Page 71 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)

Fifty-Three

Ayna

I can’t breathe-I can’t breathe-I can’t breathe as I scramble to my hands and knees, coughing from the impact of someone jumping onto my back so hard it put me on the ground, but when I wheel around to stab the fucker in the gut, he’s already being dragged across the ground by Myron’s power, and all I see is gray armor and a limp, golden tan hand.

The Crow King himself is standing in front of me, holding out his hand to help me up while, with the other one, he orchestrates an inferno of onyx and stars.

Flanking him, two Crows—one tan with short dark hair, the other with umber features and a mop of blood-soaked curls hanging down the side of his face—guard his back the way Herinor guarded mine.

But in the immediate vicinity, no one is fighting.

At the onslaught of Myron’s power, swords clatter to the ground and arrows burst in their quivers.

Even on the battlefield behind, the slaughter has died down.

Tavrasian soldiers lift their hands in surrender, the rebels herding them into groups. I can’t see all the way to the other end where Cezux saved us from being overrun, but I doubt things look much different there. No screams, no clang of steel, no stomping boots marching for us.

It is over.

And Herinor sacrificed himself for all of us.

A tear runs down my bruised and battered face, stinging as it runs over cuts and scratches, but I smile.

I smile for Myron and for Royad, who is kneeling a few feet away over the lifeless form of the Crow in gray leathers Myron’s power dragged away from me.

The male’s face is so covered in blood that I can’t recognize his features—but the hair, I do recognize.

The slick, rye-blond strands that I’ve once feared glimpsing among the lines of Crows.

“What happened?”

Myron’s clear blue gaze meets mine, the last of black veins retreating as he smiles at me. “I have no idea.”

“He fell out of the sky in a lightning strike, Queen Wolayna,” the male with the short hair to Myron’s right says, shifting uncomfortably as I direct my gaze at him.

“Who are you?”

“Gorrey, Your Majesty.” He bows deep, watching me stagger to my feet with Myron’s help. “My friend Ennis and I led the Crow rebellion during the battle. ”

“Crow rebellion?” I don’t seem to be the only one who hears this for the first time because Myron cocks his head, expectant of an explanation.

“We’ve been searching for ways around Ephegos’s bargain for months, Your Majesty,” the other male says with more bite than anyone should have left after hours of combat. “Ennis, Your Majesty,” he adds when he notices my stare. “It’s an honor.”

I’ve seen him before, in the hallways of the palace in the Seeing Forest once or twice, but I’ve never spoken a word with him.

My eyes bounce back to the lifeless Crow Royad is guarding like he’s worried he might jump up and attack.

“Ephegos—”

“Dead, Your Majesty,” Ennis bows again before heading over to join Royad, kneeling on the ground. “I have no idea how—” His hands wander over the traitor’s face, searching for signs of life and finding none. “Herinor leaped in front of you and took the knife Ephegos was aiming at you.”

My stomach folds into knots at the images of Herinor shoving me out of the way and taking the hit instead.

He helped me. He broke the bargain and helped me.

“Why hasn’t the world come to an end?” Clio drawls from a few feet away, her usual sass severely shaken.

“I’d say it’s a good thing it hasn’t, but I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Tori joins us, his auburn hair wind-torn and a wound cleaving open on his chest.

“Herinor shoved him through a gap in the air,” Ennis says with a mixture of awe and horror. “How is that possible? ”

“It doesn’t matter as long as Ephegos came back dead,” one of the Crows now flocking around Ennis and Royad notes, but my chest is tight like a band of steel has been wrapped around it.

It only gets worse as I spot Kaira sitting in the mud a few feet away, tears streaming down her face. “He is not dead. He is not dead. He is not dead.” Shaking her head, she keeps staring at the spot where Herinor and Ephegos disappeared. “He’ll come back.”

“He will.” My whisper gets lost in the murmured conversation of the thirty or so Crows who turned against their master even before Herinor slayed him and took him to what must have been another dimension. “Wherever he is, he will come back.”

