Page 7 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)

Six

Ayna

Kaen and Enhela drop into bows so fast I can’t even take a breath.

“Your Majesty,” Kaen whimpers. “It’s unforgivable I injured you with my spear.” He stoops so low I think he’s going to hurt his back, but Enhela pulls him up by the elbow.

“That’s because you are a stupid fool who thinks with his blade before he thinks with his heart.

” They both straighten, Kaen’s expression filled with fear and Enhela’s with a brand of dismay for the man while pride shines in her eyes as she assesses me once more, her eyes not snagging on my ears this time.

“You must excuse Kaen, Your Majesty,” she stammers. “He only meant to protect us.”

“As he should,” I agree before either of them can get any more embarrassed.

All sorts of emotions swirl in my belly, nervous nausea the predominant one, closely followed by the fear of not being worthy of their acceptance.

I’m a Crow after all. No longer human. What that means for taking my throne in Tavras yet needs to be defined.

And then there’s the matter of Myron’s bargain with Tori that will force him to eventually take all his Crows and leave Eherea.

I’m one of them now. I won’t be able to stay.

“It’s honorable to want to protect your people, Kaen,” I tell him.

“Thank you for all you’ve done.” I turn to Enhela.

“And you. You made sure I was treated with dignity even when you believed I was your enemy. I will never forget that kindness.”

A second tear runs down Enhela’s cheek, and a smile spreads on her lips as she drops into a clumsy curtsey. “Let’s get you something to eat, Your Majesty, and then you can tell us what you are doing alone out in the cold.”

Enhela takes me to the other side of the camp, Kaen close at our heels, spear at the ready as if he’s still worried I might attack, but from his deference in the tent, I know this is simply who he is.

Always ready to defend. Who knows how long he’s been leading this life, hiding his true self from the world while he’s been secretly gathering and training more rebels.

A few rebels are still out by the fire in the middle of the camp while others have gone to sleep, leaving the sentries up in the trees to their duty.

Their eyes follow my every step as we approach the fireplace, and I’m painfully reminded of all those times I was led somewhere under the scrutiny of curious gazes.

“They don’t know who you are, so they don’t trust you just yet,” Enhela reminds me. “We can tell them tomorrow morning if you like, Your Majesty.”

“Please don’t call me that,” I interrupt before she can alert anyone to my identity.

Enhela’s steps falter at that, but she catches herself quickly, carrying on with her easy tone. “As you wish. But what shall we call you instead?”

“Ayna.” I place my hand on her forearm, stopping her while Kaen inches close to my side as if expecting an attack. “Please call me Ayna.”

Enhela’s throat bobs, but she nods. “All right, Ayna .” The way she emphasizes my name like she is thinking my title makes me unintentionally grimace. “Once you have a bowl of stew, we’ll find you a place to sleep. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”

Something about her resolute nature impresses me. I don’t know if I could have spoken to the queen I’ve been waiting for all my life in such a casual manner had I met her in a chance encounter in the winter forest. Perhaps not.

With a smile, Enhela inclines her head before continuing toward the fireplace where a steaming cauldron is sitting on rock next to the iron barrel hosting the flames. “I need a bowl of your slop.”

The young man sitting on the rock right next to it hops to his feet, wiping his hands on his leather pants, and picks up a bowl from a stack on the ground .

“We’re lucky the others aren’t back from scouting,” Enhela explains, filling the silence while the young man ladles stew into the bowl.

A whiff of something spicy catches in my nose, reminding me how empty my stomach is.

“We usually have a hundred and twenty men and women in this camp, but over half of them are currently out searching the area. It’s our first time so far north and we don’t know what to expect. ”

I shift from foot to foot, but it’s no use when I wasn’t given any boots. My feet are already freezing again.

“We’ll find you something your size in the morning.” Kaen notices my fidgeting. “You must excuse we didn’t bring boots when we weren’t even sure you were on our side.”

The young man handling the stew looks up, his dark waves shining back from his forehead as he follows our conversation with interest.

“Not an enemy then?” he prompts, holding out the filled bowl to me, a crooked grin on his chubby-cheeked face.

“No.” It’s as simple as that, and both Enhela and Kaen smile at me when I pluck it from the man’s hands, his grin turning into something more serious as his eyes flit to my pointed ears.

