Page 73 of Flight of Fate

“If we survive that long.” Ephegos and his Flame army aren’t the only ones to fear out here. “Without our powers, we might as well fall victim to wolves or bears.”

The look Kaira gives me might have made me laugh had I still had an ounce of humor in me. “We’re both bleeding and worn down from battle and that damned drug. If it’s not predators, it will be the weather. The storm brewing in the graying sky will hit soon. Nightfall is perhaps an hour away. We need to find shelter before we think about getting anyone back.”

I know I can’t go looking for Ayna. She promised not to try to return to my court. Exposing her to the possibility might kill her. Shoving aside the new wave of pain, I stagger to my feet, holding out a hand for Kaira. “Can you hear her?”

She understands without explanation, shaking her head with a grave expression as she takes it. “The serum made sure I’m as magically gifted as a human.” A ghost of a smile crosses her face. “Ayna isn’t the only one missing.” Pointing at the trees to the southeast, she takes a step closer to my side, her form shivering as another gust of wind assaults us. I have no cloak to offer and no magic to warm her, but I place a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Herinor and Silas,” I think out loud.

A long silence passes between us, the thin stream of warmth seeping through our leathers the only affirmation we’re both still here.

Then—“Do you think that was Ephegos shooting them from the sky?”

The image of the tumbling birds flashes through my memory, graciously blocking out pictures of Ayna’s gaze as she bargained away her freedom to save us. “Possibly. I wouldn’t put it past him to have brought backup Crows, though. The other rebels are still missing, too.”

Like a shell, my rationality isolates the throb in my chest, subduing it the way I learned over ninety-nine years of losing one bride after another before the curse broke. My mind is so adept at it, I barely blink before Ayna’s encapsulated in thedepths of myself, the bond between us the only thing that won’t be restrained no matter how hard I try. So I close my eyes for a beat, allowing the pain of loss and the despair to fill every last fiber of my being before I think of the love I hold for her and send that emotion down the bond like a silver lining. If she feels it, she’ll know I haven’t allowed myself to break, the same as I don’t want her to break.

“Do you think they’re still alive?” Another shiver shakes Kaira, and this time, the icy wind pushes through my layers as well. We need to find shelter before we make any decisions.

“If they are, they aren’t in a position to save us, or they’d have long come to our aid.” The words hurt, but even as I speak them, I know them to be the truth. With a shake of my head, I gesture behind us, north, the way we came into this clearing. “Let’s get back to the rebels’ safe house. If we’re lucky, Herinor and Silas are already waiting for us with the leftover rebels.” I don’t expect us to be that lucky, though the tension in Kaira’s shoulder seems to ease a tad at that small hope.

Together, we turn around, limping between the slain Flames toward the trees where we slip into the shadows.

Twilight cloaks the rebels’ house when we arrive what feels like hours later. The door still hangs open, the footsteps leading from and to the threshold multiplied by our own boots from when we ran out to find Andraya and Pouly. One of those pairs is Ayna’s.

The throb in my chest becomes strong enough to make it hard to ignore.

Kaira detaches from my arm, hobbling toward the stove where she bends over the pot sitting there. “The stew’s stillwarm.” Stirring with the ladle, she adds, “Not that I feel like eating.”

Neither do I, but we’ll need our strength before the end, so I square my shoulders and pick up a bowl from the counter, reaching for the ladle.

She hands it over without objection.

“If you want to go searching for Herinor and Silas anytime soon, you should eat, too. We’ll both need our strength.” With my chin, I gesture at the stack of bowls where I picked mine from, filling up the one in my hands and holding it out for her before picking the empty one she sets on the edge of the stove.

“Thanks.”

The soothing smell of herbs circulates in the kitchen, mingling with the odor of blood and sweat. At least, the temperature is rising quickly now that we’ve closed the door.

Kaira watches me ladle stew into my own bowl while she picks up a piece of bread from the cutting board at the center of the dining table and takes a hearty bite.

“How long do you think it will take for the drug to wear off?” She places a hand on her stomach as if expecting she’ll purge her system the way she’s experienced before by puking into a corner.

“I don’t believe we’ll go through the same painful detoxing process as before.” It’s a small hope, but I’m happy to grasp at straws right now. Filled bowl in hand, I walk over to the table and sit down across from her, following her lead with the bread and taking a bite. “We need to recover our strength and make a plan. If Herinor and Silas are still out there, they’ll do the same. They might even be searching for us.”

The last bit I add for Kaira’s sake, to give her something to cling to while I wonder if I’d sense if they died. We aren’t bonded in any way, but apart from my cousin, those two are the only Crows left in my court, and maybe that makes our connection special.

“Clio will come back for us,” Kaira huffs into her stew, bending low enough to warm her freezing face as she clutches the spoon tightly in her fingers—her bruised fingers, I notice. Black and purple blooms all over her hands like someone smashed them with a boulder.

“What’s that?” I reach for her hand, stopping a few inches away as I try to find a spot that isn’t playing all shades of night.

With a shrug, she lifts the spoon to her mouth. “Apparently, this is what happens when I siphon too much power.”

“A sign of burnout?” Not that I’ve ever seen anything similar.

“More like too much magic pushing at my skin from inside and outside my body at the same time.” Her gaze lifts from her hands to my face. “You don’t look any better by the way.”

On instinct, my fingers trace the scabbed wound along my cheek.

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