Page 67 of Claws of Death

This female endured serious trauma and has picked herself up so fast, not a hint of bitterness on her features. I don’t know what bothers me more, how well she’s dealing with what life has dealt her or how poorlyIam.

A soft knock sounds on the door, and Recienne waves his hand, granting access.

“Apologies…” Silas is halfway across the threshold when he realizes the room isn’t empty. “I can come back later.”

In his hands, he’s holding a plate with one single piece of cake.

Not cake—fig-pie. I remember the scent from Myron’s palace in the Seeing Forest.

“It’s all right, Silas. Please come in.” Recienne waves the male over, simultaneously summoning a fourth chair next to mine.

Silas’s eyes wander between Tata, Recienne, and Myron before they settle on the chair, and he prowls over, unsheathing his hatchet and laying it over the foot-end of the bed before he sits down, small porcelain plate clutched in both hands like he has no clue where to put it or why he brought it to begin with.

“My favorite, Thanks.” Tata holds out a hand toward him, and for a heartbeat, I believe she’s reaching for him, but Silas pushes up a few inches, bending forward to hand her the dish.

Recienne’s lips twitch, and my stomach sours. Myron sits quietly like he hasn’t just witnessed one of his grumpiest warriors awkwardly hand a female a piece of cake.

Tata brings the plate up to her nose, inhaling deeply before she leans back against the stack of pillows, setting the plate on the bedside table, right next to the flowers. “For later,” she murmurs, a small smile on her lips. “I was just going to tell them about the weapon,” Tata says to Silas, who merely nods, face wiped clean of all emotions and the usual frown back in place.

“I’m glad you’re feeling brave enough to share today.” The words out of Silas’s mouth take me by such surprisethat I don’t realize I’m exchanging a look with Myron until something in my stomach starts eating at me.

He averts his eyes first, training them back on Tata, and I follow his lead.

“Please tell us more about the weapon,” Recienne prompts, his tone gentle, cautious in a way I hadn’t believed the Fairy King capable of, but today seems to be full of surprises.

Loose black strands shift into Tata’s face as she lowers her head, a deep breath lifting her chest. “Some days were worse than others in the Flames’ dungeon, but the day we overheard the guards’ conversation about the weapons delivery was the worst.”

The air catches in my throat as I brace for details.

“They strung us up on the rings that day and didn’t take us down again. It was the day the first of us died.” She closes her eyes as that particular memory flickers behind her eyelids. “Some of us had been there for a while, captured during earlier attacks. But they were all alive, ready to fight our way out should the opportunity arise. After that day, no one believed we’d get out alive.”

Like a dark cloud, images of the dungeon return, making it hard to inhale a steady breath. But I’m not the only one. Myron’s fingers are digging into his thighs like he’s holding on for dear life, his eyes narrowed as if squinting away the horrors of his own memories—not from our rescue mission but from his days in Erina’s dungeon. His shoulders rise and fall with slow, controlled breaths. I might have not noticed it, had something inside my chest not alerted me to hisdiscomfort. A flicker of a memory of that connection once brilliant and strong between us.

I don’t reach for him the way I might have two weeks ago. This isn’t his story, and I don’t want to embarrass him by bringing attention to him. I’ll ask him later.

It’s a promise I make to myself, and I pretend it’s as binding as any Crow’s.

“I’m sorry,” Recienne murmurs, his tone soothing and gentle. How many soldiers he has consoled like this in his long, long years, I can’t begin to fathom. He’s fought in both Crow wars, and so have his sister and his general. The history in this room is loaded and dangerous, but we’re all working together now, there’s no doubt about that.

“What did they say about the weapon?” Silas is the one to ask, but even his usually rough, sarcastic tone has smoothed into a quiet melody as he studies the female’s hunched shoulders, the crease between her brows, the lines bracketing her mouth as she searches for words.

Eventually, she heaves a deep breath, lifting her chin and straightening her back in defiance against the horrors haunting her. “There’s a delivery on its way. Erina and his Crow friend—the name of which I keep forgetting?—”

“Ephegos,” Silas supplies with a growl.

“Exactly, Ephegos,” Tata repeats as I remind myself that Ephegos supposedly is now leading Erina’s armies, and anything involving the traitor Crow and weapons can’t be good news. “They have refined the magic-nullifying serum and sending it to the Plithian Plains where their army is gathering.”

Fuck…

Even Recienne loses his composure for a brief moment as he takes in what seems to be news to everyone.

“They are sending them in wagons. Vials of liquid, apparently, to apply to blades and arrowheads. It’s more potent than the version they used on you when they captured you.” Her gaze slides to Silas. Whatever happened in those few days since she woke again, Silas must have spent a lot of time in this room, sharing stories, or she would have never heard about how they got captured by the Flames.

“Ephegos is getting ready to equip his own army with the weapon, too, and if that happens, there is no chance we’ll defeat even a small group of Flames and Crows.” Her gaze wanders from Recienne to Myron to me before it returns to Silas.

His own army.The Crows, not just Erina’s legions.

“I knew that fucker would be trouble,” Silas grumbles more to himself. “I knew, if we let him live, he’d eventually fuck up our lives.”

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