Page 37 of Flight of Fate

It could have beenmy idea that there is only one place relevant to any Crow in this fairy realm. They don’t care much for fairy culture or the fairies themselves—at least, not the traitors Ephegos brought along. So when we scout the western district half an hour later, Recienne staying behind with Sanja to send another letter to the rulers of Cezux, it’s only Kaira, the Crows, and me.

The males are walking in their fae forms, Kaira wedged between Herinor and Silas, Myron taking the lead and Royad, the rear, while I fly ahead, eyes and ears on the deathly silent allies beneath. Most of the corpses have been cleared away, but the lingering absence of noise bears witness to what happened here.

“Not far,” I hear Myron say to the others as he turns into the side street where I usually watch him disappear into the temple from the roofs above. Today, I dive right for the entrance, landing on his shoulder as he crosses the threshold through the damaged double doors he splintered at our last visit, sword drawn and silver power crackling in his palm like lightning spilling from his fingertips.

“Clever little crow,” he huffs, tilting his head toward me until his cheek brushes mine. I don’t know how I feel about the gesture, about the gentle contact that seems to happen without him taking notice, instincts driving him rather than his usual control.

It’s a brief moment, but it meanseverything.My heart speeds in my chest at a phantom memory—what it felt like to feel his stubbled cheek against my human skin.

Before I can relish the moment, Myron freezes, and I turn my gaze to follow his to the altar at the center of the main room where carvings of symbols adorn the top of the walls, spreading along the high ceiling, and behind the altar?—

“Fuck—” Royad exclaims, and I swear I couldn’t say it any better.

Kaira squeezes past Herinor and Myron to assess what we’re all staring at.

The carving of the humanoid form has vanished from the wall behind the altar, and the candles are no longer burning. Smoke lingers in the air like a reminder of what occurred.

“Where did it go?”I ask through Kaira’s mind link.

“Where did what go?” Herinor and Silas ask in unison.

They weren’t here with us the last time, neither did they accompany Myron on his secret temple visits, so they wouldn’t know about the carving of the God of Darkness that likes to come to life when I visit this ancient prayer hall.

What I told them of my encounter with Shaelak didn’t include he stepped out of a fuckingcarving.

Myron explains with a few efficient words while I flutter to the closest candle, digging my claws into the still-warm wax, Kaira following me around the room.“They can’t have left too long ago,”I conclude even when I know nothing of why the image of Shaelak is missing and why the candles stopped burning.

“Or the candles slowly burned out after the god left,” Royad supplies.

“Why would he leave?” Kaira objects. “Besides, who says heleft?He could be lingeringanywherein this temple.” Her voice turns into a whisper as she figures she might very well be right.

“It’s not that large of a temple,” Silas notes quietly, rounding the altar to join me by the candles and tracing the leftover carvings with cautious fingers. In the temple of the Brother Guardian, even this ancient male seems to be humbled into deep respect. “Don’t you think we would see him if he were here, or at least sense him?”

None of us has a response, so the silence trickles past as the wind picks up outside, turning into low howls reminding me of the moans of the dying on a battlefield.

“What did they want here?”I try not to miss any detail.

The carving, the candles…

“Ifthey ever were here,” Myron says, doubt thick in his tone, but Herinor comes up beside Myron, staring at the altar instead of at the walls.

“They were here. Their blood is fresh on the altar. Can’t you smell it?” He sniffs the air, and so do the others, nostrils flaring as they scent traces of their kin. So I do, too.

It’s barely there, not more than a hint of fresh iron, copper, and salt. I didn’t pay it any heed with all of us still caked in the blood of our enemies. But now that I turn my attention toward the smells in this room, I can distinguish it like a clear, bright bell in a sea of deep, dull ones.

“Someone made a blood sacrifice,”I realize, and Herinor’s bobbing head makes me dread thewhyshe’s about to explain.

Myron steps around the altar, instantly at my side as if to shield me from an invisible threat, and I can sense the bond between us flare at the flash of fear in his eyes. “What day is it?”he asks Silas, who has taken a pace back from the wall to have a better overview of the carvings.

The look on Silas’s face promises nothing good. “Night before Sauin.”

Royad curses softly, eyes darting around the room as if wary of the god presiding over this temple smiting him for his choice of words.

I flutter back onto Myron’s shoulder as if he could save me from whatever truth is about to be spoken.“What’s Sauin?”

“End of harvest season,” Silas says with a shrug. “But it’s also the night where the realms of the living and the dead come closest.”

“Never heard of it,” Kaira comments, coming close to Silas’s side as if she feels it too, that hint of darkness and tightness creeping in from the edges of the temple as we all gather around the altar on which new specks of dried blood have joined Myron’s faded ones.

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