Page 5 of Flight of Fate

With a caw, I push off the wall and glide down into the arena, Myron following suit and Kaira waving at me like I’m her favorite bird in the world.

“Done sulking?”She raises a brow at me while simultaneously managing to give Herinor a disgruntled look as he hands her the dagger he’s been sharpening for her.

“I’m not sulking.”I’m merely debating the option of stealing myself away so Myron can move on and find a female who isn’t stuck in feathers and whose claws are metaphorical.

“Call it what you want. I recognize a sulking Crow from five miles away.”She’s probably referring to Herinor, but I don’t have it in me to reprimand her, so I settle on the logs next to the broody male who’s still holding out Kaira’s weapon and caw my disapproval.

With a shrug, my sister grabs the blade and marches into the sparring ring, facing the fierce warrior fairy whom we saved from Jeseida’s estate. Tata greets her with a smirk and a wave, readying her own sword.

“Good to see you’re up and fighting again,” the female says, positioning herself in a defensive stance.

Kaira gives her a challenging smile. “Your healers are incredibly gifted. I can’t even tell where exactly the wound was.”

Beside me, Herinor flinches ever so slightly. By the time I turn to him, he’s composed his features, though.

“He still not over you almost dying?”I throw at my sister since I can’t tease the male next to me about it.

Kaira’s first strike slips on Tata’s sword, and the fairy needs to pull back to keep her blade from landing on Kaira’s shoulder.

“Guardians, you really like him.”It’s not a question, and for once, Kaira doesn’t deny it.

“Again,” she says to Tata, lifting her blade over her head and striking without a pause.

Steel meets steel at the other end of the arena, too, where Royad and Myron are getting at it, the latter back in his fae form and the wrath of the Guardians on his features as he attacks his cousin over and over again. Royad takes it in stride, blocking and parrying with expert skill. Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s offered himself as a buffer to absorb Myron’s frustration, and the urge to apologize surges through me.

“Did anything happen between the two of you?” Herinor asks with that unfiltered manner of his. His light green eyes peer right into my bird soul, digging up more than I care to share, yet he can’t hear the words I want to speak.

Nothing. Nothing happened. And that might be the problem.

“You know you could make this easier for him if you didn’t make yourself scarce every time he musters the courage to approach you.”

I didn’t expect any deep conversation from Herinor, but it seems he has been observing more than I’d like for anyone to notice.

He’s notapproachingme. Not in that sense. He’s merely trying to…What exactly is he trying to do? To give me a sense of support? To let me know he’s not faltering.

He’s approaching his doom holding on to me.I’m glad I can’t speak those words out loud because, if I heard them—if anyone heard them—I’d break apart, but in my mind… I can whisper them there so softly that not even Kaira and Tori pick up on them.

“At least, you haven’t given up on training,” Herinor rolls on. “I thought you’d be the weak type who runs when things get complicated. You know, like you did in the Seeing Forest, but it seems I need to give you more credit.”

He plants his hands next to his hips on the wood, cocking his head in that birdlike manner reminding me of the feathered guard in my old rooms at Myron’s palace in the Seeing Forest, and I can’t stop the shudder running through my body.

He’s wrong. Iamweak. Weak because I want to run and weak because I’m letting my selfishness get in the way. It’s not to set Myron free that I want to run. It’s to protect myself from seeing his perfect face every day and not being able to smile at him. From not being able to speak with him or feel his skin beneath my fingers the way my memory likes to play back to me. Perhaps, if I’m far away, it will no longer be torture, and I’ll quietly settle into my new self.

Oblivious to the conflict raging in my chest, Herinor rolls on, “You better pay close attention. They are working on some evasion techniques today that even you could benefit from.” The double meaning in his words doesn’t elude me.

When I glance back toward Myron and Royad, the arena has populated with fairy soldiers, and Tori and Recienne are demonstrating blocks and twists that look more like a dance to me than swordplay, but I never truly learned the more subtle and artful side of fighting with steel, so I can’t be sure. What I learned from Ludelle and the crew of the Wild Ray is how to kill fast and effectively and how to stay alive. That’s why I pay close attention when Tori explains how to lure an opponent to attempt getting past your guard then strike with a pierce through the jaw from right under the chin.

Thank the Guardians for Tori’s centuries of practice and the Fairy King’s absolute trust in his general, or we’d have some royal bloodbath going on. The tip of Tori’s sword remains poisedbeneath Recienne’s chin while the latter holds so still I wonder if he’s even breathing.

“Your turn!” Tori lowers his blade, and Recienne claps his hands to get his soldiers moving. Within moments, the arena is a blur of fairies and Crows testing their speed and control over their weapons without the aid of magic. It’s a beautiful and brutal display, and my Crow heart sings at the sight of contained violence.

As if reading my mind—or perhaps simply savoring the same aesthetics of lethal grace—Herinor says, “Those fairies are well trained, but they lack discipline.”

Of course, a critique from him.You’re a millennia-old bastard, I want to fling at him, but he is already speaking again. “If they make contact with the magic suppressant, they will probably suffer from the same side effects as we did on the battlefield.” The memory of Myron, Royad, and Herinor on their knees before Jeseida on the wagon drives a new shudder through me. “Even the Fairy King barely managed to keep upright when the drug first hit him. I doubt his untested soldiers will do any better.”

I want to ask him why the Crows weren’t vomiting when Jeseida ambushed them with the drug on the wagon, but Herinor has the same train of thought, and I don’t need to brood over another question unspoken and unanswered.

“Those of us who’ve been exposed to the substance often enough seem to be dealing with the nausea better than the first timers.”

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