Andraya and Pouly are sitting in two of the high-backed chairs arranged in a circle around the map spread on the floor like in a war council where nobody bothered to bring a table. Next to Pouly, Rogue and Sanja sit side by side, hands laced together as they wait for the rest of us to join. Royad sits next to the Fairy Queen, studying the markers on the map. Kaira and the three rebels who escaped with us stand at the center of the room, each of them holding a mug of a steaming brew the smell of which wafts across the three feet of air separating us as Tori drops Myron, Silas, and me off in the pompous, glimmering space. I’d never thought I’d be glad to see the obnoxious luxury of the Fairy King’s residence again, yet I can’t help but marvel at the elaborately carved columns near the wide balcony doors, the glimmering walls and polished marble of the floor.

Despite the relative peace of the atmosphere, deafening silence reigns the hall, faces grim and eyes tired.

We have made it into the room all of two steps when Royad leaps up from his chair on the side of the room, darting for Myron and throwing his arms around the Crow King’s shoulders and pulling him tight. The sight sends a pang of emotion through my chest, and I can’t help smiling at him over Myron’s shoulder as he finds my gaze, nodding his thanks that I brought his cousin home in one piece.

I’m not the reason Myron’s alive, though. Ayna made it happen by sacrificing her freedom. Smart, foolish Crow Queen.

A few steps from me, Kaira sways on her feet. A tug in my chest urges me to offer her my arm and walk her to the closest chair, but I freeze to the spot as her gaze finds mine, catching me staring.

Before I can embarrass myself with the lack of words, Tori walks up to her, supporting her by the elbow. Within a blink of an eye, they vanish and reappear by the circle of chairs where Tori sits Kaira down. “You should save your strength, Flameling.” A light palm pressing onto her shoulder, he sits her down next to Andraya, who’s still staring at us new arrivals like she’s trying to figure something out. Royad follows suit, immediately back in his role as Myron’s loyal second.

He sits down next to where the Crow King takes a seat across from her, carefully setting down the ominous bag he brought back from the clearing beside his chair, nodding at Rogue and Sanja once and bracing his forearms on his knees and studying the map of Eherea at his feet, the colorful figurines and markers. Only then does the lady rebel clear her throat.

“Where is she?” Even though barely a murmur, the question hangs in the air like a ball of thunder ready to unleash itself onto all of us if we give the wrong answer.

Myron’s head tilts up, hair sliding back from his forehead and cheeks where it had hung like a curtain while he focused on the map. An unreadable expression has taken over his features, the mask of the king who doesn’t and won’t care about anything or anyone. The mask he perfected until Ayna saved us all from Vala’s curse. Now our queen needs our aid, and the Galloris himself shall be damned, there’s nothing we can do.

“She chose to leave us.”

Myron’s answer sucks the air from the room.

So Kaira and the three rebels haven’t told them.

Royad’s gaze darts to Silas then to me, silently demanding answers, but both of us shake our heads an inch. This isn’t for us to tell.

“What do you mean, ‘chose to leave us’?” The room turns a degree colder as Andraya’s sparkling blue eyes pierce into Myron’s blue ones. If Clio was in the room, I’d blame it on her ice magic, but the Fairy Princess is absent, and I haven’t found the courage to ask where she’s gone.

“She made a deal with Ephegos.”

Outrage shaking her body, Andraya leaps from her chair, finger pointing at the Crow King whose expression hasn’t changed—except for the hint of defeat shining through.

“How could you let this happen?” Pouly is on his feet, too, grabbing for the hilt of his sword on instinct as he rushes to Andraya’s aid.

Myron lowers his head, shaking it from side to side, hair falling over his features like a curtain closing before a stage, and his shoulders quiver as he stifles a sob.

So broken. So … helpless in the face of losing his mate to the very male who wants him suffering.

Is this how you intended for this to go? I think at the God of Darkness, smothering the anger rising in my belly. The sort of anger that used to make me a danger to everyone in my path. Is that what you wanted for your descendant? For the Queen of Crows? I ball my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. What sort of sick deity would sell the fate of their offspring in a bargain with a villainous madman?

Shaelak doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. But I take a stance between my shattering king and the two humans who attack him with accusations they have no idea what they are talking about.

“Sit your human asses down, and listen before you make a rash judgement on a male who would never—and I mean never—betray his mate.”

Royad rises from his chair, ready to intervene should I lose my temper, but I’m far from it. This is nothing.

Once more, the room falls silent, Rogue and Sanja’s warning glances spearing me as I tower over the two rebels who only want to know what happened to their queen. To my queen, too.

So I take a deep breath, turning back to my chair. I’m about to sit down when I meet Kaira’s gaze, and the only thing worse than the frown on her face is the hint of fear at the sight of my temper. Royad shoots me a warning glance as he seats himself, and damn the gods, I drop into my chair and, sighing through my nose, slump against the backrest. “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?” The question is directed at both Myron and Kaira, but the Crow King lifts his head and wipes his eyes, unafraid of what judgement awaits him at the sight of his tears. He’s been keeping it together so well; I don’t know what changed now, other than facing Andraya and Pouly, who’ve fought for Ayna’s freedom before and who will have a hard time accepting that this time, it was Ayna’s choice.

Before Myron can speak, I seize the word, explaining what happened in the clearing after Clio site-hopped the two rebels out, and what has happened since Ayna’s grand gesture to save her mate and her sister—all of us, really, but I’m leaving this little fact out for now. It’s enough to watch the faces turn into masks of horror then fall as they understand Ayna knew full well what she was getting into.

What hits me deepest is Kaira’s dead eyes as I retell the escape from the enemy camp and how she blasted us out of the shield with her strange yet powerful magic.

For an extended moment, the throne room falls silent again. Even Myron’s breathing has returned to normal, his inner strength rebuilding with his resolve. His tears aren’t signs of weakness but those of the power given to him by the sacred connection to his mate. It’s the strength of two souls turned into one.

As if reading my mind, Kaira blinks at me, and I check my mental shield to make sure she can’t see into the void opening up at the thought that, despite the muscles and magic at my disposal, I’m weaker because I haven’t chosen to become vulnerable with someone who reinforces the shields of hope and love buried deep down within me.

“So she’s never coming back?” Pouly wants to know, his voice brittle as if he’s aged ten years in the past half hour.

“Not to my court.” The raw emotion in Myron’s tone speaks of the wealth of sorrow building inside of him, the solid determination that will, from now on, paint our path.

Royad isn’t saying a word, but I can read the disappointment from his expression. He’s been hoping until the very last moment for this to turn into news he can handle. Now he knows like the rest of this Crow Court that the Queen won’t come home to us.

“But to Tavras, she will.” I’m not certain I like the relief in Andraya’s tone when she understands that this might be bad for the Crows, but the rightful Queen of Tavras could still reign over the human territory in the southeast of Eherea. “She won’t abandon both her courts.”

It’s in that moment that Myron’s irises flash the deepest onyx, veins of shadow and ink spider-webbing around his eyes. His spine straightens, but he leans back in his chair as if the weight of his own realization is too much to bear on his broad shoulders.

“What is it, Crow King?” It’s Sanja who beats me to the question, but it doesn’t matter when Myron merely shakes his head in response, darkness dripping from his fingertips, pooling around the legs of his chair.

“Wherever the Crow Queen can or will go is up to her and the gods who refuse to aid our cause.” He sends a sharp glance around the room for emphasis. “Let’s talk war strategies, Fairy Queen. We need to be prepared to win this war without her.”

Fifty-Three

Myron

In the past few hours since being reunited with my cousins and sharing the horrors of the past day with the few people left I care about, I’ve been checked over by Rogue’s healers about five times. They all saw my fingers bleeding black smoke and my eyes turning to inky orbs, and, honest to Shaelak, I’m surprised no one has run from me. On the contrary. Kaira insisted on joining me to see the healers, using the excuse of needing more of the herbal potion she has been sipping at since we arrived. At least, her cheeks are rosy again while I’m still the same, eyes of a monster and power leaking from my fingertips like a youngling losing control.

Before I wandered into the ground level of the palace to see the healers, at least Rogue and I agreed on postponing the issue of punishing Tata. As the Fairy King’s subject, it’s his call how to exact vengeance, but I’m not all against his idea of interrogating any information we can get out of her before she meets her fate.

That’s for later, though. For now, the traitor is locked up in the dungeon, and Clio and Tori are checking in every other hour to see if Tata has a wish to unburden her soul. So far, no news.

I’m not surprised.

Clio is checking up on the traitor right now. That’s the reason she wasn’t present when Tori site-hopped us in. Royad told me as much when I took him aside for a moment to briefly talk about what happened here after Clio arrived with Andraya and Pouly. At least, now I know why even the Fairy Queen is wearing armor: When Tata showed up at the palace before Clio could warn them, Tata got close enough to the pregnant queen to land a blow on her shoulder that drew blood. Thanks to Royad’s prompt reaction, Tata went down quickly, but the lingering fear of someone else in the palace turning on them has put our friends on edge so much Rogue has dismissed the guards Tata trained over the past months and replaced them with hand-selected men from Tori’s trusted legions. I don’t even want to think about the fear and fury raging inside the Fairy King at the sight of both his mate and unborn child in such danger.

After catching up, Royad left to inform Clio of our return and retrieve the latest news from her session with Tata. My pulse still pounds in my ears merely imagining what else Tata might have set in motion if she betrayed our secrets to Ephegos himself.

We’ll need any advantage we can get in the battles to come.

The bag holding the vials of magic-sedating drug still sits in the throne room, right under the chair I left. Silas and Herinor were assigned the task of guarding it until Kaira and I return.

I shrug off the gentle touch of the fifth healer tracing the black veins along my cheeks, the spreading lines no longer retreating when I calm down. Or perhaps I haven’t calmed down since I realized what Ayna truly did. That, if I’m right, and the gods aren’t mocking all of us, she tricked Ephegos into a bargain that is more beneficial to us than to him.

“How long has this been happening?” The young healer, a male of average height with forest green eyes and a shorn head asks.

Measuring his tawny face, I give him the same answer I gave the healers before him. “For a while. I can’t tell the exact day they first appeared. And before you ask, I don’t know if it has anything to do with the God of Darkness. I’m not really on speaking terms with him.”

“God of Darkness?” the healer stammers, obviously intimidated by my harsh tone, my impatience getting the best of me even when those people are trying to understand what’s happening with my power.

“You call him the Brother Guardian.” I let some of the darkness dripping from my palms collect in the folds of the gray woolen blanket folded up beside me on the cot I’m sitting on. “The power hasn’t hurt me or anyone else who wasn’t meant to get hurt so far, so I wouldn’t be too worried about it.”

