Page 71 of Flight of Fate

They are aiming right for Myron, allowing me a moment of unobserved movement as I make a fool’s choice. A deep breath. A flick of my wrist. And my dagger is flying at Ephegos, sailing right for his eye.

Like in slow motion, I watch every spin of the blade, every sparkling reflection of the pale winter light as I wait for it to hit its mark. Someone grabs my arm, shoving me to my knees so fast I can barely catch my breath, and I taste blood as my teeth clang, the edge of my lip caught between them. I don’t care. All I cando is watch with rapt fascination as my dagger continues to spin toward its target. A heartbeat longer and Ephegos’s eye will be replaced by the hilt of my blade. I don’t care what they do with me afterward as long as I end this cycle of vengeance and hate that keeps driving Ephegos to work against his own people.

And since he made up his mind a long time ago, there’s no use appealing to his reason or compassion.

The dagger is a few inches from its mark, my heart hammering against my ribs at the thrill of anticipation, as a wall of translucent silver ripples from Ephegos’s hands, diverting the blade which spirals out of control, slicing into the leather armor on Ephegos’s shoulder.

The shield he pulled up flares and dies down where his armor covers his body like it can’t fully function with the magic-repellant enclosure, and had I not cried out with frustration at the near miss, I would have read more meaning into Ephegos’s inability to protect himself thoroughly. I would have pointed the others’ attention to the thought that the same had to apply to all opponents surrounding us in this clearing.

But Myron’s scent of wind and earth and moss, of pine and salty brine envelops me alongside the taste of his blood as he slumps to his knees beside me.

“No—” A long gash is splitting the skin of his cheek, blood raining down the side of his face onto the muddy ground before us.

“Drug,” Myron whispers through gritted teeth, his eyes back to their normal ocean color and those dark veins vanished, and I know this is it. Especially when Kaira’s knees land in the dirt to my other side, a Flame pointing a slender, silver sword at her neck as he forces her head low.

They sprayed them both with the serum. No shield of fire or silver and black is surrounding us, but we aren’t dead either. Istill hold my other dagger loosely in my hand like a straw that could save me.

One glance at Ephegos, and I know he’s prepared for whatever fight I may put up. He might even enjoy a good struggle if the glint in his eyes is anything to go by.

“I wouldn’t try if I were you, Ayna,” he purrs, hair whipping around his face in the icy breeze howling through the clearing as he approaches, one slow step after another. With one hand, he examines the cut in his armor, fingers coming back bloodied, and he pulls a handkerchief from a hidden pocket in his jacket, wiping off the blood first then pressing the fabric to the wound. Cocking his head, he stops just out of reach, glaring down at Kaira then Myron, then at me. “I must say, I expected more from you, Ayna.”

The oily sensation of his gaze roaming over my hunched form doesn’t go away even when I spit at his feet, forcing his attention to the bloodied speck right before his boots.

“You’re one to easily trust your enemies. You have always been. You trusted Myron when you knew he’d be the death of you. You trusted me when I’d long planned to use you to punish him. You trusted Herinor even when he could never fully be part of your court. You trusted the Fairy King who locked us in that joke of a forest and doomed us. And you trusted Tata.”

He’s right. But he’s forgetting one thing. “I’m still here against all odds. Without trusting any of them, I would be dead by now.” Not that I was proud of misjudging Ephegos and Tata, but the rest of them—I wouldn’t change a thing.

It’s that moment when I realize that it doesn’t matter what Ephegos thinks or says. I’ve made my own family of people who support me. I have friends and a mate. I have two kingdoms that depend on me. I can’t die. I can’t give up, no matter what happens to me. No matter what Shaelak promised Ephegos.

Fingers tightening around the hilt of my dagger, I straighten an inch.

“Who doyoutrust, Ephegos?” A bitter laugh laces my gravelly tone as I lock my gaze on the traitor Crow. “Who do you trust but those you forced into loyalty by a bargain or an oath? Are you that afraid that no one will follow you without leverage over them? Are you worried no one will ever love you if you don’t have a god make them?” I see the pain coming before the Flame behind me grabs my braid, ripping back my head, and punches me in the face. Ephegos won’t allow anyone to question him. But I won’t be silenced. I won’t stop fighting.

Myron’s growl of fury is weaker than I care for, but at least the sound grounds me when the drug circulating in my system is ready to take me down.

On my other side, Kaira’s fingers dig into the wet soil.

“I don’t care what you think—” Ephegos coughs on the last word, unable to finish his sentences, and I show my bloodied teeth in a victorious grin. The Flame behind me is still restraining me by my braid, and I don’t bother to try to break free. What a waste of energy when I have found a weapon so much better than steel.

“If only you could lie.”

Another punch lands on my jaw, my teeth singing and stars dancing in my vision. I’m vaguely aware of Myron shouting my name, of his presence sliding through the bond as if he could catch me from the inside as I’m thrust face-first into the dirt.

A boot steps onto my shoulder, holding me down, and my dagger slips from my grasp, useless and weak as I struggle to keep my consciousness.

If Shaelak wasn’t a treacherous bastard of a god, I’d call for his aid, but he doesn’t seem to care about his progeny as long as he can ensure his creation continues to exist. To him, it doesn’tmatter if I’m Myron’s mate or Ephegos’s as long as the Crows carry on.

Biting back a whimper, I brace my palm on the ground, pushing against the weight on my back hard enough to turn my head to where Myron’s eyes are already waiting, endless agony defining his features.

“Oh, look at that image of misery,” Ephegos drawls, no longer hiding behind polite facades. “Look at the souls entwined, how they’re suffering.” Like on a command, the Flames surrounding him laugh, and a shudder rakes down my back, making the pain in my jaw flare anew. “Pathetic.” He doesn’t meet my gaze though as he spits that verdict. Instead, his gaze lingers on Myron as he points his blade on my mate’s neck.

“No—” Again, I buck against the weight on my spine with everything I have, but my strength has left me, and all I can do is watch as Ephegos sets his blade to Myron’s skin.

“Leave him alone.” My words die in my throat as I’m shoved harder against the ground, but I’m not ready to give up. Never.

Ephegos merely chuckles, not even deigning to give me a glance.

“Let him go,” I whimper, pushing against the boot holding me down. “Please, Ephegos. I’ll do anything.”

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