My own tears are hot, and they sting on the cuts and bruises, but it’s nothing compared to the throbbing in my chest as I scramble to Kaira’s side, wrapping my arms around her and cradling her to my shoulder.

The news of Ephegos and Erina’s death spread like a wildfire across the battlefield, and where they hit, the rebels cheer, and Askarea clangs their swords to their shields and howls.

Royad and one of the new Crows—Ennis—carry Ephegos’s body back to the army camp while Clio, Tori, and Rogue branch out across the field, informing their commanders to collect all Tavrasian soldiers in one place and keep them in check until we know what comes next .

“Lay him down there.” Myron gestures at the cot where Kaira was resting not even an hour ago, watching Royad and Ennis drop Ephegos’s body onto the narrow bed made of fabric.

“What shall we do with him?” the other Crow, Gorrey, asks, barely daring to get within a five-step radius of Ephegos’s corpse.

“We’ll burn him right here. Any public burial might give him the air of a hero or a martyr.” I’m quick to make that decision. “After partnering up with the Flames, a fire burial seems like an appropriate way to see him off to Eroth’s Veil.”

No one objects as I step forward, one arm still around Kaira’s shoulder.

“Should we get one of the Flames to do it?” Silas asks with a hint of morbid satisfaction, and I can’t believe how lucky we all are that we’re alive. All of us, except for Herinor, who is missing—not dead-not dead-not dead.

“I’ll do it.” Kaira lifts a hand, a spark of fire dancing at her fingertips despite her exhaustion.

“I might not have a lot of fire, but it’s enough to set a traitor aflame.

” She doesn’t hesitate as she lowers her hand to the edge of the cot, watching the fabric and wood catch fire first. The flames creep along the surface, catching on Ephegos’s leathers, then his flesh, until his body is a torch, and a pillar of black smoke rises to the sky.

No one speaks a word to commend his soul to Eroth or honor his death as he burns to ashes, Clio keeping watch with her recovering ice magic so that the rest of the camp doesn’t become part of the inferno .

Only when the flames die down does Myron bow his head, black strands hiding his face as he heaves a deep breath. “Thank you for your centuries of friendship, Ephegos. I’d rather have had you on my side than fighting you ’til the bitter end.”

There’s so much pain in his words that all I can do is take his hand and lean my head against his shoulder, a silent reminder that I’m here for him, even when he’s grieving for our enemy.

I don’t know how long we stay like this, but the sun creeps toward the western edge of the world as we wait for I don’t know what.

An eerie emptiness and gratitude fill me as I stand, staring at the crumbs of dust that are left of Ephegos’s body, surrounded by my court.

“Ayna!” Her voice pierces through the background noise of busy bustling through the camp where soldiers are recovering from their injuries or the effects of the drug.

When I turn around, Andraya is limping toward me, Ed and Gabrilla half-carrying her between them. My stomach flips with relief at the sight of three of the rebels I’ve gotten to see as part of my family.

“You need a healer.” I rush toward the Tavrasian lady, practically pulling her from the grasp of the young rebels and looking her over. Her leg isn’t supporting her weight, and the ankle is standing at an odd angle. “A healer!” I repeat.

A pretty fairy female with iridescent wings bustles over, helping Andraya get to one of the tents, Gabrilla, Ed, and me following .

“Stay out of my way,” the healer fairy orders as she pulls off Andraya’s boot and takes a closer look at the swollen flesh.

So we stand near the entrance flap of the brown and beige tent, watching the healer work.

“You really killed Erina?” Andraya asks through gritted teeth as the healer probes her ankle with long fingers.

I answer with a nod, enjoying the smile spreading on her features for a moment before her face contorts as the fairy tugs her ankle into position.

“Sorry, but the bones have to be in the right place in order to heal them.” The fairy’s wings quiver with her apologetic shrug.

Andraya grimaces. “Just get it over with.” Gripping the edges of the narrow, gray cot she’s sitting on, Andraya grits her teeth again, but the fairy is done setting the bones, rainbow-colored light glimmering at her fingertips as she runs them over Andraya’s ankle.

