Page 3 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)
Three
Ayna
The howling wind assaulting the Plithian Plains makes the thin line of trees I took refuge in the least of welcoming hideouts, but I’ll take it. I’ll take anything that isn’t a carriage under Ephegos’s order, taking me to the tyrant king of Tavras.
Muscles sore and head aching, I huddle against the tree trunk, bemoaning the lack of cover from the long-fallen leaves.
Winter is upon us. Less than a week before the solstice, the day Tavrasian farmers lay down their work, putting their fields to rest until an early spring.
Had I still been a pirate, I’d have spent the winter months on a ship in the warmer waters southeast of Eherea, where snow and ice don’t reach, but I’m not a pirate. I’m a Crow searching her way home.
Shuddering against the cold, I curl up closer against the tree trunk, tucking my wings in tight.
I’ve been in my bird form since my lucky escape from the carriage, this light, feathered form better equipped to sustain in the growing cold and so much faster, and harder to detect when I skip through the treetops or fly high up in the clouds.
It took a day to heal the scratches and bruises from my escape, but once I managed to pull up enough energy for that, I was able to put a good distance between Ephegos’s caravan and me. A distance I hope no one will close so easily.
I don’t like the wind for many reasons, but there is one reason why I appreciate it anyway: It forces me to rest. Even with my Crow Fae stamina and magic, there is a natural limit to my strength, and if I keep ignoring it, I won’t make it across the Askarean border, let alone to the palace in Aceleau, where I hope Myron will welcome me back with open arms.
Something squirms in my stomach, and the tip of my wing tingles where the mate mark is hidden beneath a layer of feathery black. I’m on my way, Myron. I’m coming for you.
From the tug in my chest, I know he feels me, but I can’t sense him in the heart of the fairylands the way I did a day ago.
Whether that means he left or he’s injured, I don’t even want to think about.
For now, all I can do is focus on my promise.
The deal I made with Ephegos—and the loophole I built for myself when speaking it.
I’ll be yours if you let him live. I swear not to try to return to his Crow Court if you let Kaira go as well. Alive. The bargain is valid as long as you promise to never lay a finger on either of them again.
I only wish I knew if the bargain is still binding, since I technically haven’t broken it.
It was a gamble, but the best I could do to ensure they’d get out alive and remain protected.
Even if it’s only Myron and Kaira who are protected by the deal, and even if it’s only Ephegos himself who can’t hurt them, it’s more than I could have hoped to trade for.
Of course, he can still order his men to hurt them; there’s nothing preventing him from doing that .
A gust of wind nearly pushes me off the branch, and I need to sink my claws into the bark to hold myself in place.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s a magical weather situation, but after three days, I’ve seen not a hint of Ephegos or his Crows and Flames.
Which naturally puts me more on edge than if they were right at the foot of my tree.
At least, then I’d know what he sent after me as a punishment.
It’s near nightfall when the wind finally ceases, and I take off into the twilight, gaze trained on the outline of the farmhouse a mile and a half east. The rebel home is probably abandoned with so many rebels killed in the last attack, but it’s also unlikely Ephegos’s men will come looking for me there.
No one will expect me to return there, even when they probably don’t expect me to fly straight into Myron’s arms either.
It will hopefully take them a while to understand how my specific wording of the bargain affects my ability to find and aid my court once more.
Precious hours I need to shift into my fae body and replenish with human food when it’s near impossible to find any berries in the frosty landscape.
I’m not yet at a point where I’ll dig insects from beneath the bark of a tree or pick them from the frozen ground. Not yet.
No lights shine in the windows of the farmhouse when I land in a nearby tree a few minutes later, my wings quivering from the exhaustion of the past days.
I can make it there, but it has to be my final flight for the night.
If I have to circle back and hide again, I might need to spend another night in the open, shivering against the cold and praying to Eroth to keep his Veil closed until sunrise.
I’m not ready to succumb to my fading strength after everything I’ve endured—and survived.
If I can stay in the farmhouse and rest for a few hours, I’ll be fine in the morning. I’ll be able to make that last leg of my journey back to Aceleau.
The thought alone is enough to rouse the last of my reserves and carry me to the barn window where I slip through the half-open door to find scraps of hay and a tossed-over barrel of dried corn amidst the row of empty stalls.
Fluttering down, I pluck one of the seeds that remained on the floor where the horses must have devoured the rest of them before escaping from the barn and searching for food elsewhere.
The absence of mounts seals the decision to fly the rest of the way to Aceleau.
From the door, I study the farmhouse for a few long breaths before hopping across the meadow between the two buildings, eyes on the dark windows and ears on the silence between the rustling of dead leaves fighting to escape the frost keeping it in its clutches .
One of the windows is cracked open, allowing me to squeeze inside in a maneuver that bends a few feathers on my neck at an odd angle, but then I’m in, and the smell of food gone bad climbs into my nose.
It’s that stench that convinces me no one is hiding in the dark, so I let myself drop to the floor where I land with a soft thud before scrambling to my claws.
My magic, even weak as it is now after flying for days while still recovering from the magic-nullifying drug I was put under, responds immediately, filling my veins with silver light and the anticipation of my fae form.
