Page 76 of Claws of Death

“Clio looks positively murderous.” With efficient movements, Ayna slides into the shirt from Herinor’s extra supplies and buttons it up to her collarbones. “She nearly bit my head off when she had to summon new clothes for me yesterday. Next time, I’ll just shift naked.”

The thought does all sorts of things to the lower regions of my stomach, but I blow out a breath, clearing my head and reluctantly releasing her from my embrace.

“We found them,” I say the moment Royad and Silas join us, their shifts quick and unspectacular, yet my heart will never fail to lift a fraction when I see all feathers vanish from their arms and their eyes clear to their normal colors.

Royad is at my side in an instant, Clio right behind him, the frown first directed at the lack of Ayna’s clothing now hitting me.

“How many?” In her mind, she’s already calculating the odds, I’m sure. I’ve never met a female fiercer and better equipped for battle than Princess Cliophera of Askarea, and the gods are kind enough to put us on the same side of a war for once.

“So far? About a thousand men.” Hearing it out loud from Herinor is worse than seeing the black mass gathering in the plains. “They seem to have only started to arrive. Tavras is a large territory, so there could be ten times that within a few weeks.”

“You think they are drafting all legions to the Plithian Plains?” Ayna rolls the sleeves of her shirt up until they no longer cover her hands. “And how many Flames are there to join them? How many Crows?”

I refuse to cringe at the mention of my own kind partnering with the enemy. They’ve made their choice.

“Kaira said five hundred Flames, maybe six hundred.” Herinor has obviously used the time spent with the part-Flame wisely and collected information. “She says their strength is ranged weapons.”

“And swordfight, of course,” Clio adds.

Herinor nods. “With those Shaelak-damned silver pokers, yes.” He glances to his hip as if expecting one of said swords hangs on his belt and shakes his head. “Their magic is dangerous since anything flammable continues to burn once it catches fire.” Unlike our magic where the silver light can gut a person or blow up a structure, but it doesn’t continue to sizzle once it’s hit its target. He doesn’t need to say that.

I can feel Ayna’s gaze on the side of my face as she leans against the closest tree, questions pressing in on the narrow space between us, but I don’t dare look to find out what they are. She saw the unadulterated power flowing out of me when they tried to un-mate her, and I don’t know if I can deal with the fear in her eyes. So, I focus on Herinor. One thing at a time.

“We don’t know how many of the traitor Crows fell in the battle in the Seeing Forest, but we can expect about a hundred to stand with Ephegos.” I’ve done the calculations several times, and no matter how I twist and turn the numbers, they won’t get any smaller.

Clio dips her chin. “Are they with the army in the plains?”

“That’s something we couldn’t verify without exposing ourselves.” Clio is a smart fairy. She understands exactly how difficult it is to sneak up on an army in an open field, even in our bird form.

Tugging a buckle of her leathers in place, Clio glances west. “Now we need a map and some figurines, and then we’ll wait for the rebels to send word.”

Without another sound, she holds out her hands and spirits us away.

Ayna

The endless sparklingof the palace can get annoying when my vision is already exhausted from staring into the distance for hours with my Crow eyes. But when I close them to tune out the colorful blend, images of the undefined accumulation of darkness fills my head.

An army of over a thousand. Flames and Crows and humans. If they get the magic-sedating weapon, there is no telling how this will end.

The scent of white roses and sweet apples fills the dining room where Recienne is awaiting us with Tori and Kaira, poring over a sprawling map of Eherea, heads tucked together as if they are planning a conspiracy of their own.

“Where did you say the rebels are hiding?” Kaira prompts, drawing her finger along the trees illustrated in the northeast of Tavras.

“In a small village along the southern edge of the plains.” Clio doesn’t turn her attention away from where she’s shifting figurines of fairies back and forth along the Askarean border.

Dead land burned by the Flames has been marked with an overlay of red color Tori magicked onto the map to highlight where we can fight without the risk of our surroundings going up in flames, but the goal is not to fight at all—for as long as we can avoid open battle, we’ll do it. Lives lost on both sides is something to be prevented for as long as possible.

I lean back in my chair, pulling on the shirt Herinor provided and which I’m still wearing. I put on a pair of pants Clio offered when we arrived at the palace, but apart from that, I’m still the wind-torn creature who shifted in Myron’s arms.

My mate sits next to me, his thigh close enough to brush mine if I move a few inches, but he doesn’t push the contact. He’s leaning back in his chair, observing Tori working on the map and how it changes with highlights and markers whenever someone throws in a new fact, an idea, or merely a concern. By the time this war is over, it will be a piece of art documenting the brutal efficiency of the fairy general’s planning.

I gave my report on everything I spotted earlier, but I’m not leaving when the future of both realms hangs in the balance, no matter how exhausted I am.

Flying for two full days with no prior experience or practice was a bit optimistic. My body is a battlefield of sore muscles and aching bones, too limp to sit up straight in my chair, so I mimic Myron’s posture, my eyes the only part of me moving. When all this is over, I’ll take a long, hot bath.

“Any news from their side?” Royad prompts. After hours of sitting patiently, he’s gotten to his feet, pacing the side of the room facing the gardens and glancing out into the darkness. “Can they tell which route the weapons will take?”

“If they aren’t already on their way,” Herinor throws in, face hard as stone. He hasn’t smiled once since we spotted the army. A part of me wonders if he wishes he was there with the rest of the traitor Crows rather than waiting to face them on a battlefield.

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