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Twenty-Nine

Herinor

“Are you ready to tell us more?” Royad says with that stony expression I’ve rarely seen on him, the one that makes me want to scream if something is wrong with his usually good-natured self that can’t be solved with a mug of ale and a pair of tits. But this isn’t about one friend making another friend feel better. This is me being a complete ass by casting aside the importance of Ephegos’s words and forgetting all about them.

“I didn’t keep anything from you purposely,” I repeat the same words I’ve been telling them for two days.

“Recienne said we can keep you locked in here forever.” The scar running from his brow to the corner of his mouth tugs the grin he flashes me into a grimace; his brown waves are bound at the nape of his neck, too tidy for a Crow.

Two days. It’s already been two days since they brought me to this joke of a dungeon.

“If you lock people up, at least do it in a place that doesn’t feel like the next best living room.” It’s meant to be a joke, but there is a kernel of truth in it. The space isn’t any less hospitable than the chambers we had at the palace in the Seeing Forest and is definitely much better than some of the places we called our home over the centuries of finding a new place to stay. Before Carius the Cruel occupied Flame territory and killed most of their people. A growl rumbles in my chest that has nothing to do with my being chained by one ankle—a symbolic restraint when everyone knows I could easily break free—just not from the magically reinforced cell made of smooth stone with a simple bed in one corner. It even has a pillow and a heap of blankets against the chill air streaming in from the high-up window barred with thick iron.

“Recienne offered the lower levels, but Myron decided this is good enough until he decides what to do with you.”

“Where is he?” He didn’t come down to see me after he ordered me locked up. “Anything special happen up there?”

The flash in Royad’s eyes tells me something did indeed happen that has nothing to do with me and my unintentional betrayal. At least, the bargain with Ephegos won’t kill me and everyone around me for it.

“Is it Myron?” I try to read his face, but it turns back to stone. “Ayna?” My chest aches at the thought of anything happening to my king and queen, or worse… “Kaira?” I don’t even try to keep the panic from my voice as I inquire about the only Flame in this world I care for.

She hasn’t come to visit, and that look of disappointment in her eyes when she realized what secrets I’d unwittingly kept from them all—it will haunt me until the end of my days.

Royad gives me nothing.

“Please tell me if she’s all right,” I all but beg. I’d be happy to crawl to know she’s safe.

Royad—a soft-hearted bastard but still a bastard—folds his arms and leans a shoulder against the wall where he stands on the other side of the room, just out of reach of my chain.

“I’m happy to tell you if you dig deep in your memory to let us see all those conversations you had with Ephegos and the traitor Crows. I’m sure there’s more that will blindside us before the end.”

He isn’t wrong.

Even when I can’t remember which of the many things Ephegos shared will be our victory or our failure, I’m sure there are things so deep at the bottom of my memory that I can’t even remember they’re there.

“Tori is ready to break into your mind and dig up all your dark secrets, Herinor, and if Myron left the decision to me, I’d already have the general bite your mind apart with his power. Perhaps layer in some of that liquid rock to match your thick skull.”

He’d do it, too. Between all the Crows left in this court, he’s the sort of loyal that doesn’t allow for the grayness of my morals. In Royad’s eyes, I’m a traitor, still, and he won’t miss me if I break in the process of extracting my thoughts.

And Astorian?—

“He can access memories?” I prompt, wondering if it might be a good thing if I myself asked him to dig through my head. If he’s the one unearthing secrets, at least, it’s not me betraying them. It’s merely a fairy general prying them from me.

“He said it’s a painful procedure and you’d likely never be the same.” Royad tilts his head, eyeing me as if he wouldn’t mind if exactly that happened.

“What if I allow him into my mind?” I sit back on the bed, leaning against the wall and pulling up my knees, chain clinking. With one hand, I gesture at the iron curling my ankle. “You know, like I allowed you to put this on me.” As a sign of good faith. I could have fought to the teeth and gotten free before they locked me up, but probably not without killing them, and that, I’m not ready to do.

“Then we’d be faster, and I might be inclined to believe Myron when he says you didn’t mean any harm by keeping those secrets.” He chews on his lower lip as if keeping himself from saying more.

I try to keep my expression blank. “That’s what he said?” Something like relief trickles through me like nearly crystalized honey. I’m not sure any of those drops will ever truly reach the bottom.

“Because he’s a fool and can’t be bothered with traitors right now, so he tends to believe you when you say you didn’t mislead us on purpose and didn’t consciously withhold information.”

A stuck breath escapes from my lungs.

“I’ll let you dig through my mind,” I offer, already forming a plan in my mind. One that will get us both what we want. “But Tori won’t be the one to do it.”

