Page 75 of Claws of Death

“I forgot to tell you since you put other things on my mind when I returned from my little walk.” Myron stiffens, but he doesn’t say a word, thumb brushing over the back of my palm. “I ran into the Fairy Queen. She’s with child.”

For a long moment, the air is palpably thick with questions, with warnings and unspoken threats.

Myron swallows then smiles. A real smile. “Congratulations.”

When I think Recienne is going to combust, he finally inclines his head. “Thank you, Myron. The Guardians have blessed Sanja and me with this pregnancy. It’s a secret for no one to tell.” He glances at Tata, who sits quietly where she was ordered, probably wishing she’d left with the others. “Not one word,” he warns.

“Not one word, Your Majesty.” Tata stands from the rock she is sitting on and lowers herself to one knee. “I swear.”

Recienne seems satisfied since he turns back to us. “My secret lies in your feathery hands, Myron. I would ask a promise of you to never share this information with a soul, but I will make this moment the start of our true alliance instead. I trust you with this knowledge, fully aware that you could sell me out and make my mate and my unborn child a target in this war. Whoever threatens them, threatens me. Whoever takes her and uses her against me will own this kingdom. I will give up everything before I lose her. I will die before I see her harmed. And now you’re carrying this responsibility with you.” His eyes wander from Myron to me, gold hard and piercing. “And you, Ayna of Tavras. I trust you, too.”

Myron

Strong wingbeats soundfrom in front of me, but it’s the more quiet, cautious ones beside me I listen for as I circle the dead land at the borders of the human territory. Ayna has been doing incredibly well, not once faltering despite the long distance we’ve been flying. It’s the second day of our search. Silas and Royad have split off to head west and east while Herinor, Ayna, and I fly directly south, scouting the center of the Plithian Plains.

So far, it’s been mainly horses and a shed here and there, but as time progresses, we spot more farm villages along thedusty roads.

After Clio spent a few minutes lamenting the leathers Ayna made disappear with her shift, she site-hopped us right to the Tavrasian border so we wouldn’t need to fly the entire way from Aceleau. We’ve been searching ever since, making sure to stay on schedule to return at the pick-up spot on the third day so Clio can take us back.

In the meantime, Recienne and Tori are strategizing how to best prepare an army of creatures used to fighting with the aid of their magic without it. It’s not a task I envy them. At least, Tata is there to speak to the soldiers as one of their own with first-hand experience.

I’m still in shock about Recienne’s reaction to Ayna finding out about the Fairy Queen’s pregnancy, and I’m even more surprised about how excited I am for the male I used to despise. Younglings are so rare among fairies, and Crow younglings haven’t been around since I was a little one myself. I can’t even fathom what it would be like to have one of my own.

A tear runs through my chest as I glance at Ayna in her proud bird form, gliding on the winds. She’s made for this. Shaelak had mercy on me and gifted her this sort of magic so she no longer needs to miss the oceans. But will we be happy like Recienne and his queen? Will we live long enough to find out?

We’ve been scanning the territory for two days now, my chest constricting every time something moves on the ground below and relief filling me every time it wasn’t the army we’ve been looking for.

The sun is setting slowly, creeping toward the edge of the world as I make out the silhouette of a dark mass that doesn’tbelong in the Plithian Plains slowly winding along the seam of a small forest. There they are, hiding in plain sight.

I huff a caw Herinor will instantly understand. He takes off slightly west, following my order while Ayna flutters closer to my side as if in a prompt to fill her in.

She doesn’t notice them at first. Only when we make it a mile farther west does she realize the dark stripe on the horizon isn’t merely the layers of a forest. Soldiers—hundreds of them if not thousands have gathered along the seam of trees by the farm village. They’ve put up tents and ignited fires.

The mere thought of those makes me wonder how many Fire Fairies have joined Erina’s army. And how many Crows.

My gaze darts ahead to the treetops. A perfect spot to hide a flock of Crow sentries.

With a deep caw, I order Herinor back to my side.

We found them. Now we need to return to warn the others. Silas and Royad will return soon enough when they don’t find anything. We’ll wait for Clio to come get us and carry the information to the King of Askarea that an army large enough to take on his fairy legions is readying, and if they get the magic-nullifying weapon, there will be no winning this war.

When we land by the Askarean border hours later, Clio is already pacing beneath the trees, her copper braid a strip of fire in the near darkness. Royad is hopping from tree to tree in bird form, keeping a look out for Silas and us.

When he spots us, he descends, feathers disappearing into leathers as his form uncoils into his human shape.

I follow his lead, waiting for Ayna to be close enough to the ground before I shift and hold out my hand for her to land upon.

Her feathers fall over my fingers as she curls her claws around them, one black eye studying me curiously.

“Time to shift, little Crow,” I whisper, ignoring Clio’s rant that we really don’t have time for fae-bird pillow talk.

A shudder runs through her body, claws slipping and wings elongating into arms as her whole body stretches until she’s her beautiful, human self again. My other arm catches her under the knees so I can cradle her to my chest, shielding her naked form from view.

“Catch!” Herinor calls, tossing me a bundle of fabric, which I shake out and drape over Ayna’s shoulders as I set her on her feet.

“Three leathers in two days,” I tease, holding her gaze as she shrugs as if the way our bodies are pressed together, the rough leather of my chest protector, isn’t scraping along her bare breasts. As if I can’t smell her physical reaction to me.

Gods, I would kill for that scent.

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