Page 102 of Claws of Death

Silas curses under his breath. “They would have let them burn.” Not a question.

“Jeseida would have let the world burn to take revenge on us,” Royad replies, and my stomach tightens at the guilt washing over me for all the things my father did to those people.

“Perhaps we would have deserved death at their hands.” I hate the thought because, rationally, I know it wasn’t me who took their palace and their home in the Seeing Forest. It was my father.

“Ephegos and his flock of traitors deserve it,” Royad says before I can spiral into a hole I won’t return from.

In my hands, Ayna’s little body remains still, even when I need her to quench the rage welling up inside me. I need to look into her gray eyes and reassure myself that this storm the Flames conjured hasn’t taken her.

The Gods must be mocking me because the air changes, and a cold wind whips the plains as we march toward the line of trees on the horizon. Water collects in the corner of my eye, and the hole in my chest aches as my legs grow weak, forcing me to lean on the arm Royad instantly throws around my waist to keep me upright.

“If I don’t make it,” I murmur to my cousin, fighting the pain and the weakness and losing, “see to it that Ayna gets a proper crown. One with feathers and diamonds shaped like teardrops. Tell her those are the tears I cried for her when I held her in my palms.”

Herinor

I fucking hate this continent.Down to the mosquitos in its forest. Even gravity seems to work differently from Neredyn. Perhaps it’s having been locked in a cursed body for too long and still struggling after weeks to readjust to my usual self. Perhaps it’s that the annoying and pretty Flameling isn’t here to distract me from the fact that I hate it here so much.

Perhaps the past hours have something to do with it. Sharing Royad’s fate in Jeseida’s wagon was more than I ever hoped to get out of that ambush. I got magic-deprived, but we’ve endured worse than a few pushes to the stomach that made me vomit up my dinner. What bothers me is thatJeseida said Ephegos is looking forward to having me back in his service.

Her response, when I asked where he was, was another punch—in the mouth this time. A weak enough one not to even make my teeth clang while they didn’t spare Royad any pain. By the time Myron found us, his cousin was already battered and bloody, almost like they handled me differently—to keep up appearances nobody cares for.

I’m no longer Ephegos’s whore—even if he could fuck me over with one single command.

The surprise on Jeseida’s face when she found me working with Myron was priceless. Almost as good as Ephegos’s when I managed to carry Myron out of the dungeon without bleeding out myself. It took a lot of effort to convince myself I was getting him away from Ephegos’s reach to keep him alive for extended suffering. Had I seen it as anything else in that moment, I might not have made it more than three steps away from Ephegos that cursed day in Erina’s dungeon.

We’ve found cover in a patch of bushes at the seam of the forest, nothing spectacular, where we could linger more than a few hours. It should be enough for Silas and Tata to either have restored enough power to transform and site-hop or to heal Myron’s wound. He’s still bleeding from that puncture hole even when he won’t admit he’s barely standing.

“Sit and rest,” Recienne orders, unceremoniously slouching against the nearest tree. “I’ll keep watch.”

I don’t want to know what thatwatchwill look like with his magic gone and his words still not fully straight. Under different circumstances, this would be comical, but my hideis on the line as much as his, so I drag myself to his side and plant my feet next to his ass. “I’ll keep you company so you don’t vomit at a potential attacker instead of throwing a blade at them.” With more bravado than I feel, I draw my sword and swing it next to his head. Tata almost throws a tantrum at the sight of steel so close to her king’s neck. Thank the gods for Silas and his ever-calming presence. As if.

But he’s pulled himself together greatly around the muscular female. Not exactly my type. I like my females with more spunk. But to each their own.

Royad makes sure the Crow King lies down on a dry spot, ready to take Ayna from his hands and watch over her while Myron sleeps, but a growl rips from the male’s throat that sends a shiver down even a brave warrior’s spine like mine. Whatever Erina tried with that un-mating attempt, it wildly backfired. Myron is more protective than ever, and Ayna… She was a force to be reckoned with before. Now she’s angry. All I’ve ever seen since the moment I talked to her after the attack was a female ready to lash out. Tonight, she brought down the wrath of the gods upon our enemies. I’ll never look at her the same way again. When before I was worried she might not survive without help—mine or otherwise—I’m cured from the belief that Wolayna Milevishja, Queen of Crows and Queen of Tavras, needs the aid of anyone. Except to carry her off the battlefield, and Myron is doing a damn good job at playing the hero.

Ignoring Tata, Royad, and everyone else who might have an opinion on anything, I ram my blade into the soil at myfeet and announce to Recienne that I’m not planning to slit his throat anytime soon.

He surprises me with a laugh. “Me neither, Herinor. I enjoy watching you squirm under the little Flame’s stare way too much.”

Ignoring his comment, I lean against the tree trunk and scan the surroundings.

It’s a long few hours until sunrise. Silas and Tata fall asleep almost as fast as Myron, who’s cradling Ayna to his chest, her bird body covered by his open leather jacket. Royad is keeping watch as was to be expected. These are the human lands, and it’s more likely a random hunter will stumble upon us than a fairy, so magic-free creatures do the job just fine.

Recienne falls asleep halfway through our watch, not as accustomed to the side effects of the drug as the rest of us. When he cracks an eye at first light, his hair is disheveled, he’s drooling on his sleeve, and his crown has slipped off his head. Not so kingly now.

I nudge him in the ribs with the toes of my boot, and he grumbles his mate’s name.

“Sorry, I’m not a pregnant female around the age of one hundred and twenty, even though I look just as good in a dress.”

Silas chuckles from where he’s scrambling to his feet. At least, he’s awake and in good spirits. I can’t say the same thing for Myron. He hasn’t woken from his slumber, and the crimson spot soaking the ground next to his chest makes me wish I had my powers back. I’d find a reason to justify my actions in front of the bargain with Ephegos.

“Quiet night,” Royad prompts when he notices me staring.

“Thank Galloris.” Dragging my sword from the soil, I sheathe it and leave the Fairy King to his own morning retching.

I’m halfway across the makeshift camp when a pair of boots slams into the ground right in front of me, and a massive form takes up my vision. My pulse spikes, my muscles coil as instinct takes over.

So fast I can’t even think, my blade is back in my hand, pointing at the fairy general’s throat. He’s a bit wide-eyed and marginally winded, but he’s here. His gaze sweeps the space, chest heaving as he notices Recienne sitting against the tree, waving and grimacing.

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