Page 1 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)

One

Myron

A warm breeze drifts on a swift wind carrying inland from the ocean in the west as I land on the outermost wall of the city built of sandstone and dreams. I can see why Queen Sanja of Askarea wanted to come here herself.

The blend of spices and fruit drifting on the air from the small market right below my vantage point is enough to make my Crow senses soar.

I’d caught a whiff of a similar depth of scents during the brief moments I was brought to Erina’s throne room to dine with him and Ayna, a way of torturing me and of forcing her into submission.

But then, my mind had been occupied with the sight of her.

The smell of her . The devastation spreading through my gut at the thought of what Erina had planned for her.

Today, I’m a free Crow, and this isn’t Tavras. I’m as far away from the Jelnedyn king’s reach as I might ever be, perched on the city walls of Jezuin, the capital of the one ally we yet need to convince to join our cause.

Next to me, Royad lands on the sharp-cut edge of the sandstone, wings tucked to his side as he cocks his head in assessment of our target.

His eyes dart over the lively crowd below us before he lifts them to the tower high up in the innermost ring of the city.

The flame burning at the top of it served as a lighthouse for the final hours of the night during which we approached the capital of Cezux.

We rested during dawn in the little oasis of palm trees and scrappy bushes a mile north before we left for our scouting mission.

By the time Andraya and Clio show up, we’ll already know the layout of the city, the streets traders and servants take toward the palace at the peak of the rocky hill the city was built on, and we’ll know how to get in and out of Jezuin’s seat of power on wings or on foot.

Royad’s caw draws my attention to the line of wagons rolling down the main road to the gate, probably the first people to leave the city so early in the morning.

It won’t be long before the guards by the main gate give the signal to open the massive iron-and-wood barrier.

I’m not the only one whose attention he gets, though.

At the fruit stand right below my beak, a tan boy, no older than eight years, cranes his neck to look for the source of the noise and points his finger at us, his dark eyes wide with surprise and a kernel of fear .

“Look, Mommy!” He climbs onto one of the orange crates next to the stand, eager to get a closer look at the two black-feathered birds observing the morning chaos. “Crows.”

From below a beige awning, a short woman in plain, sandy-colored clothes emerges, following her son’s gaze. Her face pales at the sight of us, and her scream alerts the entire market to our arrival.

“Hide your daughters!” Someone shouts. A group of giggling girls falls silent, darting out of sight behind the back wall of a stand selling spices and pottery.

Women of all ages shrink below the awning, while the men take up simple weapons—knives, staffs meant for hiking, or whips stored on their mule-drawn carts.

Apparently, the news of the end of the Crow-bride era hasn’t made it all the way to Cezux’s population.

Another topic to bring up to King Dimar II of Cezux when we beg him for aid for Askarea on Sanja’s behalf.

It’s nowhere close to Ret Relah, and they think we’re here to reap new females?

My kind has not hunted for brides in over a century.

During that cursed time, all brides were provided by choice of the ruler of each of the three territories, Ayna being the last of them.

No more brides. The people of Cezux seem to have a long memory if they still react to crows this way.

Perhaps I should shift into my fae form and hold a short speech to restore our reputation, but rocks start flying at us from the small hands of young boys eager to protect their sisters.

What a mess .

One look at Royad, and I know he’s as ready to get out of here as I am. Perhaps we won’t do our scouting mission in our bird form after all.

A rock misses me by an inch as we spread our wings and take off, circling over the city once, avoiding getting close to the watchtowers for fear they’d shoot arrows at us.

So much for peace. So much for trust. Convincing the King of Cezux might prove the easier part of this mission if his soldiers still believe the ones begging for aid will steal their daughters in the night.

Pumping my wings, I circle higher and higher, until even the tower of the palace becomes a lone spire in an ocean of sand and beiges streaked with colorful banners.

We make it all the way to the innermost ring without being noticed again, the shouts of the people in the market still echoing in my mind.

When we land this time, we’re smarter about it.

We don’t perch on the highest point, exposed to curious eyes, but huddle under a small overhang at the foot of the tower where the wall meets the rock it’s built on.

No one expects birds to hide on the ground.

From this angle, the palace gates are visible, framed with low watchtowers manned by three guards each.

Curved swords hang at their hips, bows slung over their shoulders, their eyes scanning the cobbled street leading up to the carved doors from between the elegant sandstone houses built a little lower on the hill.

This is not where I want to go, though. My gaze lands on a niche in the wall, a few feet to the side. A perfect place to shift into our fae form if our crow shape scares the living shit out of the population of Jezuin .

Royad, strategist that he is, understands my intentions before I can give him a hint, and flutters along the edge of the rock, careful not to be spotted by the guards, and I follow, summoning my power as I mentally prepare to turn into my other form.

A form featuring pointed ears and heavy muscles.

A body superior to all human soldiers, no matter how much time they spend on the training grounds.

Sneaking along the shadows, we make it to the corner of a building, unspotted. Another heartbeat later, we step out of the stark cuts of darkness where the sun doesn’t yet reach at this early time of the day.