“A fairy?”

“So you weren’t with the crowd who shot me from the sky, then?” Savoring the warmth of the bowl in my fingers, I step closer to the fire to let the heat of the flames seep into my bones so the rest of me may remain warm when my feet can’t.

“Kitchen duty.” He shrugs, leaning an inch closer.

“No one tells you anything when you’re on kitchen duty.

It’s almost like they’re afraid the cook will abandon their station when there’s something more exciting happening elsewhere.

” Bending down, he rummages for a spoon in a bag next to the spare bowls on the ground.

“Honestly, anything is more exciting than skinning meagre rabbits and cutting root vegetables that shouldn’t be unearthed before the next spring, but I’ll take what I can get as long as I get to be there when we finally take Tavras from that imposter of a king. ”

I almost cough at how casually he speaks about his secret cause, fully trusting Enhela and Kaen when they don’t cut him off or warn him of me.

“So you, too, believe Tavras would be better off with the Milevishja heir?” I can’t help but ask. He’s so young. Sixteen, perhaps seventeen. A boy rather than a man. He shouldn’t be risking his life for me or anyone. But that seems to be out of my hands.

A rough laugh escapes his throat, accompanied by a glare clearly questioning if I’m serious.

“Tavras would be better off with anyone but the Jelnedyn king. And if what people say is to be believed, the Milevishja heir is more than worthy of our cause.” Lifting a hand to shield his mouth, he whispers, “Some who have seen her even say she is a great beauty.”

“A beauty?” Enhela stops him. “As if beauty has anything to do with leadership skills.”

Kaen swallows, but he lets the conversation play out.

“It’s certainly a nice feature when a queen is pretty to look at.” The boy shrugs again, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“Erina is quite handsome but makes for a terrible monarch,” I say, letting the boy make of it what he will. “Shall we? ”

A glance at Kaen is enough for him to start walking, and we make our way across the camp to a small tent tucked between two larger ones.

“You can stay in here for the night. The girl usually sleeping here won’t be back from scouting before morning.

” He opens the flap, and I duck inside, finding a spread-out bedroll and a stack of blankets.

“There’s a canteen of water in the corner, and if you need to take care of your needs, I’ll make sure someone is there to lead you to private parts of the camp. ”

I should be surprised by so much support from Kaen after his initial hesitation, but somehow, it feels natural, as if by declaring my name, I entered the circle of his protection, and now, he’ll happily raise that spear against my enemies rather than at me—the way he has probably done all his life.

And as I settle in for the night, thanking them both before they leave me with a bow and a curtsey, I wonder how my name alone can give them such confidence in me that they don’t seem to care about the creature I’ve turned into—or what price I’ll need to suffer to become worthy of their devotion.

Morning comes after a fitful few hours of sleep, gusts of icy wind whipping the walls of my tent until I roll out of my blankets and scramble to my feet, listening to the shouts echoing through the camp.

“Hold it up! ”

Someone screams. A crack, a crash. The whinnying and stomping of horses.

The wind howls through the corridors between the tents, a wild beast ready to devour us all.

Only, I’m no longer breakable the way the rebels are—humans, all of them, yet willing to defy the elements and coming out victorious. At least at most times.

When I reach for the tent flap, I nearly stumble over a pair of boots someone must have placed there for me while I slept. Without a second thought, I jam my feet into them before hurrying out the door, listening hard to the panicked voices until I make out which direction they come from.

A few tents away, near the fireplace, two men are straining to lift the poles of a tent that collapsed onto the boy who handed me the meal last night. I recognize his dark waves immediately as I recognize the round cheeks and the mouth that gave me smiles last night, which now hangs slack open.

I don’t hesitate as I sprint toward the scene of the accident, ignoring the grunts of surprise and the shouts of warning when I grab the corner of the tent, now pushing on the boy’s abdomen and legs, and pull with all my fae strength.

The poles move, slowly at first, but as my powers rally inside my chest, my veins, my very bones, I lift the tent to the side, dropping it a foot from the boy’s hip.

“What—?” The men all stare, no longer with surprise but with suspicion as they look me over.

“Who let a fairy into our camp?” another one asks—one of those who weren’t with the group trapping me last night.

I tune them out as best I can, blinking against the assaults of the wind .