Page 78 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)
Fifty-Nine
Ayna
ONE WEEK LATER
“Hand me the bread, will you?” Kaira holds out her hand for the basket at the center of our dining table on the third floor of our palace tower. “And the wine.”
Silas pours her a goblet of the spiced Phornian wine Kepha brought along with the books that are now safely stored in the educational center.
She’s been a permanent guest at our table since the day of her arrival, not only because she and Silas have been inseparable since that day but because of the matching inky mark on both their forearms—a crow sitting on an open book.
It appeared the second day of her presence, telling us all how close they got that first night.
Royad is chatting with Kaira, discussing what we should have Alvary compose next—perhaps a hymn for our little kingdom, and Myron is stirring the soup made of spring herbs that Frenius made—apparently, we have exceptional cooks among our people, too.
“Three months in and this realm is already flourishing,” Kepha notes, glancing out the window along the Crow Square where someone put up carved bird statues in each corner.
“So much culture slumbering in an ancient people of such violence.” Before any of us can tell her we are more than a flock of slaughtering birds, she laughs again.
“Don’t worry, I’ve read the history books—your people left the continent millennia ago, and you’re back after redeeming yourselves through breaking a curse. ”
“The breaking of the curse can’t possibly be in history books yet,” Royad notes under his breath.
Kepha dismisses his statement with a small chuckle, waving her hand at him like he’s a silly boy. “It will be.”
“I hope we’ve done more to redeem ourselves,” Silas murmurs over a slice of bread.
“ You certainly have.” A grin spreads on Royad’s face as he watches Silas blush up to his ears.
It’s a good look on the Crow warrior, and a great one on Royad, too.
He’s been pensive over the past weeks, despite all the positive developments.
Perhaps it’s time for him to take on a new endeavor, foster our political alliances by traveling across the lands.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Kaira notes, listening in on my thoughts like she so often does—like I so often let her, when I know she’s the loneliest of us all, still heartbroken and barely daring to harbor any hope of Herinor ever returning.
“He needs something more than this court,” I tell her, studying the cousin who’s dedicated his entire existence to helping Myron break a curse, then winning a war, and now… Now he’s been working day and night to enable our vision for this court. “He needs to take care of his own needs for once.”
Kaira’s features sag as her thoughts drift to the Crow male whom she believed she’d see this new world with. “Maybe I should accompany him.”
I want to say yes, for her sake, to give her an opportunity to find herself after such a loss and recover from her shattered heart because, no matter how she used to deny she feels anything for Herinor, we’ve all known for a long time that those two will end up together eventually.
Only, he was taken from her before they ever could. It is breaking my own heart, watching her deal with her grief and the lack of closure. Anything that could help her, I should support.
Thoughtful, I chew on a piece of bread, listening to the sounds of chatter in the square, where the women working with Kepha in the education center and the Crows visiting there, more regularly than their interest in knowledge should allow, are having a snack in the spring sun .
“I have been thinking of inviting a few of my friends from the mainland to join us here in the Crow Realm,” Kepha muses with that air of mischief, telling me she has a plan.
“Female friends,” she emphasizes with a wink at Royad, who grimaces at her in response, taking a spoonful of soup.
“Of course, you’ll meet more than your fair share of brilliant women on your travels,” she amends with a conspiratorial glance at Kaira and me.
“Or isn’t he going to come with you to Phornes? ”
“I’ll go wherever my king and queen need me to go,” Royad answers, ever the dutiful male, and I see Kaira’s point. He needs to get out of here, see something new so he can thrive before returning to us—if he pleases.
“I’d love for you to come, Royad,” I say before Myron can tell us he needs Royad at the palace to run things in our absence.
“And maybe you could travel a little more, you know, learn anything you can about Neredyn and its people. After all, we need lots of stories about this continent to share with Sanja, Rogue, Clio, and Tori in our letters, and we need to know where to take them on a tour once they come to visit our new home.”
A smile graces his lips, the scar tugging on the edge of his mouth stretching with the gesture. “I’d love that very much, Ayna.”
We’re all so caught up in our conversation that we barely notice the change of the background sounds drifting up from the square, but when a scream of pain carries through the open window, we all abandon our meals, rushing to glance down upon the scene unfolding outside .
A male figure covered in leathers, fur, and blood lies face down on the ground, a sword clutched in his hand. The Crows surrounding him are pointing their own blades at him in anticipation of an attack, while two of the women dart for the male, checking his breathing and his pulse.
“Who is that?” Kepha squeezes between Kaira and me at the window, then steps back as Silas leaps over her, shifting mid-motion and fluttering down into the square.
With a glance at Myron, I summon my bird form, readying to follow Silas. “Let’s go find out.”
Kaira and Kepha thunder down the stairs, dependent on their legs to carry them toward the tumult outside the palace. Royad is the only one to remember manners, joining them on foot. They don’t arrive much after us, though, their steps swift at the prospect of danger.
“He’s breathing,” one of the Crows who dared approach alongside the two women calls over his shoulder as he notices Myron and me approaching from above.
Silas has landed and shifted back on the packed earth of the square, hatchet in hand, but his features are blanching as his eyes land upon the blood-drenched golden blond hair falling over the male’s face.
“He appeared out of nowhere, Your Majesty,” one of the women reports, a tall, chestnut-haired one who likes to train with Ennis and Gorrey every morning.
