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“Better.” Herinor nods, acknowledging the change. “And because I’m the only one allowed to be mean to you without consequences.”

He shoots me a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Because you’re Ephegos’s tool?”

“Because you need someone to push you out of your wallowing, and I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.”

“Even when you’re helping me.” I grit my teeth at him, a grimace resembling an animal about to attack.

“Doesn’t feel like helping when it’s basically torment.” A dark laugh follows his words.

“So, you do enjoy tormenting people after all?”

“I’ve already told you I used to be the worst of Crows.”

“But you’re not anymore.”

He doesn’t correct me.

My eyes follow Myron’s movements, the powerful strides even when he’s walking at a casual speed, the strength resonating in each of his gestures even when his shoulders are hunched. Royad is reaching for his cousin’s arm, squeezing, and Myron stops, lowering his head in defeat.

“You want to know what they’re talking about?”

“I don’t.” Ido, but I can’t admit that. I can’t, or I’ll start crying and will never stop.

“They are talking about why you keep rejecting your mate.”

Mate.The word hits me like a blow to the gut. On my shoulder, the wound is pulling with pain, and my head swims at the mention of what I lost.

What wastakenfrom me.

I want to be angry, but I’m not strong enough, so I resign to defeat.

“I’m not rejecting him. Theyburnedhis mate mark out of me. I can’t feel him. I can’t fuckingfeelhim anymore.”

I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but Herinor has a way of provoking a response out of me that not even Myron manages.

“So, you decide blocking him out entirely is the best way to deal with this?” The disapproval in his tone isn’t the Herinor I know. It’s a different version, one who cares about me.

“There is no way of dealing with losing a mate.” No emotion makes it to the surface as my eyes keep following Myron and Royad on their gradual tour around the gardens. “Erina had them take my mate mark.”

“I was there when it happened.” Guilt wells in his voice, but he buries it like he’d bury any weakness. He can’t be on my side in any of this; his life depends on it.

“At least, you weren’t the one to hold the torch if you weren’t the one to prevent it.” My stomach is sour, my mouth, my heart. I’m a lemon squeezed out over salt that’s to be spread over my own wounds.

Herinor’s fingers come to gently rest on my forearm. “No one could have prevented it, Ayna. It was an ambush. Erina set up the attacks so the fairies would come looking. He was hoping we’d be with them so he could gethis hands on you.”

“When he had the information of us conspiring with Recienne tortured out of one of the fairy scouts, he knew it was only a matter of time until you’d show up.”

“He’s been tracking all our moves…” The fact hits me in the chest, forcing my focus away from the aching burn on my shoulder for once.

Herinor nods. “He really is. He’s been working with the Flames through Ephegos. I know that because I was there when Ephegos gave the order to bring you to him that first time after the battle at the old Crow Palace.”

“Flame Palace,” I correct.

Herinor tilts his head. “Does it matter?”

I realize then how much information he’s giving away, and a sense of unease fills me. “Aren’t you helping me with all this knowledge? Ephegos surely wouldn’t approve of you spilling secrets.”