Page 32

Thirty-Two

Myron

Ice creeps through my veins with every moment I’m watching Ayna through Herinor’s memory. So thin. So weak. And that was weeks before I saw her at Erina’s engagement party.

Talons shoot from my fingertips, nearly piercing Ayna’s skin before I can pull my hand from hers, and inside my chest, darkness coils, ready to strike. But at whom?

“It’s all right,” Ayna whispers, but when I turn toward her, I realize she’s not reassuring me but the traitor in our midst. The male who sold us out to save himself. And has been risking his own life to help us every damn day since.

“I’m sorry.” Herinor’s words are thick with tears, his gaze bouncing between Ayna, Kaira, and me. “I wish I could have done better, but this was the only way. Had I freed her, I’d have summoned the wrath of bargain magic.”

No one knows better the danger of said magic than I do after all those bargains I’ve struck with Recienne. After an entire life lived beneath the threat of a curse bleeding me to death, should I speak so much as a wrong word.

“You did what you needed to,” Ayna says, too valiant with the male who tortured her. The male who kept her from fleeing Erina’s palace. Who stood by and listened in on the moment when Erina shoved a ring onto my Ayna’s finger.

“I did what a weak male would do.” No one corrects him, but the twist in Kaira’s shoulders tells me she was about to say something.

When she doesn’t, I force my magic to slumber and take a step toward Herinor. “Show me Neredyn again.” It’s a selfish request, but it’s the one thing that I can’t stop thinking about despite all the horrors awaiting us on this continent. “Show me…” I let my words trail away, my heart pounding out of my chest at the mere possibility he’ll actually be able to show me what I’m asking.

My talons haven’t fully retreated, but Ayna doesn’t shy away from my hand as she winds her fingers around mine in reassurance. Whether she knows what my mind has wandered to, what I never believed I could ask of anyone, what this traitor before me could deliver…

Like a river of comfort, Ayna’s presence flows in through our bond, right into my heart beneath the new mate mark, and I could swear I feel her smile, even when her features are set into a mask.

“Show me my mother.” Hoarse sounds, that’s all my words are, but Herinor inclines his head in deference, in obedience, in resignation to whatever I’ll ask of him—because he’s made up his mind. Traitor or no, The Crow before us is set on doing right by all of us.

With a soft sigh, Kaira opens the channel again, and my heart stutters when I’m taken into a bright room made of stone walls and a high wooden ceiling. No intricate carvings tell stories of grandeur; no banners give away a noble house. At the center of the room, a male stands with his hand on the windowsill, turning toward the sunny day beyond. His broad back is bare, black waves tangling down the thick muscles framing his spine. Bracelets braided from leather with wooden and iron beads woven in adorn his wrists up to mid-forearm. Black leather pants and black boots, the hilt of a simple, yet well-crafted sword glimmering by his hip?—

“When are we leaving?” a warrior asks from the open doorway. I don’t recognize his scarred face.

The male by the window turns around, and I hold my breath. Carius the Cruel in the flesh, only centuries younger and with less malice in his eyes—his brown eyes.

“First light tomorrow,” the late Crow King says, turning back to the window.

It takes me a moment to understand Herinor is standing guard at the side of the room, his vantage point close enough to the king to grant me a view on the beach outside where a group of females is sitting on a blanket, giggling about something I can’t make out from this position. It’s because Herinor didn’t bother to take a closer look back then, not because he couldn’t have seen past the king.

“Just a small group,” Carius amends, not turning away from the window this time. “I don’t want anyone to know it’s us who destroyed the new human settlement.”

A shiver runs through my spine, a sensation I also learn to recognize as part of Herinor’s memory. I want to tell him to turn his eyes back to the beach, to show me if one of the females is my mother, but Carius dismisses the male by the door with a wave of his hand.

As if reading my mind, Carius gestures at the females with a jerk of his chin. “Who’s that?”

There seems to be no one else in the room because, in the memory, Herinor takes a step forward to have a better view of what the king has set his eyes on. And before I can think, I’m sucked entirely into Herinor’s thoughts.

“The two strawberry blondes are Elgerand’s daughters,” I tell the king, leaving out that I’d fucked the one with black braid two nights ago. “And the blue-haired one with the black dress is Irdis, mate of Ortos. I don’t know the fourth one.”

King Carius shakes his head, gesturing behind the blanket to the dunes where a figure is twirling and twisting in the distance, black hair tossing with her movements and billowing in the breeze coming in from the sea. At first, I think she’s dancing, but the movements are too hard, too precise, and her attire is nothing like the revealing dresses the other females are wearing to put their curves on display.

“I don’t know, Your Majesty.” Bracing for reprimand, I take a step back against the wall once more, resuming my post, but King Carius waves me forward.

“Go, find out.”

I’m nearly shoved out of the memory as Herinor speeds through the stairways and halls of what must have once been my father’s palace, out into the glistening sun heating the cool brine. Like he’s sped up his memories, the world is blurring around me, and I lose track of location and time. Only when he’s a few feet away, I’m being dragged back all the way into Herinor’s memory once more.

She’s tall, perhaps six foot one, her leather pants and vest tailored so tight the toned lines of her body are easy to pick up. With precise movements, she goes through a series of footwork essential to swordplay, two daggers shimmering in her hands, stabbing at the air like she’s facing an enemy. I never got to see my mother, but when Herinor clears his throat in his memory and the female stops and turns toward him, daggers lowered halfway, big, ocean blue eyes stare right at him—at me through his perspective?—

My heart skips a beat as I take in her oval face, the slightly too-full upper lip pressing down hard on the lower lip. High cheekbones, not soft and lovely like Ayna’s but sharp like mine, define her features, a slightly hooked nose finishing the image. She isn’t beautiful, not in the traditional sense, but the fierceness in her eyes captures me in an instant. Eyes deep like the waters the color of which they hold. Eyes so intriguing they could capture entire kingdoms.

