Page 16

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.