Page 82 of Claws of Death

“Whatever I want?” The disbelief in Herinor’s tone is almost comical. His gaze isn’t on the weapons, though, and thank the Guardians, Kaira is standing in front of him where she can’t spot the way his eyes have landed on the back of her head.

“Any piece of armor or weaponry in this room that fits you and that you can carry into battle, yes,” Clio specifies, but there’s humor in her voice.

A part of me wants to tell Kaira to put Herinor out of his misery already, but I’m not one to give relationship advice considering where I’ve ended up on my own. Right now, I can’t even tell my own mate how badly I want him.

Silas is already wandering through the rows of swords and hatchets, picking up various items and weighing them in his hands. A shimmer of enthusiasm I rarely find on the sarcastic male’s expression has settled on his features while he quietly evaluates their worth for his fighting style.

“That’s very gracious of the Fairy King, and I appreciate the gesture.” Myron inclines his head at the princess of Askarea. His gaze slides over the display of armor on the side of the room until it lands on a set of black leathers decorated with silver ornamentations. It’s definitely too small for him, and the wide hips of the pants suggest it’smade for a female form. “This one looks fit for a queen,” he notes, stepping to my side and sliding his fingers along my arm in a silent question.

“It does.” Clio flicks her fingers, summoning the set and holding it out for me. “It’s Sanja’s, but she’s already agreed that you could wear anything of hers as long as you’ve made sure Erina and Ephegos never set foot into this palace.”

My throat tightens at both the trust and the responsibility the Fairy Queen instills in me with such a simple statement. “I’ll wear it with pride.”

It takes three long minutes behind a changing screen at the side of the room to get my body stuffed into the sheath of black leather, but once I’m in, silver vines climb along my body, flexible despite the hard steel they are made from. They seem to shift with every movement, protectively wrapping around my side when I lift my arm, crawling over my knees to the outside of my thighs when I bend my legs. They even slither over my throat when I tilt my head backward, making panic rise in my gut.

“They are spelled to protect their bearer,” Clio explains, gently stroking along the living metal, and it retreats to the collar of the leathers, allowing me a deep breath. “The vines are made from steel infused with magic by one of the ancient mages that once walked Eherea. It’s the last one of this making.”

Air floods my lungs in a deep inhale. “It’s beautiful.” Because it is.

From the side, Myron is eyeing me with awe so profound it takes my breathall over again.

“Let’s see what the others are choosing, shall we?” Whether Clio is oblivious to our moment or is deliberately saving me is irrelevant. I’m grateful when the female twirls around, stalking between Myron and me toward Royad, who’s set his sight on a carved bow made of black wood.

“This bow was a gift from my mother to my father.” Her shoulders hunch ever so slightly as she runs her finger along the curve of the bow.

Royad is about to put it back on the rack, probably not wanting to offend Clio by taking something of meaning to her, but the female stops him. “Take it. It hasn’t been used in centuries. She’d want it to belong to a decent male for once.”

While I’m struggling to unpack the meaning of her words, Royad seems to understand. “I’ll take good care of it and return it after our mission.”

Clio shakes her head, closing Royad’s fingers around the bow. “Keep it.”

“This one looks wicked.” Silas, oblivious to or purposefully ignoring Clio and Royad, swings a double-bit hatchet with swirling engravings so close to Herinor’s ear he cuts a few hairs off.

The warrior doesn’t flinch. “Stop playing and pick something already,” he grumbles.

Next to him, Kaira is sorting through a row of slender swords without enthusiasm, avoiding Herinor’s gaze.

“Aren’t you going to choose anything?” I ask him.

Herinor shakes his head. “If we come across Ephegos, I’d rather have the worst blade in the world inmy hands so I won’t stand a chance against Myron or you when the traitor orders me to kill you.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at that admission, so I look away, watching Myron pull a long, broad blade from the rack closest to him. He slides a fingertip along the engraving an inch from the edge, listening as if he could hear the sword sing, and nods to himself.

When we leave the armory half an hour later, we’re all clad in black armor and carrying new weapons. All but Herinor, who sticks with his decision to keep his old things. Kaira abandoned the sword and opted for daggers like me, and from Silas’s belt, the double-bit hatchet is dangling, happily ready to cut throats. It’s the most prepared I’ve felt in years and the least prepared I actually am.

It won’t matter. Trap or real, Erina’s delivery needs to be intercepted. We can’t take chances with our fate.

As I glance up at Myron, who’s walking by my side, I know what I need to do.

Ayna

A sizzleso hot it makes me want to scream runs through my palm. From my skin, steam rises like miniature clouds.

“Damn it, Kaira!” Hopping from the chair, I nearly fall over my own feet as I hold up my hand in Clio’s direction.

The female flicks a finger, crossing her outstretched legs at the ankles where she’s sprawling on the couch of our common room. Thank her ice magic for working fast, and thank my Crow powers for healing minor wounds in a flash. My palm is cool and skin no longer angry red within aheartbeat.

“I’m so sorry. I thought I had it right this time.” Kaira is sitting on the windowsill with her hands in her pockets and guilt on her features.

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