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Thirty-Six

Ayna

“What do you mean you don’t have news on the antidote?” Queen Sanja’s amber gaze is nothing I want to be the mark of as she sends it across the elegant low couch table like she’s ready to spear the King of Askarea alive and roast him over an open fire.

To his credit, Rogue bristles only slightly before regaining his control and quirking a brow at her. “The healers haven’t made any progress. The vial has limited contents. We’ve put the experiments on hold until we have a more solid idea of how to create an antidote.” Leaning toward her, he reaches for her belly, stroking the roundness gently even when his tone remains fierce. “I’m not going to waste what little of the poison we have left on wild guesses.”

Wild guesses seem what our little group has become most adept at over the past weeks. All the theories about Ephegos and his intentions. The locations and potential movements of Erina’s legions and spies. Not to forget the God of Darkness, maker of the Crows and my far ancestor. I gag on the mere thought of someone who shares my blood willing to sell me to a traitor of his own creation.

Better focus on the easy things in life, like picking a side in this conflict about whether or not we should pursue the experiments regarding the antidote.

“It doesn’t need to be an antidote,” Clio throws in. “The poison would do the trick. If we could douse the Flames and the Crows with it during battle, we’d even the field the way they tried with us.”

She’s right. We all know she’s right, but even Herinor hasn’t been able to come up with memories of the recipe for the Guardiansdamned serum that has caused so much misery for me and mine.

“The healers are even more clueless about how to make that one. Flame blood, yes, but the other ingredients…” Rogue muses, getting up from his perch on the edge of the black brocade chair in his study where we’ve been sitting for half an hour, comparing notes and gathering our combined knowledge about the drug. Anything that might help us unlock the riddle is welcome, but even knowing the effects it evokes in the different physiques of human, Crow Fae, and Askarean Fairy hasn’t been of any help.

Sanja sweeps her long, shiny black tresses back over her shoulder, running a hand down her sternum as she stretches her spine, the strain of pregnancy clearly weighing on her, and Rogue’s stern features soften. Within the blink of an eye, he disappears mid-step toward his mahogany desk, reappearing seated beside Sanja on the couch. With a careful pair of arms, he pulls her closer. Tori and Clio both smile while the rest of us try not to stare at the display of mately concern. Silas clears his throat, looking anywhere but at the Fairy King and Queen, Kaira opting for the gardens below the narrow balcony leading from the simple yet elegant room, and Herinor folds his arms across his chest, studying the loose thread at the sleeve of his tunic with sudden interest. Royad starts murmuring with Myron, both of them standing behind my chair.

“Anything I can get you?” Rogue murmurs, already using his magic, summoning a tray with a glass of water, a cup of herbal tea, judging by the smell of it, and various cookies and salty snacks on three different plates. He sets it down on the table, fingers of his other hand resting on the now-moving belly.

“He’s kicking again,” Sanja groans. “If he’ll be anything as active as he is now when he’s out, we won’t sleep for a decade.”

I can’t hold back a chuckle. I have no idea about younglings, but if their child has any resemblance to either of them, it’s going to be a handful.

As if remembering he’s supposed to play the role of the war-waging monarch, Recienne straightens, hand sliding from the purple velvet gown covering his mate’s abdomen. I smile widely at him because this moment, private as it might have been, gives me an idea.

“The antidote would be a great way to increase our chances in open battle. As would be the poison.” The map from last night flashes before me, all those locations of hidden troops lying low. “But even if we figure it out, it might be too late to use in battle and not enough quantity to affect an entire army.”

“I don’t believe I’m following;” Rogue says, adjusting the gold-threaded cuffs of his black tunic.

In my palm, I sense Myron’s presence, his encouragement, even when I can’t see his face with him remaining behind me.

With a wave of said hand, I gesture at Sanja’s belly. “The Crows loyal to Ephegos may fight for what they believe is their right, following a traitor who will sacrifice any of them easily if it serves his own interest. But they don’t have what you have.”

Rogue’s brows rise up so high I wonder if they will disappear into his hairline. “And what’s that, Ayna?”

My lips spread wide, smile becoming impossibly broader. “A family. A future filled with life and love.” Myron’s hands settle on my shoulders, squeezing gently, and warmth fills me as I can see that future clearly before me. Sanja and Rogue with their little one, Clio and Tori, the doting aunt and uncle. “You have something to fight for, Rogue, and something to lose. Tavras, on the other hand, has no true motivation to go to war other than a megalomaniac king and his Crow friend. I doubt Tavrasian soldiers are eager to march into battle at all with the kingdom thriving the way it is.”

“Ephegos can give a surprisingly convincing hate speech,” Herinor points out, and none of us needs to be reminded of the memories Kaira dug up from the male’s mind.

“You say that like it’s an excuse.” The cold edge in Kaira’s tone shuts him up immediately.

“Plus, there’s the personal vendetta against you,” Royad chimes in, gesturing at Myron and me. “At least, those rogue Crows will follow him in his mad desire to rule the world. The Flames, too, I assume if what we assume is right and Jeseida had groomed him as her heir after Sariell’s death.”

None of us likes to be reminded of the tangled conglomerate of reasons why Ephegos will get more support than he deserves.

Kaira bobs her head. “The Flames have more reason to attack than Tavras does. Even when Ephegos is a Crow, he’s managed to bring them all over to his side, fueling the belief that it’s Carius’s heir who deserves to be punished for the Crows taking their home in the first place.”

Sanja’s groan of frustration draws all our eyes, and I’m not surprised to find her rolling her own eyes. “This is like Cyrill all over again.”

I have no idea who Cyrill is, but Rogue, Tori, and Clio nod in unison, grimacing at the mere mention of that name.

