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Preferably somewhere with a healer at hand, I want to say, but he’s right. I’m wasting time.

With a split heart, I leave Royad to tend to our queen and rush over to Tata, who’s eyeing me like I’m a creature from Hel’s realm itself. She doesn’t look that way at Silas, but I’m happy to ignore that as long as Silas keeps ignoring the way I look at Kaira.

“Royad needs your help.” I could be polite, but bile on my tongue and wobbling knees don’t bring forward the best in me.

“With what?” She glances past my shoulder to watch Royad kneel in the dirt, talking to a mud-caked small form on the ground.

“Your healing skills, preferably. But basically anything that will save our queen.” I don’t look back, praying to the God of War to give me strength in this battle with my bargain I’m facing on a daily basis. Galloris isn’t known to be kind, but he’s known to steel one’s will in the face of uncertainty. Like a soldier right before battle.

That’s me. Every minute of my life since I walked out of Myron’s palace and right into Ephegos’s traitorous wings.

It’s a miracle Myron took me back. Even more of a miracle he isn’t keeping me on a leash. I’m a danger, and not just to him but to everyone he loves. Especially his mate.

Stifling a sigh, I stalk up to the wagon and climb over the corpse of an eyeless, blood-leaking Flame Matrone before I shove her off the wooden planks to watch her land in the mud with a splash.

“I didn’t think we’d make it,” the Fairy King says to me, a frown on his freakishly handsome face. He’s the type of pretty that reminds me of elaborate ballrooms, embroidered dresses, string quartets, and glass slippers.Male-pretty.

Just like his general. But Tori at least has the balls to join a battle from the beginning, not sweep in at the last possible moment like a hero and nearly fuck up everything.

“Neither did I.” It’s not a lie. I’d made my peace when Recienne showed up to save the day. “Especially when you got yourself un-magicked.”

The word doesn’t exist, but I find it funny to point out his flaws. It’s always been more fun to taunt power than to submit to it.

Much to my surprise, Recienne chuckles. “If I weren’t so darn sick right now, I’d hurl you over the edge of the Plithian Plains.”

“The plains don’t have an edge,” I inform him, then reconsider. “Well… perhaps by the coast.”

Recienne raises a night-dark brow. “There are always the Cliffs of Ansoli in the north.”

“Is that a promise?” A broad grin spreads on my face. One I know causes most fairies to squirm.

He meets it with a smirk of his own, flinching as the wound in his shoulder bothers him. “The only thing I can promise you right now is that I won’t vomit all over you.” He pauses, holding up a finger. “No, not even that.”

He doubles over, clutching his stomach, and pukes over the edge of the wagon. Right between Jeseida’s body and that of a Flame guard. Well deserved.

Shaking my head, I step past him, clasping Silas’s shoulder as I squat next to him. “Is he still breathing?”

Myron’s chest is evenly rising and falling, so it’s easy to make a joke even when my tone remains rough and emotionless as usual.

“If that damn arrow hadn’t seated itself so deep in his tissues, I would have pulled it out already.”

The sight of my king, pale and motionless except for the slow breaths, is disturbing as the nightmares where Ephegos keeps forcing me to slit his throat. I don’t know how many nights I’ve lost, keeping myself from sleeping so I won’t be thrown right back into a torture chamber where I must hurt the only king who ever wanted the best for his people. I should have trusted him, should have had faith in him.

I guess it’s a debt I’ll never pay off.

“I can hold him down while you pull,” I offer, but I already know it’s not the way to go. This is an arrow made of bone. The tip is sharp steel dipped in the honey-like substance that is the distilled drug. I saw the guard coat the arrow in it before nocking and shooting. The fact that Myron blocked the arrow saved Tori’s life. He was already drained and exhausted when Myron found us, but Tori wouldn’t have made it through this battle with an arrow in his chest. That’s more the fabric Crows are made of. Resilient.

Our power might not be as spectacular as the Askarean fairies, our shields not as strong and our site-hoppingabilities nonexistent. But we are tough and strong. We’re all worth twenty fairies each. Myron demonstrated it when he ripped the Flame estate apart that cursed day when Erina tried to un-mate them.

A deep sigh runs through my chest, ending in a groan of frustration.

Without waiting for Silas’s assessment, I grab the arrow and carefully break off the ends so the smooth shaft is the only thing left. “Roll him to the side.”

Silas gives me a glance that informs me he’s questioning my sanity. I don’t care. We’ve dealt with worse injuries before the curse and survived them. We’ve dealt with even worse during the wars with the fairies. And we’ll deal with this.

Silas gently rolls him to his side, bracing Myron’s back against his knees.

I leap over to Myron’s other side and take hold of the arrow. “I pull, you heal.”