Royad cocks his head? “Oh?”

I bite back the flicker of hope as I allow the words onto my tongue. “Kaira will.”

A ghost of a smile forms on Royad’s face, but he clamps down on it, turning toward the door. Without another word, he leaves.

Royad doesn’t return that day. When the door opens, it’s Silas carrying in his hands a bowl of vegetable stew that’s tasty enough to come right from the Fairy King’s table. I eat it gratefully, wondering if my bold demand will earn me my execution or if I’ll live to see another day. Another day of self-loathing.

The night is an endless twisting and tossing on the hard bed, but at least I’m warm. It’s more than I could say Ephegos granted me when I first joined him. Flashes of those days tied up in his torture chamber—later my torture chamber—while he tested the magic-sedating drug on me keep me from sleep, as do the countless conversations I had with Ephegos. And the one I overheard. As I delve into my memories, browsing for anything useful that I could hand them tomorrow, I ponder the fate I’ve chosen for myself.

“A bit late to be considering the side you’re standing on, Herinor, isn’t it?” Ephegos spreads his winged arms, feathers ruffling in the breeze as he beckons me further into the clearing he chose for this meeting. Not far from the palace but far enough to be certain no one can overhear our words. Evergreens shield us from sight, so I stand at ease, facing Ephegos, who braces his feet apart a few inches, a casual stance of power. Myron has ordered his sentries to stay by the palace, keep an eye on Ayna. I’m one of them, so I know where they are, what they do, their rotations. I also know that Ayna won’t get far because they’re on duty.

If she tries to escape again, we’re allowed to shackle her with our power and bring her back. No injuries, though. No brutality. Not one little piece of fun. I haven’t had a proper female in such a long time that I wonder if I still know how to use my cock, but Ayna isn’t for me. She’s the one hope for the Crows. The last hope, Myron explained when he justified the bargain he made with the Fairy Princess—and perhaps sealed all our fates.

“It’s never too late to make the right choice.” I mean it. Myron has tried and tried to break the curse. Ninety-nine brides have withered and died. Ninety-nine women and females, thirty-three from each territory, Tavras, Cezux, and Askarea. I’m tired of waiting. Tired of hoping . Hoping only to fall back into despair. And after Myron’s bride ran from him yesterday, I wonder if there is any hope to cling to. She’d rather kill him than love him.

A look in the mirror should be enough to realize no one will ever love a creature such as what we’ve become. We were horrible to begin with, our bloodlust only second to our cruelty. Carius demonstrated that over and over and celebrated it with pride in the way he tormented each Crow bride until she became nothing. Taken by the curse, by Vala herself—perhaps a mercy—or tortured by the late Crow King.

Myron is different. But he’s too soft. He won’t win any hearts in his half-form, and he won’t save us either.

“Swear the oath then. Swear your loyalty and join me. I’ll create a new, better court that will allow us to roam free once more.” Not a promise. A conviction.

But not enough. “What if we’re wrong? What if Myron breaks the curse after all?” I want to believe it so desperately that I’m ready to kill for it. But whom should I kill? The current bride? Myron? It would change nothing about the feathered arms, the beaks that won’t go away, the claws that barely retreat when I focus so hard I could crush a diamond with my mind.

“Then the curse will be broken, and you’ll get your pretty face back, Herinor. But I will build this new court anyway. Myron has caused enough destruction. He’s responsible for too much of our suffering. He won’t be king—not of this new realm of crows I’ll build. One with alliances rather than enemies, with females and life. We’ve been a dead people long enough, and it’s Myron’s turn to suffer for what he failed to do.”

“He’s been trying.” Because I’ve been watching him try for a century. “It’s the curse.”

Like onyx torches, Ephegos’s eyes flash at me. “He’s done more than fail to break the curse. He’s killed people. People I cared for.” Before I can ask what he means, Ephegos rolls on. “I won’t tell you specifics, Herinor. Not unless your loyalty belongs to me.” He casually pats the sword at his hip. “Myron is the past, Herinor. I am the future. And the future of freedom for the Crows. I don’t need you for the path I’ve chosen, but whether or not Myron breaks the curse, you will need me. ”

Whether it’s our inability to speak lies or mere delusions of grandeur, he’s convincing, and if Myron fails to break the curse… Perhaps it’s time to consider being on Ephegos’s good side if that happens. A future of freedom—even one in feathers is better than one more year in this forest.