Thank Tori for making us change into elegant court attire rather than remaining in our usual fighting leathers, because when the guards lay eyes on us, sizing us up as if readying to take us down, it’s the absence of an excess of weapons on display and the excess of fine embroidery along the shoulders and sleeves of our tunics that seems to convince them we’re not here to slay their royals.

With his knack for diplomacy and his mind-reading abilities, he’d have been my first choice to bring on this trip, but I also understand that Rogue needs his general at his side in times of war, and Clio knows this realm just as well as Tori.

Better even, perhaps, with her close relationship with the Queen of Askarea, who once should have inherited the Cezuxian throne.

Averting my gaze, I let Royad do the talking.

Even though I’ve learned to control the inky black leaking from my fingertips over the past few days, I haven’t managed to make the black in my eyes withdraw entirely.

Luckily, the scar running down the side of Royad’s face holds enough of the guards’ attention for me to keep my rogue power unnoticed.

“State your name and business,” the taller of the two guards stepping into our path demands. From the watchtowers, arrows are being pointed at us; I don’t need to turn my head to know at least three iron-tipped missiles are ready to be fired at the slightest sign of ill intent.

“Royad of Winghaven.” It sounds better when my cousin uses the surname that’s usually unnecessary to mention. Hardly anyone outside the Crows knows about that name, and even within our people, it’s not common knowledge who Royad truly is: my kin. “And this is Myron.”

The guards scan us for a long moment that makes me want to grab them by the throat.

At least, our fae ears are well hidden beneath our hair, not giving them any indication what we are, even if we dwarf them with our fae height.

“What do you want in the palace?” This time, it’s the other guard, his grumbling tone informing me he isn’t thrilled about unannounced visitors.

I’ve no idea about court protocol in Jezuin, but in the Seeing Forest, any visitor who didn’t deliver a bride meant trouble.

My mind flicks back to all those times the princess of Askarea barged in the door in what used to be my palace.

How each time we came close to slitting each other’s throats and starting a new war.

How all of that has changed…

With a glance at the gate behind the guards, I force a bland expression onto my face, making sure not to make eye contact with either of the two men .

“We have business with the king.” The way Royad makes it sound both nonchalant yet urgent is beyond my diplomacy skills, so I once more thank the gods for my cousin.

“What business?” the first guard demands, hand on the hilt of his sword as he stares Royad down.

That costs Royad a small chuckle and a broad smile. “That’s for your king to know. But if you must, by all means, please send word into your sovereign’s private chambers to inquire if the rest of our delegation has already arrived.”

It’s a challenge to remain stoic at the sheer diameter of the guards’ eyes as they process what Royad suggests—or what he lets them believe he might imply.

It’s that moment when I decide it doesn’t matter when they see my full face and turn to pin the taller guard with a stare. I swear, his knees quake as he notices the black in my eyes.

“Let the King of Cezux know Queen Sanja of Askarea sends us.” I shove my hands into my pockets, assuming as unthreatening a posture as possible, and ignore Royad’s sideways glance as I diverge from our original plan.

“Queen Sanja,” the shorter guard stammers, but at least he doesn’t draw his sword, instead inclining his head to one of the archers in the towers. They keep their bows at the ready, but the strings are no longer pulled taut, on the verge of releasing them straight into our hearts.

Well, that went differently from how we’d planned it.

“Perhaps you should show them the letter,” a familiar female voice drawls from behind, and I only hold back my laugh because the archers lift their bows an inch higher, aiming right over Royad’s and my shoulder this time .

“Who are you?” the taller guard demands, earning a sunshine chuckle from Cliophera of Askarea.

It’s hilarious because her magic is the opposite of everything warm and cozy, and I can tell by the way the guards’ faces change into masks of fear that they recognized Clio for who she is: one of the most powerful fairies alive.

“Do I really need to introduce myself?” Clio stalks past me, squeezing through between Royad and me while the human in tow stops a step behind us Crows.

“I told her it’s a bad idea,” Lady Andraya whispers at me as she loops one arm through mine, the other through Royad’s, supporting our image of harmlessness or simply doing her best at keeping our fae instincts in check as we both tense for battle.

“We should have simply popped up in the king’s bedchamber.

“Next time,” Clio drawls at her without looking back, her focus on the two guards as she cocks her head like the predator she is. “Now, are you letting us in, or do I need to freeze this joke of a palace over?”

“Perhaps the letter will be best after all,” Andraya suggests, rummaging in her skirt pocket without withdrawing her arm from around mine, an apologetic expression gracing her warm brown features.

After a long few breaths of rustling fabric and painful tension filling the air, Andraya finally holds out her hand, a piece of parchment between her fingers that she displays for the guards with a smile on her face.

“Take it to your king. I’m sure he’ll want to invite us in. ”

Without a word, the guard takes the paper and turns on his heels, marching through a small segment of the gate that opens with a push of his hand. “Take them to the reception room,” he orders the other guard, and the man waves us along, gesturing for us to file through the door.

So we do.

On the other side of the gate, a group of soldiers is already waiting, their swords drawn and pointing at us as they lead us into the hallways of the sandstone and marble palace.