Page 21 of Flight of Fate

“It’s about your rank in fairy society, and with a three-letter name, you’re lower than in the gutters.” A hint of delight plays on Recienne’s features as the stench of urine and embarrassment fills the room. “But those three letters are enough to take control of you and make you do whatever I want you to do,Gus.”

A flash of power zings through the room as he does exactly that, and Gus’s hand lifts in a wave, bloodied mouth shaping into a smile despite the horror in Gus’s eyes.

It’s in that moment that I realize how blessed the Crows are that name control doesn’t work on us. It’s worse than the punch in the face because free will is taken away.

“Tell me where the King of Tavras is hiding his troops,” Recienne orders, waving an idle hand, which delivers enough power to make Gus’s feet tap-dance while he’s fighting that grotesque smile of his.

“They land in Ansoli and cross the lands north of the Seeing Forest until they reach the mountains north of the city.” Recienne drops the control, and Gus’s smile slips into a mask of disdain. “By the time you find them, you’ll be overrun,” he adds out of his own volition, and the threat rings true in his words.

Recienne and Tori share a glance that shouldn’t alarm me, but centuries of knowing the Askarean Fairies as my enemies has honed my instincts, so I see it for what it is: a silent command to ready forces to meet whatever Erina has infiltrated the lands with.

Tori laces his fingers, cracking his knuckles with a sickening sound before he yawns and stalks for the door. “Call for me if he comes up with something we don’t already know. I have better things to do than wait for a common Flame to spill a human king’s secrets.”

Honed to perfection, those skills of deception make me fight a cringe. Had I not seen Tori smile and joke and cry with my own eyes, I might have believed the lie, but I’ve met the true Astorian Remanier Alves DeLoor. I recognize the slight twitch of his mouth for the shock it is, and I know that the moment he leaves this room, he’ll go into planning mode to protect those he cares for the most before planning how to protect the kingdom.

At least, this leaves an opening for me to finally throw my first punch at the Flame, and when Recienne nods at me, I take Tori’s place close by the Flame and let my hands turn into talon-tipped claws and the black haze to fill my vision, the one that promises blood and pain.

Thirteen

Ayna

“He’s insane.”It’s not the first time I’m repeating myself, and it won’t be the last.

The surprise in Royad’s expression at hearing me in his mind through the link Kaira graciously provides has eased into one of acceptance at my opinionated caws.

“He can’t offer Shaelak his blood. Blood sacrifices have never led anywhere good.”Not that I have much experience with them, but I’ve read stories and heard tales the way any Tavrasian child does about what happens when people offer their blood to Eroth.“And why didn’t he tell me? Why sneak out every night?”

Royad gives me a sideways glance, assessing the tension lacing my bird body, the slightly angled wings, cocked head. “Perhaps he didn’t want to give you hope only to see you crushed if he fails.”

“Hope for what?”There are so many thoughts I have on how it’s not Myron’s place to decide what I should or shouldn’t know, how much hope I could bear without breaking if it’s in vain, that I swallow all of them rather than spitting and cawing at the male who has nothing to do with Myron’s false sense of protection. SoI launch right back into the topic of the other bad choice Myron has made by offering blood to a god.

“At least, he wasn’t offering it to the God of Death,”I amend, the threatening panic drifting a bit farther away at the reminder that Myron sacrificed his blood to Shaelak instead.“Or he’d either be surrounded by the vengeful dead, or Eroth would open his eyes to him and bring him right behind his veil.”

While Royad gives me an incredulous look, Kaira nods her agreement. She’s heard the same stories.

“What was he even trying to achieve with his morbid sacrifices?” Trust Kaira to ask the hard questions.

Luckily, Royad isn’t Myron, who would try to hide whatever he’s up to, spilling his king’s secrets instead.

With a sigh, he sits on the stairs in front of the altar, waiting for me to flutter down from the stone table and land on his knee, while Kaira remains standing in front of us, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like a mother waiting for the explanations from a naughty child.

“When it became clear that Vala wouldn’t release you from the bird form, Myron decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.” Dread pools in my stomach at the look on his face when he studies me—then the few spots of dried blood beside him on the stairs. “He decided a blood offering was the right way to get Shaelak’s attention and that Shaelak is the right god to address since he’s the creator of our kind.”

“The god’s attention…”I repeat, trying not to remember, exactly, that god’s attention. Useless creature spitting cryptic comments.

Strands of brown hair come loose, swaying as he shakes his head. “I wasn’t there to follow the ritual, but I’m certain the request was his blood for your ability to shift back. The god apparently never deigned him worthy of his response.” What hedoesn’t need to say is that Myron would probably have given so much more than his blood had Shaelak demanded it.

Part of me uncoils with relief that I’m the only one Shaelak has been talking to, and I whisper a silent order in my mind for the god not to get any ideas and ask for Myron’s life instead.

The responding quiver running through the temple tells me Shaelak isn’t done with me, and the way Royad and Kaira both reach for their weapons, then drop their hands once more when the temple remains empty, tells me they’re ready to fight whatever threat Shaelak sends my way.

“I doubt Shaelak would go for something as simple as that,”I eventually respond to Royad’s revelation.“If his behavior from the forest is normal, then we can’t expect a straightforward solution.”I’m still thinking the wordsolutionwhen I realize that, for the first time in weeks, I actually believe there might be one.

Fluttering from Royad’s knee to the edge of the altar, I survey the tall candles along the back wall, covered in dust from what must be decades.“Can you light these for me?”A few wingbeats have me perching on the shoulder of a carved figure with swirls of what looks like wind rippling from his palms, my beak pointing at the gray wax.

Royad is on his feet before Kaira can ask, forming a small orb of silver power for her to siphon a flame from, and I watch her float the flickering orange form from candle to candle, sparks flying as the dust catches fire, burning away the layers of forgottenness. Within moments, shadows are dancing along the temple walls with the sway of the flames, and what looks like a small space expands into a realm of light and darkness, of contrasts melting together at the center of the room where the altar sits like an island frozen in time.

Myron might be a fool, offering his own blood, but he was on the right track. Shaelak is the correct god to address. And I am the one who has a bone to pick with him. So I fly back to thecarved stone soaked in my mate’s blood and caw my frustration at the God of Darkness, Creator of Crows.

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