I am worried. About the fact that it’s not disappearing even when I’m calming my heartbeat and my breathing. It’s not uncontrollable, not attacking anyone, but the darkness keeps leaking from my hands like the spark of hope seeping through the layers and layers of sorrow stacked inside my chest.

With a glance around the long, simple room, I take another deep breath. A row of cots is set up against one side, curtains half-drawn between empty beds. Tools sit neat and clean in boxes on shelves on the other side, a wash basin built into alcoves in the gray stone every ten feet, like this place is meant to host an armada of healers when all cots are occupied.

Kaira sits on the cot next to me, her presence a reassurance, the way she’s been since the moment Ayna was dragged off.

“You all right?” her voice echoes in my mind, and I nearly jump off the hard mattress.

With a shrug, I turn toward her. “You look better, though. And the fact that you can use the mind link again…”

“Only shows that we made the right call to rest before searching for the others. And rested more before making a choice to head back here.”

A small smile appears on her lips that warms my chest where darkness is collecting, attempting to smother the hope gasping for breath.

Heavy brows raised, the healer waits for me to continue. When I don’t speak, he sits at the foot of my cot, lacing his fingers together in his lap. His eyes are cautious as he scans me head to toe like an experiment gone wrong, and I want to slash at him with the black ink now following me everywhere. At least it dissolves after a while when not used. Otherwise, I’d create an unsightly mess in this glimmering palace.

“Have you ever thought that this”—he points at my face, the area around my eyes in specific—“might come not from your magic but might be an expression of your emotions?”

“Interesting thought,” Kaira narrates in my head while I growl at the healer to get lost and hop off the bed.

I throw a glare at the male. “Does it matter as long as it knows how to kill the right people?”

The healer shrinks back at my bared teeth, the violence slumbering just beneath my skin, and I turn on the spot, already walking as Kaira jumps up from her cot, running after me.

When I head for the stairs back to the throne room, a trail of black ink follows in my wake.

The others are sitting in the throne room when we return, including Clio, who must have finished her interrogations, all eyes snapping up as we enter the glimmering hall. The Fairy Princess’s features brighten for a brief moment at the sight of me, but when she notices the black veins and black eyes, the smoke coiling around my hands, billowing behind me like ribbons, her mouth settles into a tight line. The others must have caught her up because she doesn’t ask any questions, merely waits for Kaira and me to take our seats.

Rogue and Sanja eye me with concern and compassion, two visionary leaders who will do anything to protect their realm and their people, and most of all, their family. Andraya and Pouly are sitting closer to the other three rebels now, their murmured conversation stopping the moment they lay eyes on me, on the lack of change in my appearance.

“The healers say it’s nothing to worry about,” Kaira chirps, looping her arm through mine as if to show the others I’m not going to destroy the world with my leaking power.

“For now,” I add, my gaze meeting Rogue and Sanja’s in emphasis that I won’t harm them or anyone in this palace. Least of all their unborn child.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Sanja who responds first. “I never doubted you had it under control, Myron.”

The trust and faith in her expression shame me into silence. Because I have lost control multiple times, that darkness ripping out throats. The day Erina tried to un-mate Ayna and me⁠—

“It never harmed anyone you cared about,” Kaira reassures me in my mind, reading my concern from my gaze or my thoughts, I don’t care. “Whatever it is might make you our strongest weapon yet.”

“Right after you,” I note through the mind link, and Kaira gives my arm a squeeze.

Together, we cross the room, sitting down in two chairs next to each other. Herinor and Silas exchange a look before Silas picks up the bag of vials and holds it out for me. “Care to share what this is now?”

Tori bobs his head, auburn eyes wandering back to the blackness dripping from my hands and pooling at the bottom of my chair. “I enjoy a mystery like the next fairy, but it’s time you told us what is important enough to risk all our necks to pick up from a remote killing field.”

The silence in the room becomes tangible, thick enough to clog my throat as I wonder what the others see when they look at my face—the Crow or the monster.

Apparently, they don’t care because even the humans scoot closer to the edge of their seats, waiting for me to reveal the secret. A secret that might not mean anything but, if used right, could level the playing field.

With a light nudge of her elbow, Kaira tells me it’s time to share.

“When we stumbled upon the slaughtered soldiers of Ephegos’s legions while looking for Herinor and Silas, Kaira and I found vials strapped to the soldiers’ arms and hidden in their pockets. We can’t be entirely sure it’s the magic-nullifying potion, but chances are high it is, especially after using one of them on the shield when we broke you out of the camp.” I glance at Herinor, who nods, eyes lighting up with understanding as I bend forward, carefully pouring out the contents of the bag onto the stone floor. The vials roll across the stone, clinking together in a melody of hope while the faces of fairies, Crows, and humans in the room brighten.

“It’s not enough to bring down an army,” Kaira adds, “but it’s enough to strategically take out a few key players in a battle.”

With a quick hand, Tori plucks a slender, corked vial from the floor and twists it between his fingers. “We’ll have the healers compare it to the other one we already have. If you’re right…” his voice trails away as his mind goes into the strategizing mode of the general.

“If he’s right,” Clio finishes the thought, “we can give that monster of a Crow, Ephegos, a taste of his own medicine.” Vengeance shimmers in her jade eyes, a sight so fierce I can see why Tori fell for her all those centuries ago and is still madly in love.

A pang of pain surges through my chest at the thought that I might never see my own mate again, her beautiful face, but more than that, the spark in her eyes, proof of that unbreakable spirit her breathtaking sight provides a host for.

“If only we knew where the bastard will strike next.” Silas tilts his head, staring past the vials at the map. One of the glass tubes rolled all the way to a figurine representing Erina’s armies in the borderlands. A black X marks the spot where Kaira’s power destroyed the camp. Who knows how many more units are sitting closely, only waiting for an order from their king or general to attack?

All immortal eyes dart to Herinor while the humans seem to wonder what response we expect from the male or why. They have no idea of his history with Ephegos.

“You know him best.” I incline my head at him. “He has Ayna. He has the magic-nullifying serum. He has Erina’s troops at his disposal. What keeps him from attacking us right away?”

The warrior shakes his golden-blond hair out of his face, light green eyes searching the map like a drowning man would for a straw. “He doesn’t trust Erina. And the King of Tavras doesn’t trust him either. Both of them are tyrants ready to grab all the power for themselves and sitting out their partnership until the moment they no longer have need of each other, but for now, Erina needs Ephegos’s command over the magic-wielders, and the Flames’ aid to produce more of the serum. He needs the advantage of speed and strength of the Crows following Ephegos into battle and the protection the drug provides to his human soldiers.” One by one, he meets the rebels’ gazes. “More now than ever, he needs to protect his own legions with the rebels coming out of hiding and the alliance building in the north.”

“There is no alliance,” Rochus grumbles, but he can’t get out the last word before Gabrilla and Ed both protest.

“We’re lost without an alliance.” Andraya agrees with the too-young human, much to Pouly’s dismay. They have both spent enough time with Crows and fairies to understand what partnering up with our kinds means. “By now, Erina must have decimated the rebels by one-third. Every day, new reports of rebels captured, tortured, killed reached the farmhouse. It was a matter of time until they found us there.” And killed us. She doesn’t need to say that. “Tata checked in on us regularly. We believed it was to keep us up to date about developments in Askarea and what our queen is up to, but we understand now that the traitor must have given us false information. We would have fled days ago had she not told us that Erina’s spies gave up on finding us in the borderlands.”

The hatred for the fairy female boils beneath my skin, making the stream of black ink falling from my fingertips thicken, covering the vials and my boots up to my ankles.

No one comments even though Rochus and Ed shift uncomfortably in their chairs at the sight.

Herinor is balling his hands into fists, a sign he’s struggling to keep his calm. “Tata is an … unfortunate development.” The way he phrases it tells me he’s wondering what choice Tata had to make when allying with Ephegos. If she, too, knows she made a mistake. I can’t wait to go down to her cell and squeeze every last drop of information out of her myself as soon as we’ve settled on a strategy not to lose this war. “That, however, doesn’t change that we need to consider any allies we can get. The Queen of Tavras—your queen”—he gestures at the rebels—“is also my queen. The Queen of Crows. Ayna made a choice to go with Ephegos so the Crow King can live to fight another day. She knows Ephegos would have killed Myron had she not proposed an offer Ephegos craves more than to kill him.”

I swallow, knowing what exactly it is he craves.

“Seeing him suffer.” Herinor gestures in the air as if his hands could describe better the dimension of evil Ephegos represents. “Knowing Myron is fully aware of what torture she will be going through.”

Herinor doesn’t check for my reaction. We all know this is what it’s all about for Ephegos. Taking what I love and destroying it. Bonus points if he can watch me suffer. The deal with Shaelak was a backup plan. If he got his hands on me before her, he’d have killed me so he can have what’s mine after all, but as long as he has the chance to keep me alive while having Ayna, he’ll always choose that.

“Ephegos is probably taking her to Meer as we speak. Odds are he’s traveling by carriage or on horseback, which has given him a head start we can only catch up with if we shift and fly—or site-hop.” His eyes dart to Tori, who nods his agreement. “But we can’t go after her to save her. Her bargain states clearly she’ll go with Ephegos if he lets Myron live. She swore not to try to return to Myron’s Crow Court if Ephegos let Kaira go as well. We can’t mess with a bargain like this. If we bring the Crow Court close to her, the bargain might interpret that as her trying.” Before any of us can question him, he amends, “And trust me. I would know. I’ve been working around foolish oaths long enough to know when bending rules could cause a drama of epic proportions.”

Rogue cuts me a glance that is half pity, half the determined king I respect and have learned to call friend.

“So what do you suggest we do?” Tori prompts, shifting a carved, black crow on the map.

Royad takes the word. “We work with the rebels to keep Tavras occupied in their own territory while we convince Cezux to work with us to smother the enemy legions stationed near the Askarean border.”

Even with the vials of magic-sedating serum, we won’t stand a chance without the support of the rebels; he’s right. And Cezux would give us the numbers needed to engage the northern legions in combat long enough to wear them down.

“We fight for the Queen of Tavras, not for Askarea,” Andraya clarifies, but she doesn’t dismiss Royad’s idea either. “Not for the Crow King or the Fairy King.”

All four remaining rebels nod their agreement.

“I couldn’t care less about your rogue Crow.” Rochus runs two fingers along the side of his jaw, probing the salt-and-pepper scruff growing there. “It’s only that he’s involved in Tavras’s politics that puts him on our map.”

“Literally,” Gabrilla amends with dark humor impressing even Silas, waving a calloused hand at the Crow figurine sitting on the path to Meer alongside a carriage and a horse.

No one laughs.

