Page 53 of Flight of Fate

When she doesn’t, I force my magic to slumber and take a step toward Herinor. “Show me Neredyn again.” It’s a selfish request, but it’s the one thing that I can’t stop thinking about despite all the horrors awaiting us on this continent. “Show me…” I let my words trail away, my heart pounding out of my chest at the mere possibility he’ll actually be able to show me what I’m asking.

My talons haven’t fully retreated, but Ayna doesn’t shy away from my hand as she winds her fingers around mine in reassurance. Whether she knows what my mind has wandered to, what I never believed I could ask of anyone, what this traitor before me could deliver…

Like a river of comfort, Ayna’s presence flows in through our bond, right into my heart beneath the new mate mark, and I could swear I feel her smile, even when her features are set into a mask.

“Show me my mother.” Hoarse sounds, that’s all my words are, but Herinor inclines his head in deference, in obedience, in resignation to whatever I’ll ask of him—because he’s made up his mind. Traitor or no, The Crow before us is set on doing right by all of us.

With a soft sigh, Kaira opens the channel again, and my heart stutters when I’m taken into a bright room made of stone walls and a high wooden ceiling. No intricate carvings tell stories of grandeur; no banners give away a noble house. At the center of the room, a male stands with his hand on the windowsill, turning toward the sunny day beyond. His broad back is bare, black waves tangling down the thick muscles framing his spine.Bracelets braided from leather with wooden and iron beads woven in adorn his wrists up to mid-forearm. Black leather pants and black boots, the hilt of a simple, yet well-crafted sword glimmering by his hip?—

“When are we leaving?” a warrior asks from the open doorway. I don’t recognize his scarred face.

The male by the window turns around, and I hold my breath. Carius the Cruel in the flesh, only centuries younger and with less malice in his eyes—hisbrowneyes.

“First light tomorrow,” the late Crow King says, turning back to the window.

It takes me a moment to understand Herinor is standing guard at the side of the room, his vantage point close enough to the king to grant me a view on the beach outside where a group of females is sitting on a blanket, giggling about something I can’t make out from this position. It’s because Herinor didn’t bother to take a closer look back then, not because he couldn’t have seen past the king.

“Just a small group,” Carius amends, not turning away from the window this time. “I don’t want anyone to know it’s us who destroyed the new human settlement.”

A shiver runs through my spine, a sensation I also learn to recognize as part of Herinor’s memory. I want to tell him to turn his eyes back to the beach, to show me if one of the females is my mother, but Carius dismisses the male by the door with a wave of his hand.

As if reading my mind, Carius gestures at the females with a jerk of his chin. “Who’s that?”

There seems to be no one else in the room because, in the memory, Herinor takes a step forward to have a better view of what the king has set his eyes on. And before I can think, I’m sucked entirely into Herinor’s thoughts.

“The two strawberry blondes are Elgerand’s daughters,” I tell the king, leaving out that I’d fucked the one with black braid two nights ago. “And the blue-haired one with the black dress is Irdis, mate of Ortos. I don’t know the fourth one.”

King Carius shakes his head, gesturing behind the blanket to the dunes where a figure is twirling and twisting in the distance, black hair tossing with her movements and billowing in the breeze coming in from the sea. At first, I think she’s dancing, but the movements are too hard, too precise, and her attire is nothing like the revealing dresses the other females are wearing to put their curves on display.

“I don’t know, Your Majesty.” Bracing for reprimand, I take a step back against the wall once more, resuming my post, but King Carius waves me forward.

“Go, find out.”

I’m nearly shoved out of the memory as Herinor speeds through the stairways and halls of what must have once been my father’s palace, out into the glistening sun heating the cool brine. Like he’s sped up his memories, the world is blurring around me, and I lose track of location and time. Only when he’s a few feet away, I’m being dragged back all the way into Herinor’s memory once more.

She’s tall, perhaps six foot one, her leather pants and vest tailored so tight the toned lines of her body are easy to pick up. With precise movements, she goes through a series of footwork essential to swordplay, two daggers shimmering in her hands, stabbing at the air like she’s facing an enemy. I never got to see my mother, but when Herinor clears his throat in his memory and the female stops and turns toward him, daggers lowered halfway, big, ocean blue eyes stare right at him—atmethrough his perspective?—

My heart skips a beat as I take in her oval face, the slightly too-full upper lip pressing down hard on the lower lip. Highcheekbones, not soft and lovely like Ayna’s but sharp like mine, define her features, a slightly hooked nose finishing the image. She isn’t beautiful, not in the traditional sense, but the fierceness in her eyes captures me in an instant. Eyes deep like the waters the color of which they hold. Eyes so intriguing they could capture entire kingdoms.

“What’s your name?”Herinor’s demand breaks my thoughts and traps me back in his.

The female shakes her head in a gesture speaking of wildness despite the control I just witnessed when she stabbed her invisible opponent a hundred times. Skilled and beautiful. A dangerous package.

“Myrion.” Her voice carries across the dunes, and I think it’s too lovely for a warrior Crow like her, but she smooths her features into a slight smile as she takes in my uniform, the emblem of the Winghaven line on my breast, and sheathes her daggers. “Who is asking?”

Inclining my head, I gesture at the palace behind me, at the window on the first floor where I know King Carius must be watching. “The King of Crows.”

Myrion’s eyes flash as she takes me in, head to toe. “You’re the King of Crows?”

I want to laugh, but King Carius’s gaze weighs heavy, even from a distance. No room for errors. His punishments are known throughout the realm. And if he’s interested in this female… A pang of pity spreads in my stomach, and for a heartbeat, I consider telling her to go train somewhere else, that this property isn’t for public use, but part of that would be a lie with the other four females hovering on the king’s beach, probably desperate to be seen and invited into his bed or into that of one of his courtiers for the night—or longer. It would be a lie, so I blow out a breath.

“King Carius is in the palace. I’m just a guard.”

Her mouth curves downward in a hint of disappointment, but when I blink, it’s gone, a bright smile spreading on her face. “A guard.” She nods to the sword at my hip. “You any good with that pointy thing, then?” Challenge sparks in her eyes, and I want to instantly show her just how good, but whatever this moment right here means, whatever the momentary flare of wonder and interest inside my stomach does to me, the female isn’t for me if Carius sent me to inquire her name.

“However good I may be, Myrion,” I say with a small bow, “I assure you, King Carius is much better.”

Beckoning her to follow, I slowly make my way back to the palace, training my gaze on the sandy path before me. Myrion doesn’t say a word as she falls into step beside me.

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