Page 22 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)
Sixteen
Ayna
The first few camps we visit are the ones farthest south. As two of the most powerful fairies in Askarea, Clio and Tori opted for those camps to leave the ones up north to the guards who will deplete their reserves faster by going longer distances.
Every camp shows the same reaction when I appear with the copper-haired fairy princess in their midst, be it from thin air when we happen to hit the exact position, or simply walk into their camps from outside when we need to hike a mile or two when we miss the spot.
Blades and arrows are drawn at us, and eyes full of suspicion assess us until Clio declares she isn’t here to freeze them all over in a flash, and I reveal my identity.
Then, the questions about my ears start.
If it’s true that the Queen of Tavras was turned into a Crow.
That they hoped it was just stories. But eventually, all of them are on board with the plan, and with every group of rebels we convince to march northwest instead of northeast, my heart grows heavier, collecting more souls I might have on my conscience by the end of this war.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Clio says as we take a brief break hidden high up in the branches of a snow-covered oak. “It’s part of being a queen, sending troops to their potential death.” She doesn’t sound nearly as unbothered as she is trying to, and I don’t buy the half of it.
“They are my people, whether I’ll rule over them one day or not. I am responsible for their lives. They are part of this war because of me, and if they die, they’ll die for me.” Every last word resonates inside of me like a verdict.
“They chose to fight this war long before you were born.” Clio wraps her cloak more tightly around herself.
“They have been fighting it for generations, for your ancestors and their ancestors. If anything, you’re a beacon of hope for them.
Seeing you in the flesh gives them a reason to fight harder. ”
“You mean to risk everything.”
She raises a thin brow at me, jade eyes flashing with disapproval. “If they don’t fight, they’ll lose what they’ve been working for over centuries with certainty, while if they fight, they’ll buy a chance to win. ”
It doesn’t lighten my mood. “One more camp before we head back to the palace.” My limbs are heavy, and my head aches from site-hopping through the world for the past hours, and I’m ready to return to Aceleau and head straight for my bed, curl up, and never get up again.
“One more.” Clio holds out her hand, and I take it.
Before I can say I’m ready, she pulls me off the branch, leaping into the void that swallows us both and spits us out on the doorstep of an old barn.
The air is a few degrees warmer than at our last destination, and the wind isn’t whipping our braids around our heads the way it did at the first few camps.
“I guess we’re lucky this time.” Clio puts her hand on the door, listening with her head cocked and eyes skyward.
“Sounds like they are in a good mood.” She refers to the sound of lutes and pipes, the heavy rhythmical steps, and the clash of heavy mugs.
“And if the smell is anything to go by, they cooked us dinner.” She sniffs, her lids closing as she inhales the scent of spices and dried herbs, of meats and vegetables. “A party fit for a queen.”
Winking at me, she pushes the door open and steps inside, pulling me along by the hand as she reveals the view of at least fifty people dancing at the center of the huge barn.
Double the number of rebels sit on pallets of straw at the side of the space or stand in the corners, chatting and drinking.
Several barrels of ale stand at the side of the dance floor, a tall, heavy-built woman ladling ale into people’s mugs when they come for a refill.
I’m so taken by surprise I almost miss the two men shooting from the shadows left and right from the door, their swords pointing at our throats as they grab us by the biceps and drag us toward the center of the room.
It would be easy to get out of their grasp, but fighting them wouldn’t help our cause.
Instead, we let them believe they’ve got us under control and stumble along as they shove us onto the dance floor.
The music stops, people making way for us while two more men frame us, grabbing us by the other arms to restrain us in case we get any ideas.
“Those bastards have no respect for a holiday, do they?” A woman with short, chestnut hair and narrowed brown eyes stares us down from beside the ale barrels.
My heart leaps into a sprint as I share a look with Clio, who seems not particularly amused she has to pretend she couldn’t get out of this if she wanted.
Well, perhaps both of us could. These are about a hundred and fifty rebels or more, all of them trained, and even if none of them are featuring magic-repellant armor, perhaps we couldn’t get out as easily.
“Did Erina send you? Or his pet Crow?” The woman stalks closer, circling us as she takes her measure.
“Neither.” My voice is smooth, all signs of nervousness smothered by the facade I learned to put up during my various captivities. “We sent ourselves.”