“See, all better.” Before Andraya can thank her, the healer hops to her feet, the buckles on her leathers clinking, and squeezes between us to leave the tent. “I’ve got plenty of other patients,” she mumbles as she disappears into the cold, leaving the rest of us to stare at her healed ankle.

“Is Pouly all right?” I barely dare ask, but I need to know.

“Fine.” A smile spreads on the lady’s face as she gestures in the general southern direction. “He’s somewhere on the battlefield, sorting the Tavrasians into soldiers who willingly followed Erina in his endeavors of conquest and those who fought because they had to.”

I can’t even begin imagining the mammoth task that is .

“Iliana is there to help as well. Her troops worked wonders in the southeast,” Gabrilla adds. “It will take days to sort through all of them, but for a new Tavras, we’ll need to know whom we can trust.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Pride shines on Andraya’s face as she gazes upon the rebel woman, but Gabrilla’s eyes are filled with tears.

“It’s our father,” Ed explains, his own eyes red-rimmed. With a sleeve, he wipes his nose, smearing blood from the small injury on the back of his hand all over his face. “He died in battle.”

Once more, my chest is tied with a band of steel as I grieve for the rebel who so hesitantly followed into the alliance with Askarea yet gave his life for both humans and fairies in the end.

“May Eroth take him into the gentle darkness of his realm,” I murmur, gaze lifted skyward.

“May Eroth take him into the gentle darkness of his realm,” the others echo, and deep down, I mean those words for all the souls lost in this battle today, no matter whether they were Tavrasian, Cezuxian, Crows, Flames, or fairies—enemies or allies. Every life lost is one life too many.

And Eherea lost too many lives today.

When we leave the tent, healers are bustling about the field, saving whomever they can, while soldiers collect our fallen from the field to pay them our final respects.

Myron and Rogue are standing near Ephegos’s ashes, discussing with Clio, Tori and Royad, and in front of a tent nearby, Silas sits, knees bent and face grim, sharpening his axe with a rock.

His head snaps up as he hears Gabrilla murmuring with her brother, the two siblings putting on a brave face despite their loss.

“What happens with Tavras now that the king is dead?” he asks with that familiar dark tone that leaves no space for emotion, and I recognize it for the armor of the warrior who has lost everything he held dear and can’t bear to show that he might care for anything ever again.

But I see my friend beneath the layers of sarcasm and grumpiness and love him, nonetheless.

“We rebuild.” My answer comes so naturally I surprise myself. “Erina leaves a power vacuum, and with Ephegos’s demise, the army will need a firm hand to guide them in the right direction.”

“And what direction is that?” Iliana’s voice brings a smile to my face.

When I turn around, the rogue commander is standing there, a grin on her bloodied face and her arm in a makeshift sling.

“They told me to come see the fairy healers here at the camp. Perhaps they can help me with this.” She gestures at her arm with the pommel of the sword she’s still holding in her other hand.

“Iliana!” So fast the humans surrounding me can’t see more than a blur, I throw my arms around the rebel soldier and squeeze the air out of her lungs in a tight embrace. “You are alive. ”

She coughs, reminding me to loosen my hold on her, so I do, finding her grinning even wider.

“I wouldn’t dream of dying on my new queen.

” An incline of her head as I step back, freeing her of my embrace, reminds me of that second crown I’m supposed to wear, and my heart fills with bittersweet emotions.

“Thank you.” I bow my head to her. “Thank you for coming to our aid. Thank you—all of you.” My gaze finds Gabrilla’s, then Ed’s, then Andraya’s.

“What do we do next, Your Majesty?” Andraya asks with the warmth of a mother and the seriousness of the lady who freed me from Erina’s prison, and I feel fresh tears fill my eyes.

“Spread the word of Erina’s death and lead our people back home.

Collect Erina’s body and take him back to Meer to give him a burial so the rest of Tavras may see that the Jelnedyn reign has come to an end.

And, Iliana, you’ll take over the command of the Tavrasian troops.

Make sure Erina’s old supporters don’t set a toe out of line, and make sure to destroy any trace of that godscursed drug that can take magic away.

” My lips curve at what I am about to say. “Tell everyone the war is over.”