Page 14 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)

The new Ayna—the one with Crow instincts—inhales deeply, scenting the remains of this morning’s activities on herself and her mate, and answers the Crow general’s remark with a satisfied smile. “Perhaps we’ll take tomorrow off, then.”

Beside him, Silas barks a laugh, and I could swear the humor in his eyes is genuine.

“Grab a training sword,” Royad orders rather than dignifying my comment with a response. “Myron, you work with Tori. Ayna, you work with me.”

With light feet, he hops off the log he was sitting on and pulls a dulled blade from the rack at the side of the arena.

The fact that this place appears less daunting through my fae eyes than it used to with my human ones might have something to do with how my senses are faster, as are my reactions.

I follow Royad to the back of the arena where Clio is fighting Pouly and Rochus at the same time, while Ed, Gabrilla, and Andraya stand nearby, observing while they wait their turn.

Myron and Tori are on the other side of the arena, already throwing punches between blows with their swords.

My stomach tightens at the sight of Tori’s fist attempting a punch to Myron’s side, but the Crow side-steps it so elegantly Tori’s fist slides off his ribs without doing damage.

I’ll need to get used to the image of both of them fighting and both of them getting hurt.

If I waste a moment on cringing on the battlefield, I might miss a life-ending blow to my own neck .

Pouly curses as Clio has her sword at his throat for the third time in a row while she keeps Rochus at bay with her magic.

She’s not going easy on them, and right she is.

If the humans face Crows or Flames in the battles to come, they will need to know how to handle themselves around magical attacks.

“You two take a break,” Royad says to the two rebels as we walk past them. “Andraya and Ed are next.”

Pouly and Rochus wipe the sweat off their faces and head back to the palace, avoiding getting into the sparring fairies’ path as they cross the arena, while Ed and Andraya take the training swords Clio hands them.

“Ready?” Royad asks, but he’s already attacking.

I more feel than see his sword arm moving, the change in the air behind me tipping me off, and my instincts set in.

In a blur of leather and steel, I spin on my heels, meeting Royad’s blow with the flat of my blade.

A grin spreads on his face as he assesses my stance.

“Looks like you haven’t forgotten how to handle a sword, Ayna. ”

I take that as an invitation to attack. On light feet, I dance back, getting into position, and leap at the general of the Crow court.

My general. Royad meets each blow with a measured parry, the way he always has, but he’s breaking a sweat after a few minutes, and I know he’s not just letting me off easy.

Royad actually has to put in some effort.

It’s all the reminder I need to reach into myself for the Crow strength I so often forget I have at my disposal. When I attack this time, my arm resonates with power, heat flooding my veins and filling my muscles. I’m a flash of silver and steel, my strikes no longer slow like those of human Ayna .

“Good,” Royad grunts when he needs to retreat a few steps to duck away from a blow he’s too late to meet with his sword. “Use your strength.”

So I do. I move so fast the arena blurs around me—blurs like the carriage Ephegos kept me in, blurs like the landscape outside the window. The male’s voice creeps through my mind, the violence in his tone, the threats, the plans he shared to take me back to Erina and let the Jelnedyn king have me?—

Every moment I had to hold myself back so as not to give away I was recovering from the drug, every time I had to pretend to be weak, useless, defenseless—they break out of me in relentless attacks.

Royad meets all of them with his blade, letting me work it off, letting me channel my frustration, my rage, until my entire body is humming with unchecked power. Until my blows become hard to parry and my blade gets into his guard.

As if knowing I need this, Royad shouts his encouragement, leaping out of my sword’s path and putting his full strength into each block.

“Very good, Ayna. Keep going.” His voice is strained, but I can’t hold back. All I hear is Ephegos’s order to cut off my hand if I caused any trouble. That I wouldn’t need both hands to fulfill my purpose.

Never again will I be helpless. Never again will I put my fate into the hands of a monster such as him. Never again will I allow him to get such power over me.

I’m a Crow. The Queen of Crows. The first female Crow in millennia. I broke a godsdamned curse. I was trapped in my bird body and broke free. I fucking became immortal. I won’t be afraid of you, Ephegos. I won’t be afraid of you!

My legs are trees planting roots in the frozen ground, my arms the wiry, flexible branches of a willow as I whip them around, aiming for his shoulder. He leaps back, but the tip of my blade meets his arm.

With a curse, he topples to his knees, catching his fall with his sword hand and losing his grasp on the hilt while my blade is swinging for his neck. A growl of victory rolls in my throat.

Wide, ocean blue eyes stare up at me, and a ripple of recognition shakes me awake.

At his neck. At Royad’s neck, not Ephegos’s. This is Royad. And I’m about to take off his head.

I yield an inch from his skin, barely able to stop the swing, and it hits me what I’d been about to do.

So fast I can’t even think, I drop the blade and take a step back. “I-I’m sorry.”

The arena has gone awfully silent, all eyes on us now—on me —as I stumble farther away. How could I have lost control like that?

Reading the question from my face, Royad gives me a forgiving smile.

“No reason to apologize, Ayna. If anything, you should be proud to have me at the tip of your blade.” But his eyes give away that he saw me drifting away in my own head.

He knows how close I was to taking his head off.

All of them know. Each last fairy, Crow, and human in the area saw me almost kill one of our own.

I want to turn around and run back to the palace where I can hide for the rest of the day, but Royad gets to his feet, shaking out his arm, a thin glow of silver running along the outside of the leathers covering his bicep as he heals the invisible injury I just gave him.

“Let’s put down the swords for now and do some hand-to-hand instead,” he suggests with a grin I’m sure he doesn’t feel, but I don’t call him out for it. If anything, I’m grateful. He can still wipe the arena with me in hand-to-hand combat, and I won’t be able to cut his throat in the process.

So I give him a nod.

As we take up our stances at the edge of the arena once more, I sense Myron’s gaze lingering on me, and through the mating bond, a hint of worry drifts toward me.