Page 103 of Claws of Death

“Put that fucking toothpick away, Herinor. You’ll hurt yourself.” Astorian shoves my sword aside with two fingers of his gloved hand. He looks like he’s seen better days, but he’s here. “Where is he?”

He doesn’t stop for an explanation or scold me for not being able to tell friend from foe as he launches across the space, scooping Recienne from the ground and disappearing so fast I can’t even blink.

We all stare into the empty spot where he was standing a moment ago, even Tata, who’s probably used to Tori’s ways more than any of us.

“What the fuck was that?” Silas phrases it pretty well.

Of course, the fairy general gets his king to safety first. Everything else can wait. I would do the exact same thing.

About a heartbeat later, Clio pops up between the trees, Tori right behind her. Their battle wounds are gone, and the blood and soot has been cleared from their armor, but theirwary eyes tell me they’ve been as anxious for this night to be over as we’ve been.

Clio’s gaze skips from Tata to Silas to me to Royad to Myron, relief relating her features with every face she recognizes as alive. When she doesn’t find Ayna, it flicks back to Royad. “Where is she?”

Her voice is shaking like she doesn’t want to hear the answer.

Royad gestures at Myron’s slow-rising chest. “She’s still unconscious.”

Almost stumbling over her own feet, Clio rushes to Myron’s side, leaning over the Crow King. “And still in her bird form.”

“She hasn’t been able to shift back for some reason,” Royad explains, “but I can tell you details when we’re back at the palace. We need to get out of here. Someone will miss the Flames at some point, and if they find us without our powers, we’re fucked.”

Clio nods her agreement while Tori kneels down beside Myron to roll him into his arms. “I’ll take the king first. We’ll send others to pick you all up.”

Clio takes Tata’s hand and site-hops her away, leaving Royad, Silas, and me to ourselves.

“I guess that tells us where we stand,” Silas muses with a frown.

Before Royad or I can respond, two fairy soldiers pop up, inclining their heads to us and magicking us away.

Ayna

I’m in a boat.The little thing is swaying gently on the waves of the sea, and a warm wind blows over me like a soft caress. It’s the safest I’ve felt in years. From a distance, Ludelle’s laugh travels across the deck. He’s joking with his men, planning the next loot. Someone said there’d be royal ships passing through soon, right in the south of Tavras where the coast turns inward and the Quiet Sea becomes the Gulf of Tears. It’s been forever since we last visited the mainland. Usually, we stop at the uncharted islands far off the coast where Ludelle likes to leave his treasures to pick up later when we need them. Or to pick up never because we always acquire new treasures. Someone someday will be very rich when they stumble upon his stash.

Down at the bottom of all gold and jewel-filled chests lies a small, steel box with an item Ludelle promised me. I don’t know what it is. A necklace perhaps. A bracelet. But the way he looks at me from the head of the boat tells me it might be smaller, round, and solid. It might fit on my left middle finger. If pirates married, I’d marry him.

His teeth gleam in the bright sun like a string of pearls, eyes sparkling with mischief as he catches me staring, and my stomach flips with joy, warmth trickling through my veins like honey.

With a slow hand, he smooths back his hair. It’s longer than I remember, and his shirt is red.

Ludelle prefers white or black.

It takes me a moment to spot the thin line across his throat dripping crimson.

In a flash, everything comes back to me: the Wild Ray, the soldiers taking us to Fort Perenis, my mangled hand. Being held down on the ground with a knee pressed into my spine as they slit the crew’s throats. The light leaving Ludelle’s eyes.

A scream hatches from my lips as I tear my eyes open…

I’m not on a boat. The brine I thought I smelled is not from the ocean. It’s the scent of forests and salt and freedom that I recognize in an instant. As I recognize the hands scooping me up, fingertips brushing along my side so carefully I’m not sure he’s even touching me. I’m so tiny in his hands, all except my wings fit between his palms. My wings…

I want to spread them, but they barely twitch.

“Hello, my little Crow.” Myron leans down, his words a gentle wind that tastes of mint and memories. I can make out the details of his flawless mouth and the dark stubble onhis chin. His eyes, clear blue and alert, track every movement despite the obvious signs of exhaustion surrounding them in smudges of dark purple.

Hello,I want to say, but a harsh caw leaves my mouth, and I register I’m not in my human form.

The tip of Myron’s finger brushes the place where my neck meets my wing. “You had quite the injury there.” Shuddering into his touch, I lift my wing an inch to see if it’s working. It twitches but doesn’t fully spread. “Herinor says he saw you plunge from the sky.”

Dark memories swirl before me. The battle. Flame after Flame after Flame coming for us. Myron fighting at my side. Blood and pain.

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