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Even with Clio joining us, we’re only seven, and our opponents are at least seven times that. It doesn’t matter that Recienne hadn’t joined us in this battle. His power wouldn’t have made a difference. He’s better off spending time with his mate and protecting their unborn child from danger when it occurs at the palace in Aceleau. But here?—?

Without the advantage of our magic, we can’t win.

That doesn’t change that we’ll fight to the death.

Smoke wafts through the air, taking my sight as I aim my next strike. My muscles burn from holding the shield for too long, and now my arms are sluggish when I strike with my sword. Faster than the average Flame, still, but my blows don’t land as accurately as they should. More often than I care for, my blade misses the weak spots of my opponent’s armor to the effect that I drive them back, but they keep coming at us.

Ayna is relentless, not a hint of fear on her features as she grabs for her second dagger and slices the cheek of a Flame. At least, Clio has realized she’s doing more good alternately layering all of us with ice than trying to smother the fire in the enemy’s hands. I welcome the cool trickle of power whenever it runs over my hands and my face, the unprotected parts of my body where the heat finds purchase.

Tata and Silas are nearby, fighting the foot soldiers in tandem, their hatchet and swords gleaming in the fire billowing from the wagons.

“Where are the others?” I shout at Silas, who’s closest to the first wagon. I don’t see through the inferno layered over the outline of it, but I know that’s where the two Crows disappeared to. They might have long burned to cinders.

The thought fuels rage in my chest. Rage and the hollow sense of loss. These are the last members of my court. If they die, there won’t be a Crow kingdom left.

I spin on one foot, kicking out with the other as a Flame charges at me. They go down with a grunt, fire winking out as they lose consciousness, and I don’t hesitate to ram my sword into their back until it bites into the solid ground beneath.

One more down.

“Wagon!” Silas responds, but he knows as well as me the chances we’ll find anyone alive are slight, even if we somehow manage to win this battle and put out the fires.

Every time we cut one Flame out of their ranks, they regroup, forming an unbreakable line all over again.

We need a fucking miracle.

Ayna

We’re not getting anywherelike this except to our own graves. When we were talking about a potential trap, we had thought of the type of soldiers they’d send or how they might not even be transporting that magic-nullifying serum. None of us had considered an army of magic-defying armor-wearing soldiers where it no longer matters what powers we wield. We still have them, but they are useless. It’s almost worse than being injected with the serum.

Another explosion of fire hits behind me, making me duck, but there’s no shelter. Flakes of ash swirl in the air, stirredoff the path by the occasional arrow the Flames are still sending from their back rows. My breath comes hard as the ash tears past me.

Thank Shaelak for my Crow reflexes. I have maneuvered around them without a scratch, but Kaira’s gasp informs me she took a blow.

“You all right?”I prompt in my mind, too focused to open my mouth to speak.

Kaira grits her teeth at the arrow protruding from her thigh, barely keeping on her legs.“Fucking Fire Fairies,”is the only response I get.

Clio is right beside her, but there’s little she can do other than stand in front of Kaira to give her cover as she breaks off the shaft of the arrow so it won’t catch when she moves. She’s losing too much blood, though. If we can’t heal her, she won’t survive this battle.

There has to be something I can do.

The clouds shift, uncovering the moon, tinting everything in silver light. Even the bonfires that the wagons have become pale into subdued shades of orange and yellow.

The clouds?—

I need the water from the clouds.

And there is a way I can get it.

“Give me cover,” I shout at Myron, who blocks the Flame stepping into his space, slitting his throat and pushing him back into the next row and all without Clio’s layer of ice. His hands must be covered with burns.

I try not to think about it. If I don’t succeed, it won’t matter. He won’t feel the burns when he’s dead.

Myron doesn’t ask questions, merely dips his chin, stepping closer to my side and summing a thin, barely-there shield, but it’s enough for me to sheathe my daggers and focus on the wind casing along the waters of the ocean, the freedom of being up in the air, the rush of flying?—

My gaze locks with Myron’s, and I can’t reassure him that everything will be all right before feathers start sprouting from my shoulders. My legs are already shrinking and my eyes are turning into those of a bird. But I hold onto that human part of me for a heartbeat longer.

“I love you,” is all I can say before the feathers take me and I turn fully into a crow.