She gestures at the male we’re stopping beside, shifting into our fae forms. “He must have been conscious when he hit the ground, but he hasn’t moved since. ”
“Herinor?” Kaira shoves between Myron and me, half pushing me over as she wipes back the male’s hair with a shaky hand, then freezes as the dirty face of the male we’ve all believed lost comes into view.
His jaw is bruised and his lip split where his face must have hit the ground, but apart from that, the blood streaming from his neck seems to be the worst injury.
“By the gods—” Myron grabs my hand. “Quick, we need to heal him.”
Silas grabs Herinor by the shoulders, flipping him over so we have better access to his injury, where part of his flesh is missing like an animal attempted to rip out his throat.
I’m kneeling next to Kaira, who is on her knees, holding Herinor’s hand, the sword forgotten beside his hip.
A flash of silver stars and onyx haze dance over Herinor’s skin as Myron and I place our joined hands on the wound, our healing powers streaming into the male, forcing the artery to repair and the flesh to weave back together.
Skin grows beneath our palms as we will it, sealing the wound.
When we’re done, I’m lightheaded, but I don’t step back from the male until I’m sure there aren’t other tears of similar making.
“Herinor,” Kaira cries as the male blinks his eyes open, two pale green orbs searching our faces for the source of the voice.
“Herinor,” Kaira repeats, and when he finally finds her kneeling by his side, silver lines his eyes.
“You’re here.” She touches his face, the rest of us retreating a few steps as we recognize the lack of immediate danger .
Herinor is back. He’s alive.
“Kaira—” The male can barely move, too weak from the blood loss, but he doesn’t hesitate to scramble to his side, pushing himself up enough to bring his face close to Kaira’s and pull her in with one, blood-caked hand.
A sob rakes through the Flame as Herinor kisses her forehead, whispering words of love I’ve never believed the broody warrior capable of. But he’s speaking them. And he’s alive.
That night, we dine in the square, all Crows, merchants, and Phornian scholars gathered around a fire.
The fish we roast over the flames is delicious when spiced with the same spring herbs Frenius used for the soup, and the wine tastes triple as good with Kaira’s smile returned to her features.
Alvary sings songs about our journey from the Seeing Forest to this new Realm of Crows.
Over the crackling of the flames and the whisper of the leaves in the trees between the new houses, we listen to Herinor’s story—how he killed Ephegos, how he used the details of his bargain against him, how the God of Death thrust him into that other world and kept him there until he helped clear that realm of the blood-sucking monsters who nearly killed him.
How he eventually found his way home by resigning to his fate.
The murmurs of shock and outrage that we aren’t alone in this universe, that there are other worlds out there, wander through the crowd as Herinor shares more and more about his journey, about the God of Death, who seems to be the one connecting all of our worlds.
I can’t help but be grateful, though. Without that other world, Herinor would have never been able to kill Ephegos without destroying himself and probably all of us in the process. The God of Death took mercy on him for his own reasons, sending Herinor on a mission in that other world.
“Thank you for saving us all,” I repeat what I’ve told him about a hundred times since he popped up this morning, and he still merely smiles at me and shakes his head like it was nothing—a male humbled.
“I’m just glad I’m home.”
“Home,” Kaira echoes, weaving her fingers through his where they sit next to each other on one of the tree trunks we placed around the fire. Hair washed and clean clothes on, Herinor looks every part the hero who ended the villain of our own story.
With a smile so unfamiliar I need to take a second glance to reassure myself it’s really there, he pulls Kaira in for a kiss that nearly makes her fall off the log. The Crows holler their approval the way they once did when they chanted for Myron to kiss his bride.
How far we’ve come.
Back then, I couldn’t stand the thought of the Crow King within a mile of me.
Now, I can’t stand the thought of him an inch away.
I came to the Crow Court alone, an outlaw and a prisoner; now I’m their queen and an immortal Crow myself.
I have a family—two sisters who couldn’t be more different, but I love them both in their own way.
I have friends—a selfless general, a sarcastic soldier, and a grumpy warrior, and I can’t imagine a life without even one of them.
I have a whole people who are already thriving in this old-new land, and things will only get better from here. And most importantly, I have my mate.
With a glance at Myron sitting beside me, I catch him studying me in the glow of the fire.
Patterns of gold and orange dance across his features, his eyes vigilant and full of everything that has brought us together.
In the arch of his brow, I see the worries we’ve shared over all those months; in the curve of his mouth, every word whispered between us; every kiss reminds me of what we’ve been through—and of the good moments that have changed both of us into better versions of ourselves.
“Things will get pretty boring around here with both Silas and Herinor happy for a change,” he murmurs at me in that joyful, joking tone I can’t get enough of. He shifts his leg so his thigh touches mine in a gesture so simple yet so exciting it makes the sun and the moon explode inside my chest.
Maybe one day, we’ll set out on a mission to find a way into that other world from where Herinor fought his way back to us. Maybe one day, those worlds will find us. But for now, we’ll relish this era of peace.
With a sigh, I lean my head against his shoulder, inhaling his scent of earth and moss and the salty brine that means freedom to me. Myron smiles down at me, winding his arm around my waist as he kisses the top of my head .
“Our life will be pretty boring,” I agree, looking out at the scraps of our past that we’ve saved and the future ahead we’ll build together.
A laugh rumbles through Myron’s chest, elation streaming down our bond as he pulls me tighter. “Boring is good if it’s with you.”