Page 1 of Flight of Fate

One

Ayna

Mist creepsthrough the narrow streets in the western district of Aceleau, wafts rising on a chill breeze and glittering in front of my face as I watch the fairy capital from my perch up on a chimney. I was hoping to find the air warmer up here, but the hearths in the building below have gone cold a hundred years ago, and the ruins that are left serve mainly for rats and the occasional thief to hide for the night.

Across the cobbled street, hues of soft gold and orange glow in the windows—orbs of fairy light illuminating the homes of magical inhabitants. Handsome fairy males and females sit by the fires, books in their laps or late-night meals on their tables, their clothes as elaborate and beautiful as if they were visiting the palace at the heart of the city.

I shudder at the sense of loneliness sliding into my bird heart at the sight of so much life and contentment. None of them know there’s an army preparing south of Askarea. None of them are afraid.

I ruffle my feathers and hop off the edge of the chimney, landing on the plain roof tiles.

In my bird form, no one pays me any heed in this city. Not even the other crows circling the dark alleys. I’m invisible theway I might once have hoped to be—before I met Myron and fell in love. Before he loved me back and the curse on the Crow Fae broke.

Claws slithering over the slippery roof, I take flight, peering down at the fairies in their thick coats, wincing at the clopping of the occasional hoofed fairy hurrying along the alley. The air tastes of spices and pending winter, a combination I would have appreciated in my human form. However, all I ever crave these days is meat. My tiny crow stomach grumbles as I circle above the abandoned house, waiting, my eyes trained on the end of the alley where the lights from the windows don’t penetrate the thick darkness.

A part of me feels empathy for the Crows who were trapped in their half-form, their instincts those of birds when they so desperately tried to become entirely Fae once more, but those instincts have kept me alive these past days of sneaking out of the Fairy Palace to explore Aceleau on my own.

Between the ancient walls of crooked houses, a tall, cloaked figure moves so fluidly I barely spot him at the edge of the shadows. About time. Every night around this hour, the male with the black hair ventures to this part of the city, and I’ve made it my task to follow on silent wings.

If he looked up, he’d spot me, a feathered sliver of night gliding above, but he never tips up his head, never as much as glances to the roofs and what lies beyond, between the stars. A part of me is grateful for his ignorance while the other part wonders what he’d do if he spotted me following him. If, perhaps, he knows on instinct I’m here as he sneaks off into the night.

On fae-quiet feet, he slips from shadow to shadow as if that could shield him from the prying, immortal eyes of the creatures roaming this realm, his gait sure and confident like that of theking he is, even when he’s dressed in simple dark pants and covered his thick woolen tunic with a cloak of deepest black.

I barely recognized him that first night when he slipped out of our room after he thought I’d fallen asleep on the pillow next to his and I woke to an empty bed, panic clutching my little bird heart and instincts driving me out the open window and into the night.

He climbs over a fence, taking a shortcut back to the towering walls of the palace, the moon painting his outline with silver as he crosses the empty market square a few streets down, while I glide from roof to roof, never getting close enough to be detected, but never falling far behind either.

I’m not sure what he does in the small temple near the abandoned house every night, and I don’t have the courage to find out. All I do is make sure he doesn’t get into trouble when he leaves the protection of the palace walls. Not that there is much I can do in my bird form, but what else can I do? If I stay behind, I won’t be able to close my eyes for a minute from worry.

Just as I land on one of the colorful canopies spread over the abandoned market stands, clopping footsteps approach the corner he’s turning, and he freezes. His hands casually hover by his sides within reach of the knives he carries everywhere.

I cock my head, sniffing the air for danger, and get a whiff of alcohol and cinnamon pie accompanied by laughter and out-of-tune humming.

The male shrinks into the shadows and out of sight a heartbeat before the two-horned and hoofed fairies stumble past, oblivious to the predator lurking in the darkness. I can almost see the curl of disgust on his mouth, feel the tension leave his body as the night dwellers dawdle toward the tavern down the side street, one arm slung around each other’s shoulders for support and their colorful cloaks swaying with each unsteady step.

I want to caw my relief as they reach the drinking hall and the door swings open, letting the sound of fiddles and drums escape just long enough for the tune to be bent by the near-freezing air before the fairies disappear into the merriment.

When I turn back to the shadows, the male in black is gone, and my heart lurches into my throat at the flutter of wings behind me.

Before I can take flight, the crow lands next to me, cocking his head with a mixture of accusation and exasperation, and I wish I could shift the way he does, turning into the massive male who’s spent too many hours keeping me company in my misery. His dark brown hair sticks out of its tie at the back of his head where the wind has torn at it, and the scar on his cheek quirks as he lifts a questioning brow at me.

“Been following Myron around again?” Royad folds his arms over his broad chest, more to contain the warmth that’s trying to escape through his simple shirt with no cloak to protect him from the icy air.

I don’t exactly relax at the sight of him perching on the edge of the roof, peering down at me with those eyes that are too similar to Myron’s to be comfortable.

Someone has to look out for him,I want to retort, but I don’t have a voice in this form, so I simply stare him down with all the dignity that a queen trapped in a bird’s body can muster.

Royad shrugs as if reading the words right from my mind. “He’s been sneaking out every night,” Royad reports, bracing his hands on the stone tiles. How he doesn’t flinch away from the cold, I can’t even begin to wonder. I’m shaking from the icy, humid air, and the protection the slanted roof gives from the wind is the only reason I’m not shivering in my feather coat. “But you’ve been following him almost as often.” He doesn’t need to guess. I’m certain he’s been watching over his cousin and king as thoroughly as always. Only, being born with the reflexes andpowers of a Crow Fae combined with centuries of training make him superior in stealth. “Any particular reason you avoid him during the days but can’t peel yourself off his heels during the nights?”

A loaded question, and one I really don’t wish to discuss with anyone. It’s bad enough that I have been stuck in this bird form for two weeks.

Twoweeks, during which the others have been refining their combat skills and working with King Recienne of Askarea’s general to develop fighting techniques that would allow them to work around the magic suppressant that’s now coating the weapons and armor of our enemies.

I cackle a sound that was supposed to be a sigh, and Royad lowers his head, chest expanding as he heaves the breath I can’t seem to get down. “Any idea what he’s up to?”

I don’t dare get close enough to risk exposure,I want to say. A caw is all that comes out.

We both glance down at the shadows where Myron disappeared like a shadow in the mist, already on his way to the palace.

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