Page 39 of Flight of Fate

“Perhaps I deserve this,” he admits.

“Perhaps? You deserve all of it and more.”

Myron doesn’t object.

Herinor’s chest heaves as he waits for us to push for more, to rage at him or damn him, but Silas and Royad stand dumbstruck while Myron merely stares at the male who so desperately wishes to be part of this court yet can’t free himself of all the constraints making him a liability, who’s made things far too easy for himself, and judging by his expression, he knows it.

“Since you’re so great at guessing, what did they want from Shaelak?” Kaira’s voice is soft but edged with a sharpness that makes my feathers stand up on the back of my neck. “And don’t even try to talk your way around it.”I don’t care if you bleed to death, is what she doesn’t need to say because it’s bluntly on her face—the anger, the betrayal. Herinor flinches as the Flame takes another step closer to Silas as if the male granted protection from the pain of his deceit.

“I suppose to offer him a bargain he mentioned a long time ago, before Ayna broke the curse. A bargain I’d forgotten about since I no longer saw the relevance of it with the curse broken: His protection of Shaelak’s bloodline in exchange for Myron’s death.”

My blood freezes—literallyfreezes—in my veins, and for a few, shallow breaths, I can’t think.

“I didn’t understand it back then, believed he meant the Crows, and his idea was to become King of Crows after Myron’s death.” Helplessness slackens Herinor’s features. “I didn’t know he meant a literal bargain with the God of Darkness.”

“And you’ve carried this with you all this time and never thought to warn any of us?” Kaira whispers, close to tears as the first drop of Herinor’s blood hits the cracked stones beneath his feet.

I don’t dare breathe as Myron’s power releases Herinor’s throat, not because he’s done with the male but because his strength fails him for a heartbeat, the ripple of withdrawing magic running through him like a violent shiver, almost dislodging me from his shoulder, but his hand snaps to my claws, securing them in place.

Nothing is going to separate us, not even the God of Darkness. The maker of Crows. His message is loud and clear even when he doesn’t turn his gaze from Herinor.

“Itoldyou, I didn’t understand it for what it was back then: the idea of a real bargain with a real god. One we can only summon on Sauin, once a year. Silas knows it. He’s familiar with the traditions of the ancient Crows.” His eyes dart to Silas, who confirms with a curt nod, not at all happy about it as Herinor continues, “This is the first Sauin since he mentioned it, and had I known he meant what he said, I would have alerted you.” Licking the blood from his lips, Herinor sucks in a slow, controlled breath, holding Myron’s gaze, remorse lining his eyes.“I didn’t know he meant Ayna. I didn’t know this bargain was even a real possibility. That Ayna truly is Shealak’s descendant. But—” His gaze falls upon the altar, the missing relief of the god. “It makes sense now. It makes so much fucking sense.” A desperate chuckle tears his voice.

Excuses, explanations that don’t change anything.

Kaira shakes her head. “You should have told us anyway.”

Because I wanted to live,his eyes seem to say, and I almost feel pity for him as Silas steps up to him, punching him in the face so hard his jaw cracks.

“Even if these are all wild guesses and we have no shred of proof other than Ephegos’s blood on the altar, you’re still a piece of shit and deserve what you signed up for by making that bargain with him. You two deserve each other.”

Herinor doesn’t fight back.

Twenty-Four

Ayna

There’sno warning before Myron’s fist connects with Herinor’s face, splitting his lip wide open, and I almost tumble from his shoulder. Myron shakes out his bloodied fingers then observes the skin on his knuckles cut from the force of the impact. Slowly, deadly, he prowls around the male in a tight circle, debating what to do with him. Kill him on the spot or let him live so he’ll suffer an end delivered by the ancient magic of bargains. I don’t need to be able to see into Myron’s head to know that’s what’s on his mind because, when he eventually stops, surveying Herinor’s hung head, the hunched shoulders, the utter defeat, he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Take him to the dungeon.”

Herinor’s pleading eyes snap up to Myron’s first and, when he doesn’t find a hint of mercy there, to mine, but Royad and Silas are already on the move. He doesn’t put up a fight as they drag him from the temple, a trail of dripping blood tracing the path through the debris of the doors Myron splintered at our last visit.

“If I ever consider defending him again, slap me. Hard,” Kaira says into the thick silence left behind, and I remember Myron and I aren’t the only ones affected by Herinor’s selectivesilence. Kaira opened her heart for Herinor, and even if she hasn’t told him what’s blooming in those fiery chambers of her chest, I have heard her thoughts, have observed her gazes, have noted the longing in her eyes when she studied the male from the distance.

“Promise,” Myron says before I can stop him, and I can almost see the ancient magic of Crow promises weave through my mate.

“I promise I won’t,”I tell her because Herinor’s choices are not her fault, and even when he might have saved hundreds of fairies by telling us what he knew, I can’t blame him for dismissing Ephegos’s words and hints for delusions. Even knowing about my heritage wouldn’t have changed anything; he is right about that.

“He’s not,” Kaira responds to my thoughts, and when Myron turns his inquisitive eyes on her, she explains, “Herinor had no right to keep such information from us. He had no right to decide what is relevant and what isn’t. Especially when it comes to Ayna’s heritage.”

Myron’s slow nod unnerves me enough to flutter from his shoulder to the edge of the altar where I perch on a blood-free spot.

“He deserves worse than the dungeon,” he says like in an afterthought, his eyes trailing me to the stone Ephegos must have used to summon the God of Darkness.

Herinor betrayed us, perhaps not in the way Ephegos did, but he held back information—again. Unwittingly, perhaps, but at this point, none of us know any longer what we can rely on when it comes to what leaves this male’s mouth.

I should be more upset, should wish to knock Herinor’s teeth out myself, but I can’t find it in me, that rage.“It’s not the first time I learned I’m not who I thought I was,”I remind them,“and this time is far less distressing than when Erinatold me about my father’s royal blood. This time, at least I was surrounded by family instead of enemies.”

Pursing her lips, Kaira joins me by the altar, bracing a careful hand against the carved rock as she scans the empty wall behind it. “And Herinor might still be wrong about all of it,” she puts into consideration.

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