Page 15

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.”