“We never intended to get caught in a war between immortal creatures. But I believe it was clear the day our queen fell in love with a Crow that our rebellion wouldn’t involve only the human lands,” Pouly says, his tone so calm and serene I barely believe he’s human, but when I study him, I see the leader hiding deep down beneath the facade of the guard taking orders. He’s been building this rebellion for decades, has been keeping it alive for the generations serving before him and the generations who will outlive him. And he sees that the war they are fighting is entwined with ours as much as Ayna’s life is with Shaelak’s bloodline.

“We’ll all die fighting battles between fairies and Crows, between Flames and the Guardians know what else.” Rochus sounds more scared than upset, so I don’t growl at him or pick him up by his collar to shake some sense into him. I’m scary enough merely glaring at him.

“There is no escaping an alliance,” Pouly rolls on. “Freeing Tavras from the Jelnedyn king means freeing Tavras from the traitor Crow who now commands his armies.” His expression hardens with determination as he stares down one after the other rebel until even Rochus lowers his head in submission. “We’ll team up with Askarea, but we’ll fight our battles on Tavrasian soil.” His gaze is on Rogue now. “We’re most effective where we know our surroundings. Only there can we wage guerrilla attacks to bind Tavras’s attention.”

No one challenges him. Clio’s eyes shine a bright jade as a feral grin stretches on her lips. Tori squares his shoulders, ready to leap into battle himself, and Rogue and Sanja nod at each other, pleased with the rebels’ commitment.

“We’ll weaken Tavras from within while you batter their forces from the borders. They won’t know what’s coming for them.” Andraya’s smile is a dangerous blend of victorious and bloodthirsty, but I can see the one thing uniting us all—hope for freedom. Hope for a better world.

And there it is: with the supply of magic-nullifying potion and the rebels’ aid—a path for us to forge through legions of human men and ranks of magical soldiers when we are forced to fight without our powers and, if used right and the gods don’t throw any more boulders in that path, a chance at victory.

“Now all we need is for Cezux to fight at our side.”

At my comment, Clio clears her throat, giving me one of the smiles that aren’t of the Fairy Queen but of my friend before she turns to Andraya, the smile turning conspiratorial and dangerous. “Lady Andraya already agreed she’d help us with that.”

Fifty-Four

Ayna

Watery winter sun pours in through the carriage window, warming my cheek as I chew on a slice of salty cheese while I stash bits of the bread they gave me in my boot and the pockets of my stinking leathers. They haven’t given me a chance to clean up, but at least, my clothes are now dry. The tea they brought in an hour ago has gone cold. I haven’t touched it for fear it could be laced with the drug. Now that my strength is slowly returning, I need to be careful what I ingest.

The bread is what I suspect has the drug baked into it like it had at Erina’s palace, so I’ve hidden it in my clothes for the past two days and dumped it in the bushes when they allowed me to take care of my needs. Instead of drinking the water they provide, I scrape hoarfrost off twigs before I return from the bushes and lick the melting ice off my fingers. It’s not enough to quench my thirst, but it’s enough to keep my strength without compromising my powers. So far, I’ve been getting better by the hour, my powers simmering at my disposal, and my wounds have completely sealed.

During the few minutes a day Ephegos has kept me company, he hasn’t checked beneath the layer of blood caked on my clothes and face for bruises or an actual injury, so I’ve managed to fool him by whimpering when moving and pretending to have dizzy spells or nausea. Today, I even put my finger down my throat to make myself vomit up part of the breakfast when I was alone in the carriage. When the guards returned, a mixture of disgust and pleasant surprise crossed their faces. I’m sure they reported back to their master the drug is developing its full effect.

We’ve left the Plithian Plains, slight hills replacing the flat lands. At least, the landscape provides better hiding places than the endless plains.

This morning, I reached out through the bond, checking in on Myron with the effect of a surge of heat flashing through my palm, up my arm, and right to my heart. It’s enough for me to know he’s alive and well. I can even tell he’s north-west, the bond working like a compass. Convenient.

At least, now I understand how Myron found me when I was a captive in Erina’s palace before I knew we were mates.

The carriage halts and heavy footsteps are the only warning before the door opens and a tall, broad guard pops in his head to see if I’m done. It’s the same man every day. From the pointed ears and the way he never seems to be cold, I guess he’s a Flame, but I can’t be entirely sure. He might as well be a Crow. I never ask, saving my energy for the conversations that matter.

“Finished?” he asks when I shove the final piece of cheese into my mouth. He eyes the untouched tea and shrugs. “The drug isn’t in the tea, you know? At least, not today.”

I give him a weak grin, showing a hint of teeth. “Not that it matters. I can barely keep the food down as is. I thought Erina improved the side effects.” At least, that’s what his projection told Myron when he tried to un-mate us.

The guard laughs. “You’re not getting the improved stuff. Ephegos seems to be interested in seeing you in as bad a shape as possible that isn’t unconscious on this journey.”

Well, that explains a lot.

“How long until we get to Meer?” I haven’t breached the topic of where we’re headed with any of the guards before, but I feel lucky today, my head clear for once. “We are going to Meer, aren’t we?”

“We’re going to see the King of Tavras. That’s all you need to know.”

Interesting. So perhaps Erina isn’t in Meer after all.

“How is King Erina?” Throwing all of my hatred into my words, I need to keep myself from leaping at the guard to shake information out of him. No one can know I’m actually in nearly full possession of my strength, or I’ll lose the momentum of surprise. “Is he shitting his royal pants in fear of his Crow general? Is he aware he’s in over his head?”

The guard merely laughs.

Again—interesting. It seems the guard couldn’t care less about the Jelnedyn king.

“So you’re one of Ephegos’s puppets?” I fake a cough to keep it convincing.

The guard picks up the cold tea and pours it over my head before I can cringe back, shutting the door in my face. Before I can speak a word, the carriage is rolling again.

The next time we stop, the moon is glaring down at the world like a silver eye, the air frosty despite being headed south, and I’ve been shivering from the wet mop on my head that is my hair. The guard was right; the drug wasn’t in the tea or I’d be suffering at least some effects of it from what I accidentally got into my mouth before I could spit.

Someone shouts an order outside. “Make camp for the night.” It’s the first time we’re stopping for a night that I’m aware of. Perhaps the horses were finally used up and collapsed under the burden of the carriage, or we’ve reached our destination.

Before I can make up my mind about what terrifies me more—being trapped in the wilderness with a bunch of enemies when they are not occupied with walking or riding, or being dragged from the carriage into a room with Erina, the door flies open, and Ephegos climbs into the cabin, sitting down in his usual spot across from me.

I curl up more tightly on the bench, allowing for the shivers to rake through me. Let Ephegos see how weak I am.

“Good evening, Ayna.” He unsheathes his sword and lays it across his knees, keeping one hand on the hilt as if expecting me to lean at him any moment.

The thought he’s afraid of me, even in my supposedly drugged state, gives me more satisfaction than I should care for.

“What do you want this time?” I don’t try to sound pleasant. Let the bastard see what he’s done. Let him see what he wants to see. A drugged, helpless female unable to keep her bearings. I go as far as to leave the bite out of my words for the sake of my performance.

Ephegos grins down at me, his expression warm and nauseatingly normal like all those times he fooled Myron and Royad at the place in the Seeing Forest. “Just checking in on my favorite Crow female.”

“I’m the only Crow female,” I remind him.

Ephegos’s grin twists into something terrifying. “Doesn’t mean you’re not my favorite after all.” The fact he doesn’t specify what that entails is perhaps the scariest part. I’ve watched him hurt others, have been on the receiving end of his torture. But something tells me that what he’s got planned for me is a million times worse.

I suck in a shuddering breath.

Keep your head clear. Don’t let fear take you. Again, it’s my own voice rather than one of the deities who have shoved my life off trajectory over the past months.

“Don’t worry, Ayna.” Ephegos leans forward the way he always does when he pretends to be sharing a secret. “Now that you have chosen to join me instead of your joke of a mate.”

A flame of ire licking up my spine makes me spit in his face. Ephegos pulls back with a laugh. “You’ll learn the benefits of being my pet in time.”

The fact that it sounds more like a threat than a reassurance freezes the anger down to my bones, and I shrink back another inch, steeling myself for what’s to come.

Nothing. Nothing happens.

Ephegos merely stares into my eyes, drinking in my terror. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe he can digest it like food.

“Rest while you can, Ayna.” He huffs a laugh, a melody reminding me of days when I considered him my friend. What a farce.

With an elegant movement, he sheathes his sword and scoots toward the door, already reaching for the brass handle.

“Wait.” I don’t know what I want to say to him, but I need to get information out of him before he can drag me to Erina. Who knows how much time I have left to attempt my escape? After being too weak to try to run before we left the edge of the borderland forests, stalling until we got out of the Plithian Plains was torture in itself.

Rye-blond hair swinging around, Ephegos turns his head, fingers holding firm on the molded brass. “You found your voice again?” There is no courtesy or warmth in his tone now, only the stone-cold traitor, the torture master he’s become, as he pins me with his deep brown eyes.

One breath. Two. Ask him something, I tell myself. Get him to spill his plans.

“Why take me to Erina when you don’t need him for your grander plan?” It’s the first question I can think of, but the flare of anger in Ephegos’s gaze tells me I hit a nerve.

Great.

“None of your concern.”

Before he can push down the door handle, I sit up a tad straighter, allowing my voice to turn raspy as I force more faked weakness into it, like it costs me all my strength to defy him when, in reality, I could leap at him and try to pull his blade from its sheath. I just wouldn’t survive it.

“Kill him now, if you dare.” This time, the voice in my head is definitely not myself trying to talk me into a foolish act. “Hello, Ayna,” the God of Darkness amends in my head, a soft chuckle of fluid night leaking from each word.

Swallowing the knot in my throat, I focus to calm my pulse. It’s not helping much, though, and Shaelak’s sudden reappearance is only part of it. The other part is me holding my breath for Ephegos’s answer while I try not to let show that I’m hearing his creator’s voice in my head.

“Erina”—Ephegos smirks, sitting back on the bench and drawing a hunting knife from his other hip—“is a pawn in my grand plan, you already figured that out. What you didn’t figure out is that you are mine to do with whatever I want now.” I curl my fingers around the edge of the bench, holding onto the wood for support. “And what I want is for you to serve as payment for Erina’s armies until I return to collect you.”

The wood groans as I grasp it too tightly, catching Ephegos’s attention, but I bury the sound in a cough, laying it on thick to appear even weaker.

“You’re a real monster.”

