Page 52

Fifty-Two

Herinor

The first thing I notice when the fairy general lands us in the throne room of the palace in Aceleau is that everyone in the room is wearing fighting leathers. Even the pregnant Fairy Queen has put on vambraces, shoulder and chest pieces, and low-cut leather pants that hug her swollen womb where they end in a sleeve of elastic cotton. Andraya and Pouly are sitting in two of the high-backed chairs arranged in a circle around the map spread on the floor like in a war council where nobody bothered to bring a table. Next to Pouly, Rogue and Sanja sit side by side, hands laced together as they wait for the rest of us to join. Royad sits next to the Fairy Queen, studying the markers on the map. Kaira and the three rebels who escaped with us stand at the center of the room, each of them holding a mug of a steaming brew the smell of which wafts across the three feet of air separating us as Tori drops Myron, Silas, and me off in the pompous, glimmering space. I’d never thought I’d be glad to see the obnoxious luxury of the Fairy King’s residence again, yet I can’t help but marvel at the elaborately carved columns near the wide balcony doors, the glimmering walls and polished marble of the floor.

Despite the relative peace of the atmosphere, deafening silence reigns the hall, faces grim and eyes tired.

We have made it into the room all of two steps when Royad leaps up from his chair on the side of the room, darting for Myron and throwing his arms around the Crow King’s shoulders and pulling him tight. The sight sends a pang of emotion through my chest, and I can’t help smiling at him over Myron’s shoulder as he finds my gaze, nodding his thanks that I brought his cousin home in one piece.

I’m not the reason Myron’s alive, though. Ayna made it happen by sacrificing her freedom. Smart, foolish Crow Queen.

A few steps from me, Kaira sways on her feet. A tug in my chest urges me to offer her my arm and walk her to the closest chair, but I freeze to the spot as her gaze finds mine, catching me staring.

Before I can embarrass myself with the lack of words, Tori walks up to her, supporting her by the elbow. Within a blink of an eye, they vanish and reappear by the circle of chairs where Tori sits Kaira down. “You should save your strength, Flameling.” A light palm pressing onto her shoulder, he sits her down next to Andraya, who’s still staring at us new arrivals like she’s trying to figure something out. Royad follows suit, immediately back in his role as Myron’s loyal second.

He sits down next to where the Crow King takes a seat across from her, carefully setting down the ominous bag he brought back from the clearing beside his chair, nodding at Rogue and Sanja once and bracing his forearms on his knees and studying the map of Eherea at his feet, the colorful figurines and markers. Only then does the lady rebel clear her throat.

“Where is she?” Even though barely a murmur, the question hangs in the air like a ball of thunder ready to unleash itself onto all of us if we give the wrong answer.

Myron’s head tilts up, hair sliding back from his forehead and cheeks where it had hung like a curtain while he focused on the map. An unreadable expression has taken over his features, the mask of the king who doesn’t and won’t care about anything or anyone. The mask he perfected until Ayna saved us all from Vala’s curse. Now our queen needs our aid, and the Galloris himself shall be damned, there’s nothing we can do.

“She chose to leave us.”

Myron’s answer sucks the air from the room.

So Kaira and the three rebels haven’t told them.

Royad’s gaze darts to Silas then to me, silently demanding answers, but both of us shake our heads an inch. This isn’t for us to tell.

“What do you mean, ‘ chose to leave us ’?” The room turns a degree colder as Andraya’s sparkling blue eyes pierce into Myron’s blue ones. If Clio was in the room, I’d blame it on her ice magic, but the Fairy Princess is absent, and I haven’t found the courage to ask where she’s gone.

“She made a deal with Ephegos.”

Outrage shaking her body, Andraya leaps from her chair, finger pointing at the Crow King whose expression hasn’t changed—except for the hint of defeat shining through.

“How could you let this happen?” Pouly is on his feet, too, grabbing for the hilt of his sword on instinct as he rushes to Andraya’s aid.