A few heartbeats later, my limbs expand, and my torso stretches, my head hitting the wall as I grow back into the body Shaelak bestowed upon me.
Ignoring the sharp pain, I roll to my hands and knees, holding my breath as I listen to the falling night.
Not a single sound stirs the air.
I don’t know how long I remain frozen to the spot, confirming I didn’t make a mistake coming here, but eventually, my hands start cramping and my legs start shaking, forcing me to abandon my tabletop position and scramble into a sitting position against the wall.
My fingers protest when I try to flex them, and my legs won’t keep still until I pull my knees against my chest, breathing through the pain.
It takes a few minutes until the cramps fade and I can properly move again. Outside, the wind is picking up, sweeping cascades of dead leaves from the ground and carrying them skyward. A glimpse through the window tells me the moon has decided to show his face between swaths of dark clouds .
With a groan, I get up from the worn wooden boards and make my way to the kitchen.
At least, the water bucket is still half full, and the water doesn’t smell the way the stew on the cold stove does.
I dive for the ladle and gulp down a few mouthfuls of the cold liquid before searching the cupboards for something edible.
A jar of plum compote sits on the lowest shelf as I open the scratched doors. I take it and waste the last of my strength on battling the lid refusing to come off, until my hands shake once more and the jar slips from my grasp.
The crash of glass hitting the floor doesn’t come, though. Instead, a thin silver glow fills the room where my magic has decided to catch the jar of its own accord. Like a silver snake, it weaves around the metal locking in my food and unscrews it while I stare, jaw hanging open.
All right. My muscles might be done for, but my powers seem to be strong enough to take matters into their own hands.
I don’t give the jar another chance to try to fall, plucking it from the grasp of my magic and leading it to my mouth.
The plums are sweet and taste of cinnamon as they slide onto my tongue one by one.
Of course, I chew, but only often enough to make sure I won’t make myself sick.
By the time I finally set it down, the jar is empty, and my stomach is battling the amount of fruit I’ve filled it with.
I creep to the large bedroom on all fours, barely making it to the bed closest, one of the six bunk beds spaced out against the walls. There, I pass out with my head and torso on the mattress and my feet still on the floor.
Bright white light greets me when I wake up, my head throbbing where I hit it on the wall and my stomach rumbling from more hunger.
At least, my arms and legs respond when I slide off the bed to scour the place for a set of spare clothes.
The ones I’m wearing still carry the proof of everything I’ve been through since the battle in the clearing.
Guardians, how I hope Andraya and Pouly are all right. The two rebels who used this farmhouse as a base after our escape from Meer are hopefully back at the palace in Aceleau, already making plans to win this war with Rogue and Myron.
Opening a tall, narrow built-in closet, I pull out a rough towel and pick a pair of pants and a tunic that look approximately my size from a stack of clothes.
I’m about to return to the kitchen when the thoughts come crashing in one by one, like the few hours of rest and last night’s food opened a gateway to the memories of horrors from that clearing.
Tata’s betrayal. The soldiers, human and Flames alike, keeping us in check until Ephegos arrived to wreak havoc on our lives once more. Leaving Kaira and Myron behind with nothing but Ephegos’s word he’d not hurt them ever again.
Guilt drives tears into my eyes as I remember that Myron and Kaira weren’t the only ones I left behind. Herinor and Silas were also missing when Ephegos took me away, and I have no mating bond with them telling me they are all right, the way my connection with Myron allows .
I need to get out of these clothes and eat more before I head out again, but I can’t linger. I’ve wasted too much time. I’ve wasted time waiting until my powers returned after the drug hit me. Wasted time waiting for the perfect moment to escape.
I’m free, but for how long? How long until one of Ephegos’s or Erina’s spies will find me? If Ephegos sends his own Crows, it will be sooner rather than later.
The tears come unchecked as I sob into the brightness of this new day. Another day of challenges. Nothing has changed. I still need to rally my strength and fly all the way to the heart of the fairylands to find my family, my court, my mate.
It’s that thought making me push to my feet and wash up with a basin filled with water I heat on the stove after starting a small fire. It’s that thought tiding me through the half hour until I can cook some porridge from a bag of oats and a handful of nuts I find in the kitchen cupboards.
With more appetite than my situation warrants, I gobble down the meal then flex my legs and arms, convincing my body it can do another day of flying. At least, the fresh clothes and full belly make me feel like I won’t crash into the closest tree.
My entire body trembles as I open the front door and step out into the cold—and the tears threaten to fall again at the sight of endless white.
Snow covers the meadow, the barn, the trees and bushes, turning the drab landscape of last night into a dream of sparkling crystals and soft curves where dreary plants were fighting the frost mere hours ago.
Not a cloud sits in the clear blue sky, allowing the pale, watery winter light to ignite the world.
I’ve seen snow. Small amounts of it, but this?—
My heart pounds from something other than fear and terror for the first time since we found the farmhouse abandoned what by now has to be over three weeks ago.
In my veins, my magic seems to feel the spark of hope coming to life, and as I pull on it to shift into my bird form, the weight of my fae body falls away, and feathers sprout from my skin, swallowing me whole as I turn into the creature that will one day dictate Ephegos’s nightmares.