Ephegos’s face lights up. “Thank you, Ayna. I’m doing my best to keep things interesting.” Before I can vomit for real, he rolls on, “You know, I had different plans. Kill Myron to make you mine. I would have sacrificed my vengeance on him to get my hands on the first Crow female in millennia. A gift from Shaelak himself. But since we’re both immortal, Erina is only a road stop on my quest. You’re mine with or without the God of Darkness’s aid.” He pauses, measuring my expression for any hint of understanding.

“Oh, I know about your deal with the Bastard of Darkness.” I don’t care about the angry rumble in my head. If Shaelak was on my side, he would never have put me through this. He would never have made a deal with this piece of vermin.

“Why did you make that deal again?” I shout at Shaelak in my head. “To make the species you created stronger? Survival of the fittest. Or better, survival of the most ruthless?”

“You aren’t so different from him, Ayna,” Shaelak whispers in my mind, and my hair stands on my neck at the icy touch of darkness caressing my shoulder.

“I’m nothing like that monster.” My objection echoes into the void that is the space between the realms of mortals and fae, and that of deities.

“But you are. You would do anything to protect the ones you love. If someone took Kaira from you, wouldn’t you go to incredible lengths to avenge her? And for Myron?”

In my head, his presence builds like a thundercloud laced with silver light and black feathers.

“I wouldn’t damn an entire continent to suffer tyranny only so I could get my revenge.” But I’d lay waste to the world if that was the only way to get that vengeance, he’s right about that. And as I think, Shaelak’s power tingling beneath my skin, I realize why he did it. “This isn’t about survival of the strongest or that Ephegos might be your favorite over Myron.” I’m panting now, and thank Vala Ephegos believes this is all part of me fighting the effects of his drug. “You don’t merely want to create chaos. You want to prove a point.”

“And what point would that be, child?” The danger in his tone makes my pulse spike, pressure building in my chest like a void of power has opened up and is pushing its path toward the surface.

“That I’m no better than Ephegos. That I’m just as evil and ruthless.”

“Wrong.” Laughter of silver and black curdles my blood. “You are immortal now, Ayna. You can play the games of immortality.”

My mind is spinning, vision blurring. I need to focus, keep Ephegos engaged in our conversation before he can leave the carriage, but I can’t breathe with Shaelak pressing down on my consciousness. It doesn’t matter.

For weeks, the God of Darkness disappeared. Now that he’s returned, I need answers from him just as desperately as I need answers from the traitor Crow.

“Left one little detail open.” It takes all out of me to think that at him, but I manage to face the sliver-sprinkled blackness in my head.

“And what detail is that?”

A smirk forms on my own lips, keeping Ephegos’s attention on me as I struggle to remember what he and I were talking about.

“Myron has been your pawn since the curse fell upon the Crows. I have been your pawn since I was conceived. Whose pawn is Ephegos?”

Thunder claps in the skies above as Shaelak growls inside my head.

Just like that, he’s gone.

I don’t have time to consider whether the silence in my skull is creepier than housing the thoughts of a god; Ephegos is still staring at me.

Erina. The deal with Shaelak. Trying to find out why Ephegos is humoring Erina when he could merely seize power for himself… I snap back into reality, locking my eyes on Ephegos’s as I still gasp for air.

“So you’re just going to sell me to Erina all over again?”

“And watch you suffer until the King of Tavras dies. And then, I’ll take you back, Ayna. You’ll be mine for all eternity, and Myron will be forced to watch from afar as you slowly turn into a husk used however I see fit. Whenever I see fit. By whomever I see fit.”

I should kill him now. Should risk it. Dying in the process is a fate less grueling than what he’s concocted for me. One glance at Ephegos’s knife, and he knows. A laugh spills from his mouth, and he crinkles his nose as if amusement and disgust are melding.

“Don’t even think about trying, Ayna. I’ll just pin you by the shoulder to the bench and wait until the double dosage of the drug I’ve coated my armor and all my weapons with sets in.” He slides back to the door, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate before he opens it. “It won’t change a thing about your fate. Only that you might not be awake to experience the first time your future husband takes his pleasure from you.”

Without another word, he hops out the door, shutting it behind him with a bang, and I crumble into a heap of tears.

Fifty-Five

Ayna

It takes about an hour before the camp is set and someone opens the door to throw a blanket at me. My tears have dried, leaving only resolve behind.

If I want to flee, it has to be tonight. My powers are strong enough to defend myself against a Flame or a few humans, even if I can’t defeat Ephegos. I can’t risk waiting another night.

The guard shuts the door in my face when I open my mouth to ask when we’ll continue in the morning, so I gather the blanket around me, huddling on the bench while I listen to the sounds of the settling soldiers outside, counting their footsteps as they do their rounds.

For a long time, muffled voices are murmuring by what sounds like the crackling of a fire. Metal scrapes against metal as they eat. Only when the last plate has been stacked and stored does the activity die down to a minimum of two soldiers patrolling the camp. They stop to look into the carriage through the curtains that have been drawn open so they can keep an eye on me. It allows me to catch a glimpse of who’s still up and who’s sleeping in the row of bedrolls behind the fire.

When the footsteps fade into the other direction, I crawl into a crouch, daring a longer look outside.

Horses are tied up by a tree, heavy blankets covering their backs and flanks. Only one of them is saddled. A guard is stoking the fire while the other one is heading into the bushes, probably to relieve himself of the diluted wine they sometimes smell like.

“Don’t take too long,” the one by the fire calls after the one already unbuckling his belt as he heads for the trees.

He’s only disappearing between the branches when a shadow stalks up to the guard by the fire. Forcing myself to stay still, I count my own heartbeats as Ephegos’s face appears beneath the hood of a cloak as he approaches the flickering flames.

My fae senses are back to their full extent, so I hear every last word as the traitor Crow announces, “I’ll be riding ahead to the outpost. Erina will be pleased to know his bride will return in the morning.”

Morning. I suck in a steadying breath.

The guard salutes, clacking his heels together.

“Make sure the maids at the outpost clean her up and dress her for his majesty before you bring her up to his quarters.”

The guard hesitates for a moment. “What if she causes problems?”

That earns him a laugh from his master. “She’s been drugged for days. The only problem she’ll cause is vomit onto your uniform.”

The guard doesn’t seem convinced.

“If she does cause issues of any sort, one hand off. She won’t need both to fulfill her purpose.”

Again, that wave of ice slides through my veins, and I can barely move at the amount of malice gathered in that one Crow.

“Safe travels, General.” The guard salutes again, watching Ephegos march up to the horse and hoist himself into the saddle. With a kick of his heels, he spurs the beast into a trot, and I can’t help sighing a breath of relief as they are swallowed up by night.

Hands shaking around the corners of my blanket, I settle back onto the bench and count to two hundred. I don’t know how good Ephegos’s hearing is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he returned at the slightest hint of commotion.

Only when I’m sure there is no chance he can make out the noises of potential battle do I risk another peek out the window. The guards are back on their rounds, walking the outer edge of the camp probably a hundred feet away from the carriage, while the rest of the camp is defined by the sounds of snoring and the occasional owl hooting in the nearby trees.

They’ll be checking on me in a minute or two, which leaves me with the decision to ready myself for a surprise attack or duck back onto the bench and pretend to be sleeping.

My heart races in my chest as I wait a few more beats, weighing my options. If I attack and they have the magic-nullifying potion at their disposal, I won’t stand a chance. The moment they spray me, I’ll be fighting a battle against my fading strength as much as the two soldiers. The noise we’d make would surely wake the rest of the camp, and I’ll be losing a hand if the guard follows Ephegos’ orders word by word.

Dammit. I mouth my curses into the night, curling up on the bench once more and closing my eyes as the footsteps draw near enough to count down to the moment the door will open.

Some deity in this universe must have mercy on me because they don’t bother to do more than look inside the window to convince themselves I’m still there and sleeping. Their shadows block out the pale light of the star-flecked firmament for three long breaths before they turn around and disappear, murmuring something to each other and chuckling.

How my hands itch to take hold of their throats and twist their necks—but that would be just what I was discussing with Shaelak not even three hours ago. That I’m no better than the monster that is Ephegos. I smother a shudder, reaching for the edge of the door handle with an unsteady hand, and wait until the guards’ footsteps disappear on the farthest end of the parameter.

It’s now or never.

This carriage doesn’t host any weapons, so I take with me the only piece that might allow me to block drug-coated blades on my way out: the brass handle.

It creaks as I carefully crack the door open then pull it from the wood, the vibrations in my skin and bones proof of the sound, but the small shield I threw around my hand is strong enough to block it out entirely, even to my own ears. A small smile spreads on my lips as I peek through the tiny gap, assessing the quiet camp.

The guards are somewhere near the horses, so stealing one of the beasts is out of the question.

Pulling up a full-body shield close enough to my skin not to shimmer like a silver beacon in the night, I glide from the carriage and quietly shut the door, ducking under the cabin. There, I listen for any sign I’ve attracted attention.

Everything remains quiet. One of the horses stomps a hoof and huffs into the cold night.

With a glance in all directions, I convince myself the air is clear.

Then I bolt for the nearby bushes.

My feet don’t respond the way I’m used to after being trapped for such a long time while recovering from the effects of the drug, but my fae body handles it well. I stumble over the uneven ground, catching myself with my hands and biting back a wince as the brass door handle leaves an imprint in my palm when my full weight lands on the hand holding it. I freeze, glancing toward the sleeping soldiers then to where I expect the two guards.

Nothing stirs, so I continue my mad dash toward the cover of branches.

A few more steps.

Five.

Three.

I’m there.

My lungs burn from tension and the insane speed of my sprint, but I hold in my loud pants, willing my blood to slow and my muscles to relax. The guards must still be somewhere near the horses. I can’t make any mistakes. Right now, I simply choose a direction and run. I run like the wind, like the storms blowing over the oceans that used to be my home.

I leap over a fallen tree, duck under low-hanging branches, and I’m out of the small forest that gave me cover. I don’t stop as my shield starts to falter from exhaustion or when I enter the open fields that must be the edge of the Plithian Plains. Not when I get to a narrow stream or when exhaustion finally takes over.

I keep running without looking left or right. It doesn’t matter where I go as long as it’s far, far away from Ephegos and that camp.

The world is a blur as I race for my life, for my freedom, repeating the names of my loved ones in my head.

Myron. Kaira. Royad. Clio. Tori. Silas. Sanja. Rogue. Andraya. Pouly. Herinor. Even Herinor, who has been running from Ephegos for much longer than I have. Who has been maneuvering around the bargain he made with Ephegos successfully despite the clear orders not to help me. He has managed not to hurt me either.

I made a bargain less foolish than his, and I’m determined to test its limits.

Run, Ayna.

Heat flares in my palm.

I open it against the icy wind, dropping my shield to cool down my body as sweat beads my neck, my forehead.

Just a little farther and I can take a break.

