Page 23 of Claws of Death

“Funny enough, I’m not surprised to have another mind-reader in the group,” Myron says with death in his voice, and Astorian has the good sense to yield a step as Myron turns toward him.

“Nothing to worry about, Crow King.” The fairy general shrugs with less of an apology in his tone than I would have expected when dropping news of such impact. “You have impeccable shields. All of you.” He gestures at the Crow males, who all stand rigid like they are fighting not to rip Astorian’s throat out. “Even the Flame and the Crow Queen are quite adept at it,” he amends, giving me an intrigued glance that makes Myron growl a warning. “Your mind is a fortress. How you manage to lock me out is a mystery.”

“We’ll share everything we learned as soon as we’re done here. But can we focus on the important stuff first?” Kaira interrupts, whirling back on Herinor, who flinches under her stare.

“I don’t know what makes it so special, but there’s something about the ancient Flame blood that seems to counteractall other magic. Perhaps it’s the gods’way of justice,”Herinor answers Astorian’s question in his mind, and I’m surprised nobody objects when we fall back into our silent interaction.I don’t miss the taste of disappointment in Herinor’s tone, though. He didn’t know either.

Astorian inclines his head at the Crow and settles back on the boulder where he was sitting before everything started, and Myron, Royad, and Silas relax just enough to take the palpable tension out of the air as the male relays every last one of Herinor’s thoughts to them.

Herinor, however, is back in the torture chamber, but this time, he’s not a spectator. He’s strung to the table, hands balled into fists and leather bindings cutting into his muscles as he strains against them. And I’m back in Herinor’s head.

“I said I’d do it. You don’t need to tie me up,” I plead with Ephegos, who injects the drug into my arm like I’m nothing more than an experiment. Perhaps I am.

He knew my loyalty would be fickle since I have always believed in Myron’s way. But after millennia of being trapped, I’ve become impatient. And so has Ephegos.

The pain as the needle pricks my skin is nothing compared to the agony when the drug rushes my blood. By Hel and Shaelak, and even Shygon and his cursed dragons, this is torture. If Ephegos manages to make this into a scalable weapon, I don’t want to be on our enemies’side. Then the drug kicks in for real, and all strength leaves my body, limbs slacking as my magic is drained from me. I can’t move—can barely breathe. My tongue slides back in my mouth, and I gurgle against my own spittle, fighting for air.

“It’s killing him,” Jeseida notes, jotting down a few numbers and letters on a piece of paper.“Maybe this is all a fool’s attempt after all.”

“It’s not.” Ephegos sounds convinced. Convinced enough to grab my head and turn it sideways so I don’t suffocate. He does nothing though to make the pain stop. Doesn’t try to heal me or relieve the agony chasing my blood in any other way. Gods, he could have simply knocked me out, saving me the torture.

But he wants to know every last detail of what happens, watching me for hours, days, as the drug slowly recedes from my system.

I don’t pass out. I’m too strong for that. Don’t even sleep, the effects of the drug not allowing me to nod off from exhaustion.

“We need to adjust the dosage, experiment to get rid of the side effects. It will be difficult to interrogate people if they are paralyzed,” Jeseida points out, earning a raised brow from Ephegos, who seems to delight in my suffering.

“Let’s see if it’s permanent first.” He stalks around the table, picking up a small, bone-hilted knife and setting it to my bare bicep.“Perhaps he’s just pretending.”

He rams the blade into my flesh without warning, and I barely manage a breath. A breath that should have been a scream, but my tongue isn’t cooperating, and my limbs don’t lash out at the Crow, no matter how I will them to.

I have no clue how long I’m down in the chamber by the time I can finally move my fingers, then my whole hands, my arms, and legs. My wound is still bleeding, my healing powers nullified by the drug as much as the rest of my magic. Ephegos leans over my shaking body and whispers,“Go, get some rest. We’ll start the next experiment tomorrow.”

Myron

Every timeI glance at Tori, my mind boggles. It’s no different now that I’m blocking his sword in the makeshift training ring we arranged to keep in shape. Fury emboldens my strikes, even knowing what the fairy general is capable of. Maybe that particular skill of his makes it all the easier for me to attack without relenting.

With any other opponent, I’d always hold back at least a little bit, not ready to see them bleed—Royad, Silas, and even Herinor. After all the stories he’s shared about his time with Ephegos, how he’d been used over and over again to test the early versions of the drug. How he’d lost his ability to move and speak while Ephegos and Jeseida kept injectinghim with new potions, prodding him with sharp tools to see how far they could push him.

And he’d traded his loyalty. To a traitor who made him a slave of pain.

My blade batters down on Tori’s with such force the general staggers back.

“Good. Let it out, Myron. Holding it in will only harm you on the battlefield.” Signature smirk in place, he balances his stance and readies to defend again.

Bastard. He should have told me about his mind reading. We could have used it as a weapon. I lower my shield to hurl that thought right at him alongside another strike of my blade.

Astorian takes it in stride. “It’s a magical ability,” he pants. “It’s not like I could use it since we were all drugged.”

“You used it before, I’m sure.” I am. From the very beginning, Tori was reading me way too well, trusting me almost too easily. “Is my shield really that good?”

Tori tilts his head, pacing the length of the hedges behind which Silas is sparring with Pouly and Andraya. The two humans are surprisingly adept with weapons. Especially the southern Tavrasian lady who prides herself in leading a rebellion.

“It’s perfect now.”

“But it wasn’t before?” I won’t be satisfied until I know how much of my mind he’s seen.

“You were still recovering from returning from the dead,” he admits. “Therewereholes I could sneak through.”

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