Myron lowers his head, shaking it from side to side, hair falling over his features like a curtain closing before a stage, and his shoulders quiver as he stifles a sob.

So broken. So … helpless in the face of losing his mate to the very male who wants him suffering.

Is this how you intended for this to go? I think at the God of Darkness, smothering the anger rising in my belly. The sort of anger that used to make me a danger to everyone in my path. Is that what you wanted for your descendant? For the Queen of Crows? I ball my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. What sort of sick deity would sell the fate of their offspring in a bargain with a villainous madman?

Shaelak doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. But I take a stance between my shattering king and the two humans who attack him with accusations they have no idea what they are talking about.

“Sit your human asses down, and listen before you make a rash judgement on a male who would never—and I mean never —betray his mate.”

Royad rises from his chair, ready to intervene should I lose my temper, but I’m far from it. This is nothing.

Once more, the room falls silent, Rogue and Sanja’s warning glances spearing me as I tower over the two rebels who only want to know what happened to their queen. To my queen, too.

So I take a deep breath, turning back to my chair. I’m about to sit down when I meet Kaira’s gaze, and the only thing worse than the frown on her face is the hint of fear at the sight of my temper. Royad shoots me a warning glance as he seats himself, and damn the gods, I drop into my chair and, sighing through my nose, slump against the backrest. “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?” The question is directed at both Myron and Kaira, but the Crow King lifts his head and wipes his eyes, unafraid of what judgement awaits him at the sight of his tears. He’s been keeping it together so well; I don’t know what changed now, other than facing Andraya and Pouly, who’ve fought for Ayna’s freedom before and who will have a hard time accepting that this time, it was Ayna’s choice.

Before Myron can speak, I seize the word, explaining what happened in the clearing after Clio site-hopped the two rebels out, and what has happened since Ayna’s grand gesture to save her mate and her sister—all of us, really, but I’m leaving this little fact out for now. It’s enough to watch the faces turn into masks of horror then fall as they understand Ayna knew full well what she was getting into.

What hits me deepest is Kaira’s dead eyes as I retell the escape from the enemy camp and how she blasted us out of the shield with her strange yet powerful magic.

For an extended moment, the throne room falls silent again. Even Myron’s breathing has returned to normal, his inner strength rebuilding with his resolve. His tears aren’t signs of weakness but those of the power given to him by the sacred connection to his mate. It’s the strength of two souls turned into one.

As if reading my mind, Kaira blinks at me, and I check my mental shield to make sure she can’t see into the void opening up at the thought that, despite the muscles and magic at my disposal, I’m weaker because I haven’t chosen to become vulnerable with someone who reinforces the shields of hope and love buried deep down within me.

“So she’s never coming back?” Pouly wants to know, his voice brittle as if he’s aged ten years in the past half hour.

“Not to my court.” The raw emotion in Myron’s tone speaks of the wealth of sorrow building inside of him, the solid determination that will, from now on, paint our path.

Royad isn’t saying a word, but I can read the disappointment from his expression. He’s been hoping until the very last moment for this to turn into news he can handle. Now he knows like the rest of this Crow Court that the Queen won’t come home to us.

“But to Tavras, she will.” I’m not certain I like the relief in Andraya’s tone when she understands that this might be bad for the Crows, but the rightful Queen of Tavras could still reign over the human territory in the southeast of Eherea. “She won’t abandon both her courts.”

It’s in that moment that Myron’s irises flash the deepest onyx, veins of shadow and ink spider-webbing around his eyes. His spine straightens, but he leans back in his chair as if the weight of his own realization is too much to bear on his broad shoulders.

“What is it, Crow King?” It’s Sanja who beats me to the question, but it doesn’t matter when Myron merely shakes his head in response, darkness dripping from his fingertips, pooling around the legs of his chair.

“Wherever the Crow Queen can or will go is up to her and the gods who refuse to aid our cause.” He sends a sharp glance around the room for emphasis. “Let’s talk war strategies, Fairy Queen. We need to be prepared to win this war without her.”