Twigs crack behind me, the sound of hooves pounding the frozen soil sending a flash of fear through my body.

Faster. I need to be faster.

My magic is ready to draw up a stronger shield, to block out whatever will be thrown at me if whoever is chasing me catches up.

Please don’t let it be Ephegos. Please-please-please.

The moves draw nearer, and a shout echoes through the trees. “Stop!”

Not Ephegos. This isn’t Ephegos.

As if in confirmation, a ball of fire zooms past my ear, and I veer to the side, avoiding the blast of the flames spreading as it explodes by mere inches.

The shield is back up, but I need to get out of here before they can cook me alive.

At least, this isn’t a Crow who can send their silver power to break my neck.

A Crow.

The male following me isn’t a Crow. But I am.

As I stumble away from the next fireball chasing me, I know what I need to do.

You can do it, Ayna. For Myron. For Kaira. For your court. For your family.

So I draw upon my Crow power, sighing a mad laugh of relief as a flicker of darkness and feathers responds, coating my shifting body. My arms change in proportion, turning into powerful wings, my legs shrink, feet becoming claws. And then I’m flying.

I might be out of shape, but my body remembers every last movement, wings spreading and beating the freezing night air. Like lightning, I zigzag through the skies, up, up until I can taste a wisp of clouds.

“Coward!” the Flame below shouts after me, a string of curses following as I increase my speed.

I will make it out of here. I will be free.

As I repeat that in my head like a mantra, my wings swallow up the distance like it’s nothing. I was born to fly. Born to be a Crow. My entire body sings at the loving caress of the wind as it carries me farther into the sky.

You can’t break your bargain, a whisper of magic reminds me as I change direction, following the burning pull in the tip of my wing—where the palm of my human form would feature the mate mark.

I’ll be yours if you let him live. I swear not to try to return to his Crow Court if you let Kaira go as well. Alive. The bargain is valid as long as you promise to never lay a finger on either of them again.

I repeat the exact wording of my bargain back to me and cackle a laugh.

I’m not trying, I tell the magic of bargains tingling in my chest, demanding I turn around. I’m not trying. I’m actually doing it. And before you choose to smite me: It’s not Myron’s court I’m returning to. It’s my own.

The tingling stops, and I caw my relief into the night.

Just as I beat my wings harder to push myself higher, a spark of fire brushes my wing, and my feathers catch fire.

No!

This can’t be happening. I can’t have suffered through all of this, have broken free only to be captured again.

Willing everything I have into my powers, I tighten the shield around my body, smothering the air feeding the fire at the edge of my wing.

A plume of smoke is all that remains as I soar away into the night.

I’m coming, Myron. I’m coming back to you.

WHAT’S NEXT?

Want to know how Ayna’s story continues?

The final installment in the Wings of Ink series is coming August 31st, 2025.

Click HERE to pre-order your copy.

AYNA’S PREQUEL

Want to know how Ayna’s journey started? Try Fall of the Wild Ray, Ayna’s exclusive prequel

Click HERE to get your free copy.

**available nowhere else**

SERIES READING ORDER

Fall of the Wild Ray: A Wings of Ink Prequel

Flight of Fate (Wings of Ink Book 4)

Coming Soon

Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink book 5)

BUT WAIT, there is more…

To bridge the time until Realm of Crows releases, why not explore the Alcunaire and try the completed Shattered Kingdom series?

Read on for a sneak peek of Shattered Kingdom…

Shattered Kingdom

Part One - The Order of Vala

Chapter 1

After ten years in the heart of the Calma Desert, Gandrett Brayton no longer noticed the unforgiving wind drying her mouth and driving water into her eyes. She lifted her sword to strike yet again, sweat sheathing her body, top to bottom, like a second skin and making her hands slippery. Sweat—as much as her plain linen tunic and pants were part of the fashion of the roughly two-hundred members of the Order of Vala in Everrun. But the man attacking her with merciless strength wasn’t one of them. His attire spoke of the outside world—a world of childhood memories and wheat fields in the north. Gandrett Brayton swirled her weapon and let it sink into the ground before her, preparing herself to propel her legs up and hit her opponent in the chest. It was a movement that always secured her victory.

But not today.

Today, Everrun’s most proficient fighter found herself flat on her back before her feet could hit home.

Gandrett freed a string of curses, earning a raised eyebrow from the stranger, who, himself, seemed surprised that she was on the ground, and he kept his sword hovering before his chest as if he was waiting for something.

Already calculating her options, Gandrett looked for a weak spot. So far, her opponent hadn’t made even the slightest mistake. Unlike most other fighters, he had kept his distance, delivering blow after blow without leaving his sides unprotected. He hadn’t fallen for her feints, the way the acolytes at the order did, or made the mistake of losing patience. On the contrary, he had parried each of her strikes with elegant efficiency, his toned body moving as if he had never done anything else in his life.

He growled, assessing, as her gaze swept over him. Dark hair, eyes of piercing blue. Light, leather armor good for traveling. And covering his chest was a familiar pattern of burgundy and gold.

Gandrett glanced behind the man, letting her eyes widen as if she had just noticed something there—something other than the familiar sight of the lifeless desert which spread around Everrun in each direction—hoping she could fool him, and gripped her sword more tightly, pulling it down toward her in preparation for her next move. A move which would free her and put the man looming over her exactly where she was now; in the dirt.

But the man didn’t loosen his focus on her. Fast as a biting snake, he set his toes on her arm, forcing her fingers to let go of her weapon, and sneered, “What a waste to keep you locked up here in Everrun.”

Gandrett grimaced. “I’m not planning on staying here forever.” She stilled for a moment, letting him believe she’d given up fighting, and studied the man’s posture—the way he kept too much weight on one leg, a mistake. Then, with trained lightness, she rolled over and kicked into the back of his knees, making him tumble off her arm.

Before he could regain balance, Gandrett picked up her sword and was back on her feet, easing the man’s weapon out of his broad hand with a swift knock of her blade. He leaped out of her reach, fumbling for the knife that was still dangling on his leather belt.

Another mistake—at last.

Gandrett’s blood pumped with familiar heat as she measured how many strikes it would take to defeat him. One—she danced to the side, positioning herself with the wind at her back so the stranger would be at a disadvantage. Two—she lifted her sword above her head, easily staying out of the small knife in the man’s dirt-flecked hand’s reach. Three—she brought the flat of her blade down on the man’s shoulder, forcing him to his knees with a blow that made the metal shudder in its wake.

Four—he was on the ground.

Gandrett loosed a breath, watching him with caution, blade at the ready.

But the man glanced up at her, a grin forming on his lips—not the kind type—and said, “I was beginning to doubt you had it in you.”

For a heartbeat, Gandrett pondered whether he was mocking her, and lowered the tip of her sword toward the man’s throat. But he lifted his hands from the dust, a gesture of peace despite the relentless attacks he had rained down on her.

With a flick of her foot, Gandrett shoved his knife out of reach behind her where his sword was resting between stones.

She had imagined her afternoon differently. Exercise in the training grounds behind the citadel then a run around the outer walls of Everrun. Her usual routine. Not the silent approach of an adept attacker who’d had who-knew-what in mind as she found him snooping around the city walls.

Nobody made it into Everrun without permission of the order. And nobody made it out. That was what Everrun was like. Since her very first day here. And that was what it would be like long after her last breath. Had she not spotted him trying to hoist himself up the unclimbable wall encircling Everrun, he might have given up and starved and dried out in the desert, or—which would have been the faster, more merciful death—he would have been pierced by one of the arrows of the guard.

“You could have just walked up to the front gate and requested entrance,” Gandrett threw at him and earned a shrug. In response, she jerked her chin, beckoning the stranger to get to his feet, allowing him only so much space to move along with her blade as she guided him up. He eyed her with a glacial gaze.

“The Meister will be interested to know what kind of busybody was hoping to sneak into the priory.” Gandrett stared the man down, ignoring the handsome face those cold eyes were set in. He couldn’t be older than twenty. Twenty-five at the maximum. “Name,” she demanded, her voice as sharp as the wind freeing strands of her chestnut braid.

The stranger shoved Gandrett’s sword aside with a gloved hand, “Tell the Meister that Nehelon is here,” and stepped past her to pick up his weapons.

Gandrett whirled around to block his path and kicked his down-reaching hands off course before he could touch the hilt of his sword.

She ignored his curse at the impact and flashed him her falsest smile. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted.” Then she crouched just enough to reach his weapons herself and collected them from the ground, never turning her eyes away from him and without lowering her sword even an inch.

He pursed his lips and fell into step as she escorted him toward the closest side gate in the wall at the tips of both his and her swords while she repeated the name. “Nehelon.” She wanted to take back the word, hating that the sound of it had rung a bell. Not from the years at the Order of Vala, but from her childhood, which seemed almost like a gray haze in her memory.

Gandrett thought she heard him chuckle and pushed one of the swords against the leather on his shoulder blade just to make him move faster. The sound stopped.

She studied his powerful strides as they walked for fifteen minutes without exchanging another word, even though Gandrett was curious who he might be. A fighter, definitely a warrior. Maybe one of the most skilled she had ever encountered. But what business did he have with the order to sneak up on them? And how on earth had he crossed the desert without even carrying a waterskin or a pack of supplies? The Calma Desert spread for miles and miles in each direction, enclosing Everrun like a circle of death, a zone that isolated the Order of Vala from the rest of Neredyn. Nehelon would have been traveling the rocky, dry land without supplies for days⁠—

Her eyes were still on his long, muscled legs as they marched, each step confident, each movement coordinated, deliberate. Then her view slid up to his back, following his spine up to his broad shoulders.

As if he felt her gaze, he glanced back and smirked. “Better than the boys at the order,” he commented as if her sword wasn’t just a flick of her hand away from slicing through his leathers.

Gandrett considered, for a second, the pleasure of giving her temper free rein, but smoothed over her expression, embarrassed, and denied she already hated Nehelon.

The solid, iron gate creaked open as Gandrett nodded to the guards positioned on each side above on the wall.

“What did you bring this time?” Kaleb, the younger of the two, asked with a simper, almost yelling from the tower-like reinforcements framing the entrance to the priory.

Gandrett’s heart warmed at the sight of Kaleb’s twinkling eyes, and she lowered Nehelon’s sword to fasten it on her belt, then pushed the man forward with her hand rather than her sword.

Nehelon craned his neck to see who had spoken, his dark hair sliding back between his shoulder blades, and whistled through his teeth before he set in motion.

“Don’t they feed you in here?” He gestured at Kaleb’s slim, lanky frame by way of greeting as they stepped through the gate, and Kaleb and the second guard descended from their towers.

