Page 18 of Claws of Death

“Shut up, Tori,” Myron eventually snaps when I don’t respond, overwhelmed by the conundrum that should have been plain before my eyes yet I haven’t been spending a real thought on.

I’m Queen of Crows and the true Tavrasian heir. One kingdom is right here, my feet touching its soil, and a group of rebels on standby to fight for me, while the other one consists of one king and about twenty more Crows, who no longer have lands to call their own.

Then there is the problem of me having become more than only their queen. Even if my bird form doesn’t come to me at will yet, I’m a Crow shifter just as they are.

Kaira’s groan as she rolls to her side under Herinor’s touch saves me from more questions that would force me to voice any of my thoughts. Before she can notice him, he flinches away, leaping to his feet and standing back to make room for Andraya and me.

“Thank the Guardians,” Andraya abandons the discussion to reach under Kaira’s shoulder and support her as she scrambles to her feet.

Herinor, however, has retreated a step, glowering at the trees rather than expressing a shred of the passion leading him to threaten my life. The relief is clear in his posture,though, and I am almost certain the moisture beneath his left eye isn’t sweat.

“What happened?” Kaira prompts, gaze finding mine in the midst of drama.

To my surprise, it’s Herinor who takes it upon himself to inform her. “Myron took off out of the blue, so Tori and I followed to make sure he wouldn’t get himself trapped and captured again. I don’t know what Tori found when he arrived, but when I made it here, Tori was just healing you from whatever disaster hit your carriage.”

“My magic hit the carriage,” I correct him. “And I’m not a disaster… Or, only on occasion.”

That summons a grin to the male’s scar-flecked face, and his eyes dance with hope as he studies Kaira, smoothing out her tattered clothes and flipping back her dirty braid.

“Shouldn’t we take this conversation elsewhere?” Kaira suggests, scanning the forest around us as if expecting guards to hop out of the trees any moment. “The blast of light might have alerted people.”

“You mean the three farmers miles away?” Myron prompts, arm winding around my waist and pulling me an inch closer into his warmth. “Because those will need hours to reach the next outpost and alert Tavrasian soldiers.”

Kaira bestows on him the most exasperated frown I’ve ever seen. “I mean the Flames,” she explains. “We’re near the borderlands, and Jeseida has hunters and spies…”

Herinor nods his agreement. “Jeseida has visited Erina’s court before. I don’t know what exactly she’s up to, but it can’t be good if she’s working with the Tavrasian King.”

Kaira’s gaze falls to Myron, pondering. “Doesn’t being mated to Ayna technically makeyouthe King of Tavras?”

Myron flinches—actually flinches—at her statement but eventually shrugs. “Being married to me made my mate the Crow Queen, but it’s up to her if she’ll grant me the same right should she ever take up her crown.”

“Which she will,” Andraya interjects, the sternness of her expression as unfamiliar as the disheveled state of her appearance. Her gaze meets mine, dark eyes full of hope and a hint of concern. “Right, Wolayna? You will claim your throne.”

I don’t have an answer to that, so I say nothing. Instead, I wrap my arm around myself, refusing to allow the pressure of their expectations to weigh on me more than they already do. “What will happen is written in the stars, and who am I to challenge them?”

While the rest of them merely stare at me, Myron leans down, his breath a rush of heat on my cheek, and whispers, “You changedmyfate, my queen. You can do anything.”

I want to turn my head and capture his mouth in a dizzying kiss, but Kaira and Herinor are right. We aren’t safe here. My outburst of power created a beacon anyone could have spotted. It’s only smart to leave behind the remains of the carriage and run—or fly in Myron’s and Herinor’s case.

So we do. Postponing any further discussion of who shall have a crown and of which territory, we abandon the site of destruction. Pouly and Andraya set free the horses, who immediately bolt for their home stables—at least, no one will come looking for them. Then, Astorian takes their hands, asurprisingly bland smile on his features, and disappears with them without a warning.

“I’ll never get used to seeing them do that,” I note, eyes on the spot from where Astorian just pulled my two travel companions through time and space.

“It’s creepy,” Kaira agrees, brushing dirt and leaves off her sleeve. I notice she’s moving without a wince of pain, and the bruises and cuts have vanished from her face, leaving behind only traces of blood.

A glance at Herinor confirms he is studying that same proof of violence which is older than the assault of my own magic, and the fury contained in his gaze is something I never want to get in the path of.

“Shall we, then?” Kaira turns to Myron, and when he doesn’t respond—“I don’t assume the fairy brute will be returning for us magical creatures, will he?”

“Perhaps not thebrute,” Clio’s voice claims, making us jump as the female pops up behind us.

The moment I turn, she sweeps me into a rib-crushing hug. “I didn’t believe Tori when he said—” She broke off with a sob. “Guardians, Ayna. You’re alive.”

An entire mountain collapses in my chest at the sight of the Fairy Princess.

“I told you she’s alive.” Not a hint of doubt resonates in Myron’s words as he stands there, watching Clio squeeze the breath from me. “But she won’t be for much longer if you suffocate her with one of your terrifying displays of affection.”

As if realizing that, despite my reluctance to let go of her, I am indeed struggling for air, Clio releases me, sweeping Kaira into a similar embrace while I pant for air.

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