Page 9 of Flight of Fate

Ouch!

“She’s defenseless in her bird form. No magic, no weapons?—”

“And about a thousand chirping and cawing creatures out there away from being recognized to be anything other than an actualbird.” Kaira throws me a glare that could cut through myskin if I allowed her close enough. “Not everyone is out for our blood, Herinor. This is the palace of ourallies, and we’re safe here.”

“As safe as anyone can be with at least three different species out for their blood.” Erina with his human soldiers, whatever is left of the Flames, and my own traitorous kin who are now fighting on Ephegos’s side. Before I allow her to drag me further into this discussion, I ask, “Don’t you think it would be smart to inform Myron that you know the whereabouts of his mate? It might save some random person’s head tonight.”

“Or yours.”

Gods, is she taking the fire of her kind to the next level.

“My head is forfeit. The moment I act out of line, Myron will have it with a smile, and if I toy with the deal I made with Ephegos, my death will be the smallest inconvenience within the repercussions of old magic claiming me.”

I’m not certain what shocks me more: the horror in her eyes or the pity it transitions into so quickly I want to rage.

For a heartbeat, she weighs my words. “Perhaps I should.” There’s no spark left as she gets to her feet, padding across the room and out the door to where the voices of the fairy general and the Crow King are finally drifting toward us.

Six

Ayna

I’ve madeit to the top of the pine, one small flutter at a time, ears on the whisper of the wind stroking the trees and the snoring of one of the twins. The male who’s keeping watch is scanning his surroundings too vigilantly for a simple messenger. He knows the dangers of these lands, and judging by the way his hand wanders beneath his cloak every time a twig snaps when the wind decides to kiss the treetops with brute force or a forest animal scurries along the leaf-covered ground, I know he’s ready to take out whoever dares come close to their camp.

I don’t dare breathe as his eyes slide past me over the next tree. I need to get out of here. Warn the others someone is coming to the palace.

If I had my powers, I could shift back and pin them to the boulder until I have answers, but the way things are now, all I can do is flee.

So I scramble farther up and take off into the night.

At least, I try to. One moment, I’m up in the air, the treetops shrinking beneath, the next, a sting of hot air loops around me, trapping my wings against my body, and I drop like a rock.

Faster, faster I plunge, the sensation as familiar as the panic coming with it, heart racing out of my chest and breath comingwithout a rhythm. My bird instincts set in full force, wiping away any thought but that of survival as I brace for the impact, but before I meet the ground, the twigs and branches I’d used as a perch whip my feathered form as I tumble and tumble.

Fly.It’s not as much a voice as an instinct shouting at me.

With all the strength I have left, I push my wings away from my sides, spreading them enough to break the speed of the fall, and I can tell up from down once more. By the time I catch a weak twig with a claw, my head is spinning, but I feel more in control. Now all I need to do is beat those wings and lift back up into the skies.

So I try again.

It takes about five heartbeats before the loop of air catches me again, and this time, it’s only a few feet fall, and when I hit the moss-cushioned ground, I barely remember why I was even in that tree to begin with. All I know is I need to get out of here before a predator spots me.

I’m small and slow on the ground—defenseless. Even my claws, which can kill small animals, don’t provide much protection when I’m dependent on them for balance. The dull ache in my side isn’t a good sign, though, making spreading my left wing nearly impossible.

I caw what I suppose is a curse, but no more words form in my mind as the worst predator of all appears in front of me.

Large hands reach for me, grabbing me before I can even attempt to flutter out of reach—not that there is anywhere for me to go. The fingers trapping me enclose me hard enough to make breathing a challenge, but then, I haven’t taken a breath since I hit the ground, and I realized that whatever the reason I chose this particular tree, I chose wrong, and the cruel black eyes peering at me from a foot away are proof that this is the last time I’ll see the stars.

“What do we have here?” The male’s breath smells of ash and spices as he sits back on his haunches, lifting me from the ground to inspect me from every angle. “A little bird caught on a current.”

Keeping me tightly in his grasp, he walks back to the campfire where two other males are sleeping. I think I’ve seen them before, but my instincts are screaming at me to flee, and that’s all I can think about. I claw at him as best as I can, one of my talons finding purchase on his fingertip, and he curses so violently I remember hues of turquoise waters and men singing foul songs, but before I can put a name to the faces, they’re gone, and I’m back in the forest, straining against the hold of my captor.

“Don’t fight, little bird. You have nothing to fear from old Gus.”

Old Guslooks anything but old. If I were human or a fairy, I might consider him outrageously handsome and place him perhaps in his early thirties. But I’m neither, and crows don’t consider the looks of fairies at all. We try to get away from them as fast as possible.

I wiggle and caw, beak snapping at any part of him I can reach—which is the hem of his sleeve and has as little an impact on him loosening his hold as a bug biting a horse. How I know this, I can’t remember as my bird instincts take over. What I know is that being trapped means death.

“I won’t hurt you.” The male brings me closer to the fire, the two other males rousing from their sleep at their companion’s uttering.

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