Page 76 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)

Fifty-Seven

Herinor

The snow-capped peaks look the same after three months of fighting the blood-thirsty monsters haunting these mountains—perhaps a little more crimson wherever we slay one of the bloodsuckers.

After blacking out next to the fingers of lightning taking Ephegos to wherever the bastard went, I found myself chained to a boulder of icy rock and had a humorless sense of déjà vu.

Thank Hel, the ones capturing me weren’t the fae with the blood-red eyes and the razor-sharp fangs, but the ones trying to rid this world of them.

I haven’t asked the name of any of the human soldiers who questioned me those first days after my recovery.

They patched up my wounds and fed me stew and hearty bread until I was back to my full strength—except for my powers.

Those don’t seem to work in this gods-cursed world.

“You all right?” one of the soldiers asks, handing me a waterskin filled with something stronger than the clear mountain ice we melt over the fire.

With a nod, I take a sip and hand it back to him, shrugging the fur coat higher on my shoulder and tightening the collar.

“I saw tracks over there. The creature seems to be wounded.” With the simple sword they provided me, I point at the spots of deep red in the snow.

“There can’t be many left?” the soldier notes. “Since your arrival, we’ve been slaying them at a rate that defies all logic.”

“Because I’m a half-god?” I quote back at him what the other said when they discussed how I’d fallen out of the sky with the other male and sent him back with a knife in his throat in a flash of lightning.

No matter how often I’ve told them I’m not a god or even half one, they keep insisting.

“Let’s call you Zotarr’s favorite.” The man grins at me. I still don’t call any of them by their names since I’m not planning on staying here. Every day I fight, I do so to return to my own world, where a certain Flameling will happily drive me mad, if she hasn’t already forgotten I ever existed.

“Your God of Death doesn’t have any favorites, or he wouldn’t have thrust me into this shit hole of a world.” Gritting my teeth, I follow the tracks in the snow, wondering if today will be the day I finally find a flash of lightning to throw myself into .

“You know, we thought you’d come to kill us all when you showed up back then. It’s a Zotarr-given miracle you are on our side.” The man appears at my shoulder, tugging back the lengths of his war braid and pulling a hunting knife from his belt so he has a weapon in each of his hands.

“Chalk it up to a joke of fate that I landed on your side of the war.” I don’t laugh at my own joke; the times when I did that are far gone.

The same as I’ve given up on wondering if Ayna and Myron survived the battle or if the true King of Crows is dead and if Ephegos miraculously survived my stab and the travel through dimensions and Shaelak made good on his promise, handing him the Crow Queen.

“Zotarr willed it, and he’s left you with us to win this war.”

“Did the God of Death tell you that?” Near the sharp cliff rising into the sky, I turn right, scanning the snowy plains and the shadows below the rock wall.

“He doesn’t need to. You showed up when we most needed help, and when you agreed to fight with us, the war odds turned in our favor.”

I should never have offered. When Hel didn’t bring me back to Eherea, I should have simply made a run for it and found myself a cabin in the woods, but watching them lose a battle wasn’t something I found I had in me.

So when I observed their weaknesses from the edge of the war camp, I told them, and with every new day, they became better and better, until they started pushing the monsters back into the mountains .

Then, they unchained me, putting a sword into my hand, and asked me to fight. So I did.

Months later, there are only a few enemies left, and I’ve made it my life’s goal to see the last of them dead—since the God of Death obviously won’t allow me to find my way back to Kaira and my court.

Now I’m fighting this war instead of the one I was supposed to fight; I’m helping these people rather than the people I care about.

“There he is.” I stop at the corner, holding my arm out to force my companion to halt instead of running straight into the creature’s line of sight.

The male is wearing nothing but leather and bone, and his teeth are sunk deeply into the neck of one of our own men—a good soldier whose name I deliberately forgot after he went out to hunt down the last of the blood fae.

“Arrow—” Holding out my hand for one of the arrows in my companion’s quiver, I measure the distance to my target.

The wind is blowing into our faces, carrying with it the scent of iron and salt, and hiding our presence from the instinct-driven monster who would turn and pounce at the slightest sign of our presence.

My companion hands me an arrow just in time for me to watch the creature drop its prey and turn around.

As he notices us there, by the corner, he gives a throaty laugh. “So you’ve finally found me.”

He’s older than the others we’ve slayed, his skin slightly wrinkled, unlike the beautiful males and females I’ve ended over the past weeks. He’s also more wicked-looking, his fingers ending in talons not unlike the ones I once featured when I was still able to shift into my bird form .

“I guess we did.” Without a thought, I send the arrow flying with the strength of my arm alone, aiming straight for the male’s neck.

The arrow hits its mark, and the male staggers over the lifeless form on the ground, his blood mingling with the crimson blood of his prey still on his mouth and chin.

Holding my breath, I wait for the male to do what they all do.

He attacks in a flash, the arrow at his throat not enough to keep him down but enough to prevent him from ripping through my companion right away.

With my sword, I welcome the attack, welcome the sensation of doing something, even when the thrill of battle has long left me. I’m done with bloodshed and pain, and I’m done with this life where my powers elude me and my feathers and wings remain safely beneath my skin.

I’m done.

Lifting my sword to stab the male in the stomach as he flies at me with his claws ready to rip my throat out, I turn to my companion. “Make sure to take his head so he doesn’t come back to bite you in your sleep.”

The blood fae male collides with my blade, his hands finding my neck and ripping a gash into my skin. Hot blood gushes over my flesh and my leathers, and my companions scream my name as darkness envelops me.

“Please let this be the end of it,” I think at the God of Death before I close my eyes.

“It’s not the end, Herinor,” Hel responds with that voice of star-laced night. “Just a new beginning.”