Gandrett shoved Nehelon forward, ignoring his provocations, and merely said to Kaleb, “All kind of dirt out there,” as she tilted her head, making clear she meant Nehelon. “I found him snooping around the wall,” she clarified. “He says he wants to see the Meister.”

Kaleb gave Nehelon a look, which Gandrett knew was supposed to be dangerous, as he sized him up, but all Gandrett could see was the soft-hearted boy who she had met that first day at Everrun and trained with for ten years. Nothing about him appeared dangerous besides the black-pointed arrows peeking out from behind his shoulder.

“The Meister is busy around this time of the day,” the other guard said to Nehelon, this one looking as dangerous as he sounded.

Gandrett inclined her head. “I’ll bring our guest to his new quarters.”

Both guards nodded, and Gandrett noticed Kaleb’s mouth twitch.

The Meister wasn’t busy. She knew exactly where in the lush gardens of the priory she would find him.

But Nehelon didn’t need to know where she was taking him. And he didn’t need to know that the ‘quarters’ she had mentioned were the cells in one of the two-story, stone, side buildings framing the main road to the eastern gate. That’s what the order did with unannounced visitors until they could be questioned—not that many ever tried sneaking into the priory. It was common knowledge that there was no way in and no way out unless you were granted passage. That was one of the few things that made Gandrett feel safe in Everrun, despite the ghost town which lay behind the eastern gate, abandoned by its inhabitants over two-hundred years ago when the desert had still been fertile soil and the priory of the Order of Vala had been a place friendly to visitors and open to those in need.

Gandrett guided Nehelon past the citadel, its peaked tower piercing the gray sky like a needle while the thundering sound of water spilling from the roof at its base covered the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the columns that framed the front in a decorative line where the water pooled in a pond as wide as the citadel itself.

Nehelon strode forward, unimpressed by Gandrett’s sword, which was still close to his left shoulder. “That guard…” He jerked his chin to the side, pointing behind him to where Kaleb had probably already climbed back into his tower. “Your sweetheart?”

Gandrett swallowed the violent words she wanted to smash at the obnoxious stranger and forced a smile onto her dry lips. Composure. If Nehelon was supposed to see anything of hers, it was composure. Kaleb was her friend, and she would in no way show the stranger that the boy meant something to her. Part of her training at the Order of Vala was to school her emotions, her hot-headedness. It was the only way to ensure she remained as good a fighter when she was under pressure or emotional strain. And even if the methods used were questionable, Gandrett was grateful that her training ensured she would give Nehelon nothing. The last time she had cried was probably the week she had been torn from her mother’s arms at the age of seven. And she had sworn to herself it would be the last time the politics of Neredyn reached her, had taken something from her⁠—

With a swish of her blade, Gandrett guided Nehelon toward one of the sand-colored side buildings. “It’s open,” was all she said, voice unbothered as he stopped at the narrow, black door, before she shoved him forward.

Even if the image of one of the inhabitants of Everrun escorting a captive with a sword was rare, Gandrett’s fellow acolytes, the priests, and priestesses tried not to gawk as they passed by. But she could feel their eyes on her back as she crossed the threshold after Nehelon, could almost hear the whispers even if the more subdued wind inside the walls was too weak to carry the guessing, the wondering all the way to her ears.

Nehelon didn’t fight when Gandrett beckoned him into one of the two narrow cells crammed at one side of the room the second her eyes adjusted to the darker light.

“Not exactly the palace at Ackwood.” He launched himself onto the dusty cot in the corner farthest from the cell door, lacing his fingers together behind his head, and let his gaze sweep over the shabby interior which filled the room behind Gandrett. “But better than those inns in Nisea.”

Gandrett felt her face change with interest and battled down all flaring curiosity while she shut the iron-barred cell as she asked, “You’re from Sives?” Her voice sounded about as emotional as a sleeping frog. Ackwood, one of the two capitals of Sives. She hadn’t heard recent news about the territory where she was born. If Nehelon was from Ackwood, he might have news about what was going on in the north.

“So now I have your attention,” Nehelon commented instead of answering her question.

Gandrett bit her lower lip from the inside until it hurt and shrugged. “We don’t get many visitors here.”

To her surprise, Nehelon sat up on the cot, legs still crossed at his booted ankles, his eyes suggesting a challenge. “I am not exactly being treated like a visitor.”

His eyes, blue as the winter sky above Sives, sparked as she stared him down, measuring, weighing, trying to read the man who had fought her as if he’d intended to slit her throat in the end and now behaved more like an annoyed, stray cat. As if he had read her thoughts, he gave her a feline grin.

“So, are you from the north?” The burgundy-and-gold coat of armor on his chest sure suggested he might be from the palace itself. Ackwood. So close to home. Gandrett stifled a sigh. All those years she’d been dreaming of one day returning to her parents’ farm. The thought of it brought back the scent of grains and freshly-cut grass at high summer, of snow and roasted chestnuts in winter. And images of soft hills embedded between ever-white mountains in the west and north-east.

Nehelon didn’t give any sign he was going to speak.

“Why are you here?” Gandrett didn’t back down, her stare unimpressed by the glacial cold that had crept back into his eyes.

“Why don’t you go stir the Meister from his daily meditation, and in return, I’ll tell you the truth?”

Chapter 2

While the desert outside the wall made the land hostile and impossible to survive, Everrun was an oasis with the water resources sufficient for five times the amount of acolytes, priests, and priestesses in the Order of Vala. Gandrett never failed to admire the lush vegetation framing the buildings of the priory, the small fields where she, among other acolytes, worked regularly to ensure the order was self-sustained and independent from the outside world.

As she rushed out the door, leaving Nehelon locked in his cell, her fellow acolytes didn’t hide their curiosity, most of them halting whatever they had just been about to do, some of them nodding at her as she made her way up to the citadel.

“The Meister won’t be pleased if you disturb his alone time.” The bell-like voice came from the doorway of a side building. Surel moved away from the door and fell into step beside Gandrett, her onyx eyes full of excitement.

Of course Surel had heard a stranger had been brought into Everrun. Nothing slipped her notice.

“I will have to risk it,” was all Gandrett replied to her friend, her mind on the tall warrior she’d left behind.

She wasn’t certain what annoyed her more: that he had almost defeated her, or that he had managed to get under her skin. She shook her head at the thought, at the tightness that spread in her chest when she was reminded of her homeland, the last memory she had of her parents—weeping and pleading for them not to take her.

Them.

Gandrett inhaled a steadying breath, her eyes on her target as she made her way along the cobbled road, and shoved aside whatever was left of her memories from before Everrun—which were few and happy ones, mostly. So happy, the thought of them made the present even more painful. But she wasn’t the only one. Every acolyte in the Order of Vala had endured a fate similar to hers.

The sun had dropped low enough that when Gandrett glanced at the pond at the foot of the citadel, she found it tinted in a pinkish-orange.

The truth. The twinkle in Nehelon’s eyes when he had sent her off. A challenge. She had been training with the other acolytes in the priory for too long to not recognize a challenge. And now⁠—

Now she found herself storming right into the Meister’s time of reflection just to satisfy her own curiosity. She rolled her eyes at herself, hoping no one was watching her too closely.

The Meister wouldn’t be pleased; Surel was right about that. And yet⁠—

The girl tugged along as Gandrett entered the shade under the arches behind the columns of the citadel, her words almost drowned out by the splattering of the waterfall. “Kaleb said the guy is wearing the Brenheran coat of armor.”

Gandrett shrugged, keeping her head high despite the spray of water that blew in through the arches as she neared the entrance. “One more reason to hate him,” she said, her voice hard as stone.

She didn’t need to look at Surel to know what the girl was thinking. Anything that wasn’t the daily routine was exciting to her, a welcome distraction. Where Gandrett was a dedicated fighter, skilled with almost any type of blade one could find across Neredyn, Surel was of the gifted group of the acolytes, the few blessed ones who possessed the magic that kept Everrun inhabitable in the middle of this unforgiving land. Water magic. The ability to shape and command the element of life. The element of Vala.

Magic, not usually a human trait. And while in the beginning, even knowing that she shouldn’t, Gandrett had observed the Vala-blessed with envy, she had learned to embrace her own talent—even though swordsmanship wasn’t half as glorious as the sight of what some of the priests and priestesses of Vala did with water magic. She had honed it and perfected it as best she could, sparring with anyone she could get to pick up a sword and fight—until she had stopped losing. Until the Meister and some of the high priests and priestesses were the only ones who could keep her occupied for more than two minutes with a weapon.

As they turned the corner into the citadel, cool, moist air touched her face. Unlike the wind whipping over the barren land outside the walls or the calm breeze inside the walls, in the citadel, the temperature was always a couple of degrees lower than anywhere else. The Calma Desert didn’t compare to the slat deserts of Phornes at the southern end of Neredyn. It didn’t even belong to one of the territories of Neredyn anymore. Even if Everrun had once belonged to the Fae at some point in history, the Calma Desert had been unclaimed for a thousand years.

Surel was still at her side as Gandrett made it through the long, stone hallways, past ornately-decorated carvings that told of Neredyn’s history. Gandrett didn’t pay attention, not anymore, not after countless walks into the heart of the citadel.

It was only when Gandrett stopped at the gate to the courtyard garden that Surel raised a thin, black eyebrow, her golden-tan skin glowing in the sunset light that filtered in through the windows which framed the door—and crossed her arms over her chest, indicating she was going to wait here rather than face the Meister’s wrath. He wouldn’t punish her with violence. Not for this. She had contained a potential intruder and strictly followed protocol.

With a slow hand, fueled mostly by the annoyance at Nehelon that was still swirling inside of her, Gandrett turned the brass doorknob, the ruffled metal cool under her touch preparing her for what she was about to experience, and stepped into the windless, square space.

The Meister, perched on a small dais made of the same sandstone as the rest of the priory, didn’t look up at her approach. His face was turned south-west, the direction Gandrett had entered from, and his hands rested on his knees. Meditation, Nehelon had said, as if he knew exactly what the Meister did in here.

Again, her mind raced back through her years at Everrun—and came up blank. Neither the name nor the face was familiar. Only the Brenheran symbol on his chest…

“It must be important,” the Meister noted without opening his eyes, without any movement other than that of his lips, “if you came all the way from your run to bother me during this most sacred time of the day.”

Sunset. The hour of Vala. Where the life of this day goes to rest to make way for the life of tomorrow.

As she stepped forward into the oasis of blossoms and bushes, Gandrett felt whatever force had driven her—curiosity to find out what Nehelon had to tell her—to come here at once, without even giving herself a moment to think it through, subside, leaving a mild tremble in its wake.

“Apologies, Meister.” She bowed low, eyes on her dusty boots, knowing from experience that even if the Meister wasn’t using his eyes, for now, he had other ways to be aware if she had followed protocol or not.