“What’s your name?” Herinor’s demand breaks my thoughts and traps me back in his.

The female shakes her head in a gesture speaking of wildness despite the control I just witnessed when she stabbed her invisible opponent a hundred times. Skilled and beautiful. A dangerous package.

“Myrion.” Her voice carries across the dunes, and I think it’s too lovely for a warrior Crow like her, but she smooths her features into a slight smile as she takes in my uniform, the emblem of the Winghaven line on my breast, and sheathes her daggers. “Who is asking?”

Inclining my head, I gesture at the palace behind me, at the window on the first floor where I know King Carius must be watching. “The King of Crows.”

Myrion’s eyes flash as she takes me in, head to toe. “You’re the King of Crows?”

I want to laugh, but King Carius’s gaze weighs heavy, even from a distance. No room for errors. His punishments are known throughout the realm. And if he’s interested in this female… A pang of pity spreads in my stomach, and for a heartbeat, I consider telling her to go train somewhere else, that this property isn’t for public use, but part of that would be a lie with the other four females hovering on the king’s beach, probably desperate to be seen and invited into his bed or into that of one of his courtiers for the night—or longer. It would be a lie, so I blow out a breath.

“King Carius is in the palace. I’m just a guard.”

Her mouth curves downward in a hint of disappointment, but when I blink, it’s gone, a bright smile spreading on her face. “A guard.” She nods to the sword at my hip. “You any good with that pointy thing, then?” Challenge sparks in her eyes, and I want to instantly show her just how good, but whatever this moment right here means, whatever the momentary flare of wonder and interest inside my stomach does to me, the female isn’t for me if Carius sent me to inquire her name.

“However good I may be, Myrion,” I say with a small bow, “I assure you, King Carius is much better.”

Beckoning her to follow, I slowly make my way back to the palace, training my gaze on the sandy path before me. Myrion doesn’t say a word as she falls into step beside me.

I’m thrown out of Herinor’s memory so fast I’m reeling, fingers digging into Ayna’s so hard I worry the tang of blood will penetrate the air any moment. But when I glance down, my talons have retreated, and the shadows at my fingertips have once more quieted.

No one is moving as I lift my gaze to screen the room. Reality. I’m back to the present, my mother buried in Herinor’s memories once more. His light green eyes meet mine, an expression of misery defining his features.

“Myrion,” he whispers. “She gave you a version of her own name.” Throat bobbing hard, he blinks away the moisture in his eyes. “I’d forgotten what a free and fierce spirit she was before she met Carius. How—” He cuts himself off, but Kaira’s mind link provides all the words he’s trying to hide.

How beautiful, how incredible, how gifted and grand-hearted. Remorse envelops each word in a coarse texture, smoothing away the sharp edges of the bitter warrior’s perspective.

I’m not sure how I feel about the way he thinks about my mother, if there was ever more between them, or if this is merely the expression of respect and affection for a female who got to marry the cruelest of all Crows.

“I’ve seen enough.” I don’t care that my sour tone betrays the turmoil inside me. I’ve learned enough about the male who betrayed us. I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to learn, and I know what I need to do.

Grasping Ayna’s hand more tightly, I incline my head at Kaira, who is shaking from either exhaustion or from her own inner storm of emotions—I wouldn’t be surprised at either. “Thank you for assisting us with your skills.” My gaze lands on Tori, who nods once, confirmation he’ll be taking care of the situation if I choose to leave right now.

For a long moment, I study Herinor kneeling on the hard floor, the regret and the pain exuding from him with every exhale, but it’s Ayna who finds the words which I cannot.

“Thank you.”

The male’s eyes lock on hers, two tormented orbs of spring green. “For what? I only ever caused you pain.”

“Even if you hurt me in the process, you brought Myron and me back together. And everything you did to help … him since.” She cautiously emphasizes that Herinor helped me just to keep the magic of bargains happy.

A blend of awe and fear rises in my belly as my mate detaches from my grasp, striding over to stand before Herinor still kneeling in front of Kaira. Her sister takes a casual step back, eager to get away from the male whose thoughts she just channeled, her flushed cheeks turning pale as Ayna extends a hand to the traitor—no, the misguided male who has been fighting to make things right.

The air in the rooms seems to drain as Herinor glances up at her in question, as if he can’t believe she is offering her delicate hand. When he hesitantly places his rough, scarred one in hers, my gut clenches, everything within me screaming to leap between them, to protect her from the dangers slumbering within Herinor’s oath.

For a long, long moment, they stare at each other, a wordless conversation passing between them. When she finally tugs on his hand and he stands, Herinor’s head remains bowed, gaze lowered to his boots.

“I’m so sorry.” I could swear tears choke his voice.

And just when I think my mate is the most amazing creature in the universe, she does the unbelievable and wraps both arms around Herinor’s broad form. “I forgive you.” Her whisper cuts through the silence like steel through liquid gold, coating her voice with glimmering metal.

Herinor’s shoulders are shaking, hair spilling over Ayna’s arm as he latches onto her in a desperate embrace. “I don’t deserve it.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice Kaira shaking her head.

Broken. This male is broken in so many ways even I can’t begin to understand, and yet, his queen is forging him anew with her heart large enough to fit our entire kingdom. And this traitor will be part of it.

“It’s never too late to make the right choice,” Herinor says through tears, and something in the way he speaks the words tells me they mean more to him than any of us could ever comprehend.