That earns me a laugh from the woman, the crowd now curiously staring from the edge of the dance floor joining her with various degrees of amused mockery.
“Yourselves…” She stops right in front of Clio, studying her elegant leathers, the lush braid, and beautiful face. “And who might you be to disturb our solstice celebrations? ”
Clio shrugs. “I’m no one. I’m just here because she needed to get here fast, and I was the best mode of transportation.”
The rebel woman blinks with confusion as her gaze darts between Clio and me.
“Sorry to interrupt your festivities.” I put on my most apologetic smile. “Would you care to offer two travelers a mug of ale? I haven’t had Tavrasian ale in—” I pause to think when I’ve last tasted the spicy brew. “In forever.” Or at least, it feels like forever.
“You want ale?” The woman gestures for the sentries who are restraining us to make sure we don’t go anywhere while she waves a hand at the tall woman by the barrels.
“There are only two ways you get ale in here, fairy.” Her gaze flicks to my ears, unimpressed.
“Either you are a rebel, or you earn it.”
Some of the rebels holler their approval while Clio rolls her eyes at me, practically begging me to let her show this woman this is not a way to talk to a fairy—or anyone who doesn’t mean her harm.
Thank the gods, Clio knows how to keep her temper when she wants to, so all she does is clear her throat and put on a smile as she turns toward me.
“Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”
I shake my head at her then glance left and right at the two men restraining me, a warning as much as to mark their faces--two attentive sentries who kept watch over this solstice celebration.
“There actually is a third way.” I smile at the man to my right, who is eyeing my ears like he’d like to touch the tips and see what they feel like. At least, they haven’t taken my daggers and Clio’s sword, so if they choose to dissect us for our fairy traits, we’ll be able to defend ourselves.
“A third way?” the woman who’s established herself as their leader prompts. “Now I’m curious.”
Steeling myself, I meet her gaze, attention half on the man who is still studying my ear. “You’d offer your queen a mug of ale, wouldn’t you?”
The woman barks an unbecoming laugh. “I certainly would, but for that, my queen would need to show her ass in the midst of us lowly soldiers. You don’t think she’d actually do that.”
My heart is racing out of my chest.
“Soldiers?” I didn’t pay much attention to their appearances when we entered the room, too distracted by the music and dancing, but now that I do, I notice they are all wearing the same clothes—gray leather pants and black boots.
Some of them have layered their gray leather jackets atop their shirts. Uniforms. “You’re real soldiers.”
The woman’s eyes narrow with suspicion as she gestures at her shoulder where a black star sits engraved into the gray leather. “Would you enlighten us as to what you mean by real soldiers? I’ve never encountered unreal soldiers. Either you’re in the military or not.”
By the gods. She was referring to her queen before, or I’d shit myself from fear of having walked into a lair of Erina’s soldiers, but these are rebel soldiers.
“Let me answer your other question first.” I swallow my sigh of relief as I look over the men and women trained for battle. Soldiers from Erina’s armies wearing his nondescript armor. People with potential knowledge of what moves Ephegos has planned, his strengths, his weaknesses.
“Very well.” She waves a dismissive hand, and I give her a broad grin.
“She would.”
The woman blinks again, waiting for me to explain.
“Your queen,” I say matter-of-factly, counting down the heartbeats until she understands.
At the back of the room, a few men whisper the word queen , and someone laughs while others gasp.
The woman raises a brow, and when she realizes what I’m trying to say—“Are you shitting me? You can’t possibly be the Queen of Tavras.”
“In the flesh.” I cock my head, staring her down. “You’ve heard the rumors about the Milevishja heir turning into a Crow, haven’t you?”
The woman doesn’t deny it, and neither do her soldiers. The whispers get louder, people rising to their toes to see to the center of the room where Clio is standing by my side like a proud guard.
“In case you’re wondering if she’s telling the truth,” the fairy princess drawls, “she is. Queen Wolayna Milevishja of Tavras. Your Queen and an ally of my people.”
The woman eyes me head to toe, the leathers, the ash blonde braid, the steel gray eyes, and pale skin. And my ears. Her gaze catches there, lingering for a few heartbeats, while her throat bobs.
“You aren’t shitting me, are you?”
“I’m not. ”