As if reading my doubts, Ephegos’s head tilts to the side, beak-ish mouth distorting his words as he tells me in that charming way of his, “Sleep on it, Herinor. Take your time. A few more weeks won’t matter to me as long as I can save yet one more Crow from this misery.” He forces back enough of his crow form to show me his real smile—that of the Crow King’s friend. The deceit I want to run back to Myron to spill every last word Ephegos spoke—despite my size, I can be as sneaky as the spy himself—but I won’t. If I betray Ephegos, I’m a dead male; I don’t need him to tell me to know he’ll slit my throat in my sleep if necessary. But I have no doubt he’s convinced enough Crows to join his cause to easily make a kill.

And if I betray Myron… He’ll never know if I do it right. He’ll never know about my break of trust, about my weakness. My opportunism. I hate the way Ephegos’s words sneak into the cracks of my loyalty, worming deeper.

“You have three weeks to make up your mind.” Ephegos’s smile doesn’t fade, and my grim expression solidifies. “I’ll be making my move then, and there will be no joining me after. You’ll be on the wrong side of what I call the next generation of this people.”

“Three weeks,” I agree; because if I don’t, Ephegos might very well unleash that sword on me. “If Myron doesn’t break the curse by the time you make your grand move, I’ll swear loyalty to you.” It’s the best I can do for now.

Ephegos’s smile turns into a grin. “Promise?”

It’s a careless moment as my chin dips into a nod, and I instantly regret it as the thread of fae promises snaps into place, solidifying my commitment, the thread of ancient magic hooking into my tissues already, a reminder of what I promised and to whom.

It’s late afternoon by the time the door opens once more. I’ve stayed on my bed all day, drifting in and out of sleep, nightmares of all my wrong decisions haunting me. Soft footfalls make me lift my head, but I don’t find Kaira, as I’d hoped, lingering by the door, but the Crow Queen. Not in her human form as I’d hoped to once see her again.

“You’re fae,” I utter, dumbfounded by the image of pale beauty, the height, the slender limbs covered by a long jade, woolen gown, the pointed ears, the predatory gaze as she scans the cell.

“You sound disappointed.” There is no warmth in those gray eyes as she approaches, fearless like a real Crow. Because that’s what she is. She did it. She shed mortality—and saved Myron.

So fast I almost fall over my own feet, I leap from the bed, one knee on the floor, my hands on my chest as I bow to my queen. No words form in my mouth—and they don’t need to because Myron follows after her, clad in black finery that reminds me of the jackets he used to wear before the curse broke. It has sleeves, though. His fingertips end in talons.

“Royad said you’re ready to cooperate?” The lack of judgement in this voice gives me the courage to lift my head.

“I am.”

“And what memory do you care to offer up first?” Ayna asks, gracefully crossing the room to stand in front of me, not a hint of fear on her face.

“That depends. As we learned the other day, I might not even know what things I no longer remember.” I try to make it sound humorous, but there is no humor in failing my king and queen, so I let my mouth mirror the grim set of hers.

Just as she opens it to speak, Tori enters after Myron, the Crow King stepping aside to make room for the general, and my gut tightens with dread.

“I asked for Kaira.” I can’t keep my voice from shaking. If she hasn’t come, does that mean she’s injured? Has left? Doesn’t want to see me?

Tori crosses his arms. “I don’t care who you asked for. I’ll be here to make sure you don’t try anything funny and to monitor.”

Monitor. He said monitor.

I have all of a breath before Kaira files into the room, eyes on the rough stone tiles of the floor, her fighting leathers hugging her form. Her braid dangles over her shoulder, bouncing with every reluctant step, and her hands—her hands are on her twin daggers.

She stops a few feet from me, gaze snapping to mine, the warm brown of her eyes full of steel.

“You came.” My voice cracks at the wordless accusations floating from her, at the disappointment trying to curve her shoulders.

She battles herself into a proud, straight posture, defiant of any hurt in her chest—I’ll be damned if she ever felt anything for me other than contempt.

Tori shuts the door, and Ayna steps aside, not deigning me with a dismissal from my position of deference, so I remain on my knees.

“Shall we,” Kaira chirps in a voice too high and too shrill for her usually deeper timbre, and I dare meet her gaze again, catching a flash of fear before it ices over.

From where he positioned himself by the door, Myron nods, Ayna stepping to his side, fingers twining with his as they become one unit, an unbreakable wall of power. I can feel it in my bones, the force rallying beneath the calm exterior. Drawing his sword, Tori walks up to Kaira’s side.

“I’ll cut off his head if he as much as thinks about hurting you,” he murmurs at her, the soothing words of a friend ready to protect her. A friend she deserves.

Kaira doesn’t hesitate before she reaches for the sides of my head.