“Long story,” Sanja dismisses my unvoiced question. “Perhaps another time, after we send Ephegos behind Eroth’s veil and freeze those flame-spitting Fire Fairies over.”

For a heartbeat, I think Kaira will be offended, but she murmurs her approval, meeting my gaze as she probably reads my thoughts all over again. “Don’t worry about me, sis. That tiny spark of fire that I hold isn’t nearly enough to make me a real Flame. I’d rather consider myself a normal fairy.”

“We’ll need more troops—human, Crow, or fairy—to balance out Tavras’s advantage of the drug.” Rubbing her hand over the side of her stomach where the baby is kicking again, she slides a bit higher in her seat. “I’d go to Jezuin myself if the little one wasn’t tormenting me day and night.”

The horror in Rogue’s eyes isn’t fake at all. He knows she means it. The Queen of Askarea wouldn’t shy away from the risk of leaving the palace if it meant she could protect her family. “I’ll go. I’m certain Dimar II won’t deny me if I ask in your name.” There’s doubt in his voice, as if he has a history of being greeted with distrust and malevolence in the human lands.

“Perhaps, I should go,” Tori offers. “Between the three of us, I do speak diplomacy the best.”

Clio’s wild hair showers over her shoulder in a spray of copper as she shakes her head. “Guarantee they’ll be intimidated out of their wits is all you’d do.” Ignoring the curious expression on her mate’s face, she presses a kiss to his cheek, an offer of consolation. “Nothing against you, Tori, but Dimar II would shit himself.”

Both Herinor and Silas chuckle, and Myron steps around the chair to perch beside me on the rolled armrest. “Could you site-hop Sanja to Jezuin?” he suggests. “If she’s the most likely to get a positive response out of the King of Cezux, then perhaps she should go.”

Rogue has murder in his eyes as he stands up from his chair and explains to Myron, voice so cold I involuntarily shiver, “I won’t risk the pregnancy to site-hop Sanja around like an emissary. She’s no longer human but not a full fairy either. Even with immortality gifted by the Guardians, our healers sometimes don’t understand all of her physique. Site-hopping is dangerous for a born fairy. If you believe I’ll play games with my mate’s and my child’s health for this war, think again.”

For a long moment, no one speaks, tension building in the air until it’s hard to breathe. Only when Sanja places a hand on Rogue’s arm, guiding him back into his seat, does the Fairy King seem to remember we’re not enemies.

“Touchy subject,” Clio comments, dissipating the rest of that uncomfortable prickle in the air. “Sanja is staying home. Besides, if the Cezuxian throne responds better to round-eared creatures, perhaps we should bring some of our rebel friends. I’m sure Andraya would do well negotiating support in this war.”

“For Tavras,” I remind her. “The rebels are only interested in Tavras. I doubt they’d call for aid to support Askarea.” Much as the rebels burn for their mission, it is limited to my homelands, and I doubt they’d offer to defend the fairylands even if the queen they want to see on the Tavrasian throne was the one to ask for their support. “And I’ll gladly go if it means I could buy us a chance at support.”

“We should at least try.” Kaira cocks her head at Herinor’s remark. It’s the first time I’ve caught her openly looking him in the eye since that day in the dungeon.

If only the two of them could get over themselves—Kaira over her grudge and distrust and Herinor over that sense of being unworthy of my sister—they would make a formidable front our enemies would tremble before. But it’s not up to me to push them toward each other when I understand Kaira’s reasons for caution all too well. I saw the memories Herinor shared, saw the male he used to be and the choices that brought him to this point of being the slave of a deal that might one day destroy us all. So I keep my mouth shut and my opinions to myself.

Checking my mental shield so Kaira can’t listen in on my thoughts, I rest my hand in Myron’s open one, glad to have someone to share the burden of this war. Maybe, one day, Kaira will have someone, too. Maybe it will be Herinor; maybe it won’t.

The sideways glance Kaira shoots in my direction informs me she pushed past the shield anyway, and the way the corner of her mouth is twitching upward is a sign I might not be all wrong about my hopes.

“I’ll go with you to see Andraya and Pouly,” she tells me instead of commenting on my thoughts. “Plus, we should bring some of the handsome males as well. I know Andraya will be more receptive to our ideas with a pretty face in her presence when we deliver the news.”

Herinor’s shoulders straighten an inch, but it’s Tori who speaks first. “I’ll site-hop you there today,” he offers, much to Clio’s dismay, who lifts a brow, patting her mate’s bicep.

“She said pretty males.”

The snort laugh pushing through Herinor’s nose earns him a sharp glance from Kaira. “That’s why you ’re not coming either.”

That wipes the grin right off Herinor’s face, but Silas steps forward, smooth as a fox, resting his hands on the hilt of the hatchet he never leaves his bedroom without these days. “I believe Andraya was particularly impressed with Royad.”

All eyes turn to the male, who shrinks an inch where he still stands behind my chair.

Myron ignores that Royad is opening his mouth to protest, gesturing at the fairies in the room then the room in general. “I’ll need you here to continue working on a strategy to defeat Erina’s armies. With Ephegos in the lead and that damned drug at their disposal, we need to find an edge they don’t expect, or there will no longer be a Crow Court.”

A respectful dip of Royad’s chin tells me he knows Myron relies on him to find that edge and that he’ll do whatever it takes not to disappoint his king.

“Besides the pretty males,” Silas cuts off the brief silence, “we’ll need some muscle on our journey to Cezux, just to make sure our queen and her sister won’t run into trouble.” He gestures at himself and Herinor.

The glance the latter gives Kaira tells all sorts of stories about how he wishes he was that trouble for her.

Tori clamps his hands. “It’s decided then; Royad stays. I’ll take Ayna, Kaira, Silas and Herinor to the rebels, and when Andraya agrees to help, I’ll take her to Cezux alone.”