When the Meister didn’t immediately react, Gandrett lifted her head just enough to glimpse at his timeless face. A face smooth yet ancient with a crown of white hair atop. A face she had gotten to know as well as her father’s and mother’s, better even. Only without the affection she held for the latter. And it rarely appeared as peaceful as today. Even if his eyebrows knitted together in a frown indicating she had disturbed him while he’d been pondering the fate of all of Neredyn.

Well, this was important, too. Even if now, facing the Meister, all urgency had ebbed away.

“Speak, Gandrett.” His eyes remained closed as if he refused to dive out of wherever his mind had retreated to. Nobody knew, not even the high priests and priestesses, what the Meister truly did during those hours in the afternoon.

So Gandrett spoke. “Someone tried to breach our walls this afternoon.”

The Meister’s eyebrows rose, but he still didn’t blink his eyes open or release Gandrett from the bow. A punishment, perhaps, for disturbing him in his ritual.

“When I confronted him, he attacked, and—” she searched for words, avoiding mentioning she had laid in the dirt before the man, “—when I was able to disarm him, I brought him into Everrun and locked him in a cell.” She stopped, waiting for the Meister to react, but he didn’t. Her bent back was starting to bother her even if it had been only a minute. It was the weight of the Meister’s disapproval that made it so uncomfortable. Anything to not let him know his best warrior had almost failed to contain a threat’s potential attack against the Order of Vala. “According to protocol,” she added, shaping her words in a steady breath.

For a moment, the low sound of water trickling from stones set in all four corners of the courtyard was the only noise. Then, the Meister lifted his hands from his knees and folded them in his lap. “Did you ask him what business he has breaking into Everrun?”

Gandrett nodded to herself. Of course she had. It had been her first question, long before he had delivered the first blow with his sword. “Yes, Meister.”

“And what did he say?”

Gandrett stifled a groan as the muscles in her spine began to hurt.

“He didn’t tell me,” she truthfully answered.

At that, the Meister’s eyes burst open, icy cold burning in the blue of his irises.

“Rise,” he commanded, his voice not inferior to a military commander, the only thing giving away his wrath. The wrath Surel had warned about, the wrath every one of the acolytes got to know sooner or later. The temper of the Meister who demanded nothing but impeccable performance and manners. The Meister who had replaced her loving home.

Gandrett straightened, almost releasing a sigh of relief, but at the expectant gaze boring into her eyes, she repeated what Nehelon had instructed her to. “He told me to tell you Nehelon is here.”

The Meister leapt off the dais in a gazelle-like hop, his cold eyes melting at the sound of the name. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

Despite the relief that the Meister’s anger had passed, Gandrett felt a certain unease creep up on her in its wake.

He stood, the hem of his linen robes still on the rock behind him, face expectant for her to continue.

There was nothing to continue. So she stared at the Meister, unsure if his momentary change of mood was going to backlash.

“What are you waiting for?” He beckoned with one hand, dismissing her. “Bring him to me.”

The cells were nothing unusual. Nothing he wouldn’t be able to find a way out of, Nehelon decided as he assessed the iron-barred windows with professional fingers. Sunk into the rock front more than a couple of inches. Not solid but hollow, a tap of his index finger informed him.

Outside the windows, Everrun was as busy as he remembered it. Even the same, dull clothes on the acolytes as he remembered. The girl swaggered over the cobbled path she’d escorted him along. He couldn’t help but notice that despite her young age, her body was—as far as he could judge through those linen garments—that of a fully-grown woman. He rested his shoulder against the wall, observing her movements as she disappeared from view, studying, he told himself, what it was about that girl that made her the best fighter Everrun had to offer⁠—

And came up blank.

Average height. On the lower end of the scale, even. As he had fought her outside the wall, she had impressed him with her feline movements, her focus as she had tackled him from below, bringing him to the ground the way hardly any opponent had been able to. Not even the strongest of them. And she, for Vala’s sake, was only a girl. Trained by the best instructors in all of Neredyn, but still a girl. Something in his male pride curled up and licked its wounds, bracing itself for her return.

As some of the acolytes assigned to farm-work strode by, carrying rakes and shovels and buckets of seedlings, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit homesick. How many years had it been since⁠—

But that wasn’t why he’d come here. He’d come to get the best from the order’s stable and convince her to help him. However, he needed to do it now that she already hated him. He had seen it in her eyes—as skilled as she was with disguising it, he was better in reading it.

Nehelon stood like a statue and watched, watched the sunset. Watched as the last of the acolytes hurried off the small fields and vegetable patches. Watched the cobblestones as they emptied of life with no sign of the girl returning. Watched the last rays of sun sink behind the wall, the waterfall of the citadel a hum in shades of purple, as the first doubts bit at him.

What if he had misread her? What if she wasn’t curious at all regarding what he had to share? What if the Meister didn’t truly care after all these years…

“You seem awfully cheerful.” Her voice, heavy with sarcasm, startled him.

He growled.

Nobody startled him. No one. If anyone startled anyone, it was him. Him, who crept up on people, surprising them when they assumed they were unobserved. Him, who had the advantage of having his sword ready when others were still comprehending what was going on.

“No need to get all worked up,” she flashed her teeth. “The Meister says if I don’t get your ass over to him before the sun sets entirely, I’ll have a problem.”

Nehelon returned her gesture and bared his teeth. “It was starting to get a bit frosty in here…”

Gandrett raised her eyebrows as if daring him to have meant that she was the source of the frost. Then, she grabbed the key from her pocket to unlock the cell.

“Stay back.” The girl balanced her sword in one hand as she lifted the other to open his prison.

He watched her with a frown. “You still need this,” he asked and gestured at the blade, “even if the Meister confirmed he knows me?”

The girl didn’t seem convinced. “The Meister may have been delighted to hear your name,” she said, smoothing her expression over once more. “Doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Her attitude almost made him bark a laugh—almost. Then he remembered he needed her.

Nehelon’s face was tight except for that tiny pull on the corner of his mouth that made Gandrett want to shut the cell door in his face the moment she had opened it.

“So I am not getting back my sword?”

Was he honestly asking that? She felt the reassuring weight of Nehelon’s weapons, which she had strapped to her belt, leaving her to carry her own sword in her hand. “Not if it is up to me. You might backstab me the second I turn around.” She stepped back to let him march out the entrance and cocked her head as he stopped right where she was holding the door, less than a foot from her. “You surely tried earlier,” she added with a shrug, referring to their initial encounter.

“And… is it up to you?” he asked, unimpressed.

Gandrett mentally stomped a foot in response and beckoned him to get moving. “The Meister can’t wait to see you.” Her smile was as false as she believed herself capable.

As she escorted Nehelon back through the now-empty street of the priory, the winds of the Calma Desert had turned the sky thunder-cloud gray, laced with the first shades of night. Small windows in the residential quarters on the western side of the citadel flickered on as the acolytes and priests returned to their rooms to clean up and change for the common dinner they had every night.

Nehelon's strides, powerful and graceful, gave Gandrett the impression she was walking next to a force of nature. But however much it tugged on her nerves, she didn’t turn her head to take a real look at him. She wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of seeing her curious or even intrigued—for even with all of the dust and grime from traveling distributed on his clothes, his hair, there was something fascinating about him simply because he had almost defeated her. She frowned.

“Doesn’t suit you, you know?” Gandrett felt Nehelon’s gaze as if someone was holding a torch close to her face. “Leaves wrinkles.”

Gandrett suppressed the urge to use the sword in her hand to get him to stop talking.

As if feeling her irritation, he fell silent and didn’t speak until they entered the citadel.

“This is as cold and unwelcoming as I remember it.”

At his unexpected statement, Gandrett’s head involuntarily turned, and she found him gazing at the torch-lit hallway with carvings of Neredyn’s history, the thundering of the waterfall a constant background melody.

“You’ve been here before.” Not a question.

Nehelon’s head turned, and he faced her for a moment, his eyes muddy-gray in the mixture of fading daylight and orange flames. He gave her a brief nod before he returned his focus on the walls again. “You could say so.”

“When?” Gandrett prompted.

A low chuckle was the only answer she got before they made it to the courtyard at the center of the citadel.

A breeze, unusual for the heart of Everrun, touched her face as she stepped outside, half an eye surveying Nehelon at her heels and the sword in her hand—appearing loosely and casually gripped to the untrained eye—ready to flick into the young man’s thigh should he turn out to not have good intentions⁠—

“My friend!” The Meister threw his arms open, immediately rising from the stone dais.

How very unusual it was for the Meister to show emotions like this. The smile on his face, wide and welcoming, was as alien as the rush in his footsteps as he moved to meet Nehelon—who had picked up pace and was now walking in front of Gandrett, who was still deciding whether he was a threat or just the greatest fool in the world.

She watched the two men embrace between the blossoming greenery and again felt the urge to comment when the Meister caught her eye over Nehelon’s shoulder, his gaze saving her from embarrassing herself and, worse, from potential punishment had she not been able to hold her tongue. “Leave us, Gandrett,” he motioned with one hand as he clapped Nehelon’s back. “But stay close.” He slowly pulled out of the other man’s embrace, his eyes full of the dancing light of the band of fire lighting the courtyard from the edges of the gravel which enclosed the vegetation in the square space. “My friend and I have matters to talk through.”

With a low bow, Gandrett retreated back inside and paced the hallway for a minute, debating whether or not it was acceptable to spy on the head of the Order of Vala and his mysterious visitor, before she settled at the windowsill next to the door and peered inside through the stained glass.

The small clear segment that was low enough for her to see through opened the view on an animated discussion. Nehelon, expression so tight earlier, was smiling broadly and openly, an expression which turned his already handsome face into outright beautiful. Gandrett bit her lip and scowled.

Who was this man to simply be allowed to upturn the rules that were valid for everyone who traveled to Everrun? How could he attack one of the Order of Vala and yet be welcomed with a hug by the very same Meister who had set those rules in stone?

As she watched them, the Meister, his face so unusually bright, pulled Nehelon down by the arm as he sat on the edge of the dais, suddenly looking old. His back, normally straight and unyielding, his shoulders, now slumped. While beside him, Nehelon’s muscled body, forearms resting on his knees, dark hair falling in his face and hiding those piercing eyes behind a wavy curtain, displayed the epitome of strength and youth. And as they spoke, both faces slowly grew weary. What were they talking about?

Gandrett’s head grew heavy as the sky turned darker, and she played with the plain iron pommel of her sword, which she had laid down beside her on the windowsill. She was still in her sweaty clothes, dust and dirt making the sand color appear darker in places. Her stomach growled. On a normal day, she would sit across the table from Kaleb and next to Surel, digging into whatever stew they offered for the evening, quietly smiling at Kaleb’s grin’s and ignoring Surel’s jabs in her ribs at every one of them.

Life at the Order of Vala was easy, in a way. Every year at Vernal Equinox, the Fest of Blossoms—Vala’s holiday—four children joined the order. And four left to take on their duties wherever the Meister assigned them. The children were collected from the territories of Neredyn. One child from each human territory except for Sives, the north. Gandrett’s homeland. Sives usually sent two children: two symbolic, for each of the twin capitals—Ackwood in the west and Eedwood in the east. Gandrett shuddered and shoved the thought far down into the black depths of her memory.

Life at the order was obedience, training, worship. Obedience toward the Meister and his rules, training in swordsmanship or, for the gifted ones, magic. And worship of Vala. Every chore, every lap around the city, every sharpening of her blade, was in worship of Vala. That was the life she’d been sent into, and that was the life that had shaped her, sculpted her, inside and out.

Her calloused hand picked up the sword and weighed it while she watched reflections of flickering firelight dancing on the worn metal. Fancy swords were for nobles, not for members of the order who were destined to serve their entire life. Their lives a sacrifice on behalf of each ruler in Neredyn to Vala, the goddess of life and water. A glance at Nehelon’s sword at her hip told her enough to know that he came from a bloodline worthy of setting jewels into the hilt and pommel of their swords. She ran a finger over the crimson crystals and frowned.

Gandrett didn’t count the minutes the two of them spent conversing between the greenery, lost in her own thoughts, and pushed away from the windowsill only when the Meister called her name loudly enough to make it clear she’d been summoned.

“Get our guest to more suitable quarters for the night,” the Meister ordered, his face returned to normal, as Gandrett popped her head into the courtyard, ducking under the short palm tree at the side. “And give him his weapons back.”

Behind the calm posture of the Meister, Nehelon smirked at Gandrett, the look in his eyes letting her only guess that whatever their discussion had been, it had been to the young man’s satisfaction. It made Gandrett want to stick out her tongue, but she bit it instead, preventing herself from falling out of grace with someone who seemed to be favored by the head of the Order of Vala.

“Thank you, Meister.” He bowed low as the Meister glanced over his shoulder, a serene expression decorating his timeless face.

“We will talk tomorrow, my friend,” was all the Meister said before he nodded a silent dismissal.

Gandrett didn’t wait for Nehelon to join her at the threshold before she started out the door after a hurried bow. And even if her face was smooth and emotionless, she heard it in her own footsteps crunching on the stone floor, expressing how the tension was there, how she couldn’t stand to have him out of sight even if, for now, he was unarmed. It went against her nature to turn her back on an opponent—even if technically he wasn’t an enemy. Not if the Meister had welcomed him with open arms. She had never seen him do that in ten years.

“You could have taken the front gate,” she hissed when she felt him close enough behind her to not have to speak up. “I am sure the guards would have let you pass…” she searched for words that wouldn’t make her sound so bitter “…you know, if the Meister is a friend of yours, I am certain you’d have gotten immediate passage into our sanctuary.”

A low snort was all the answer she got, and her mind instantly spiraled into what might have made him choose to make that sound rather than parry with words. He had certainly exceeded doing so earlier.

“You don’t think so?” She prompted.

And got another sound that this time wasn’t entirely identifiable—and had Gandrett peeking over her shoulder.

Nehelon’s face was unreadable, tight again, all hints he was capable of the smile she had seen him flash earlier wiped away.

For a while, they walked in silence, the only sound the waterfall before the entrance arches, rolling like a harbinger of the storm that was brewing above the priory.

When they crossed the yard, leaving the pool at the foot of the citadel behind them, the first drops of rain speckled the ground, making Gandrett choose the long route along the side of the citadel that had the shortest distance to the residential building, and crossed through the tightening rain in a jog with Nehelon catching up to her side in a few elegant strides.

“You must be someone special,” she sniffed, letting her own features distort at the gesture, a sign of how little she cared—tried to, “if the Meister welcomes you to Everrun with open arms… and without insisting on a cell.” They ducked under the roof of the residential building.

Nehelon chuckled, a sound that mixed with the noise of the thick blotches of rain now hitting the building from a sharp angle, forced by spikes of wind that usually remained outside the wall.

Inside, after inquiring with Nahir—the housekeeper and one of the few who had been there for decades to comfort the new arrivals every spring—where to best bring the Meister’s guest, Gandrett led him up the stairs to the second floor, where the ceilings were higher than at the other floors and the rooms equipped with more comforts.

“This might not be what you are used to.” She opened the carved, wooden door and gestured into a room with an antechamber and an adjacent bathing room. Simple but more than double the size of her own chambers. Not that any of the acolytes had the luxury of their own bathing chamber. “But it’s the best we’ve got.”

She half-expected to get a mocking comment, but to her surprise, Nehelon stepped past her, careful not to brush against her side as he slipped into the room, and inclined his head. “It’s more than I expected.” His face loosened a bit as he strode through the pale blue antechamber, and he peeked into the spacious bedroom. “Better than the cell, for sure.” He turned and leaned against the doorframe.

Gandrett eyed him for a moment, unsure of what to make of him, half-anticipating he might still attack her. Then, tense to the core, she reached down to her side to free his sword from her belt and held it out to him.

“I brought you to the Meister,” she said, voice terse. “Now you owe me the truth.”

“You can put that over there.” Ignoring her request, Nehelon jerked his chin at the slim, wooden table next to the door and, much to Gandrett’s relief, not showing any signs he was going to grab the blade and leap at her. His face remained unreadable, controlled, as if he had spent a lifetime hiding his emotions.

“The truth,” Gandrett reminded him as she took a cautious step then lowered his weapon onto the scenes of Neredyn legends painted in pale blue and shades of brown.

Nehelon pointed at her own blade. “Yours, too.” His mouth tightened as he watched her hesitate then lower the second blade beside his.

“Worried I’ll attack you?” she asked with the mildest satisfaction, but didn’t even get a chance to gloat as Nehelon responded, “Even with both of them, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

There it was again, that mocking grin and cold eyes—not cold, cautious, calculating. Distant.

“Our short history suggests otherwise,” was all Gandrett said as she dumped her blade onto the table, closed the door, and dropped into one of the wooden chairs beside it, crossing her arms.

And that was that.

“So, the truth,” she repeated, keeping her face indifferent.

Nehelon’s sharp eyes weighed on her, sizing her up, measuring, reminding her of her dirty, sweaty clothes and making her unfamiliarly self-conscious. She knew that when she took the effort and combed her hair and—for the holidays and ceremonies at the temple-rooms of the citadel, wore her only dress—she cleaned up well. But right now, what Nehelon must be seeing was a wildling in linen rags.

As if he’d heard her, he averted his gaze and strode over to the small window at the wall to Gandrett’s right where he observed the splattering rain.

“The truth is, Gandrett Brayton, I have come to get you out of here.”

End of sample.

Click HERE to get your copy.

A Note from Angelina

Thank you for sticking with Myron and Ayna until here. If you enjoyed Claws of Death, I’d love if you let your bookish friends know so they can dive into the wildly romantic and thrilling tale of Myron and Ayna, too. Reviews are what help make a book visible. I’d appreciate if you leave a review for Claws of Death on the site where you purchased the book, your blog, BookBub, social media, or Goodreads.

Thank you for taking a chance on me and on my Wings of Ink series! Without readers like you, my stories would never come to life <3

Need to talk about the ending?

About the Author

“Chocolate fanatic, milk-foam enthusiast and huge friend of the southern sting-ray. Writing is an unexpected career-path for me.”

Angelina J. Steffort is a bestselling, award-winning Austrian novelist, best known for her Wings series and her Shattered Kingdom series. With over twenty YA and adult fantasy and paranormal romance books under her belt, Angelina is far from done with inventing and exploring new worlds. That might have something to do with her passion for following the narrative of new characters and getting surprised by the twists they spin on her stories. Angelina has multiple educational backgrounds including engineering, business, music, and acting. Currently, Angelina lives in Vienna, Austria, with her husband and her son.

Find Angelina online: www.linktr.ee/ajsteffort

Want to be the first to hear about new releases?

Scan this code to subscribe to Angelina’s monthly newsletter.

JOIN THE COMMUNITY!

Become part of Angelina J. Steffort’s VIP Reader Group on Facebook:

www.ajsteffort.com

Pronunciation Guide

Character Names

Adrian Katrijanov: A-dree-an KAH-tree-yah-nov

Astorian: Us-TOH-ree-an

Cliophera Clarette Tarie Amaryll Saphalea de Pauvre (Clio): Clee-oh-phee-rah Clah-rett Tah-rie Ah-mah-ryll Sah-PHAH-lee-ah deh POH-vreh (Clee-oh)

Ephegos: Eh-phee-gus

Erina Latroy Jelnedyn: EH-ree-nah LA-troy Yel-neh-dyn

Herinor: HEH-ree-nor

Jeseida: Dje-say-day

Julj: Yoolsh

Kaira: Kay-ruh

Myron: My-ron

Royad: Roy-ad

Recienne Oilvier Gustine Univér Emestradassus de Pauvre: Reh-Syen Ol-liv-yeh Gü-Stin Oo-Nee-Vehr Eh-Mehs-trah-Dahs-sus deh POH-vreh

Odja: Oh-dya

Sariell: Sah-ree-ell

Sejen: See-jen

Wolayna (Ayna) Milevishja: Woh-LI-nah (I-nah) Mee-leh-veesh-jah

World

Aceleau: Ah-Seh-Loh

Ansoli: Un-soh-lee

Askarea: Us-KAH-reh-ah

Brolli: Brol-ly

Cezux: Dje-Zush

Cliffs of Ansoli: Cliffs of Un-soh-lee

Dunai: Doo-NAY

Eherea: Ee-HEE-ree-ah

Eroth: Eh-roth

Fort Perenis: Fort PEH-reh-niss

Horn of Eroth: Horn of Eh-roth

Jezuin: Jeh-Zoo-in (“J” as in “jelly”)

Ledrynx: Led-rynx

Meer: Meer

Plithian Plains: PLI-thee-un Plains

Ret Relah: Reht Reh-luh

Shaelak: SHAE-lak

Tavras: TUH-vrahs

Vala: VAH-la

More Books in the Alcunaire

Wings of Ink

Fall of the Wild Ray: A Wings of Ink Prequel

Flight of Fate

Realm of Crows

The Quarter Mage

The Quarter Mage

The Ever Mage

Shattered Kingdom

Shattered Kingdom

Wicked Crown

Shadow Rule

Lost Towers

Dark Refuge

Fatespun: A Shattered Kingdom Novel