Page 87 of Flight of Fate

My heart picks up pace as I lower myself onto the mattress, sitting next to her hip, and sweep her form with a glance. She looks so fragile under the heavy covers. Lost, almost, her hair tangled around her head and her features pale from the aftereffects of coming so close to burnout.

I don’t know how much more time she’ll need to be back on her feet, but the others are nearly ready. Myron and I recovered enough to heal Silas’s and the humans’ wounds. The rest was a good night’s sleep and a few warm meals—thank the gods the rebels’ house was properly stocked up with storable foods.

But Kaira?—

Kaira wasn’t able to walk from the kitchen to the bedroom without help before getting to bed. Myron helped her while I cleaned up the kitchen and discussed the situation with the oldest rebel, Rochus. We couldn’t stay much longer in a place where the enemy knows to come looking. And we can’t go after Ayna either. That leaves us with the option to head back north and make our way to Aceleau. If none of the fairies have come looking for us, that means there’s a chance they need our help more than we do theirs.

The bed creaks, and Kaira stirs, eyelids fluttering as if she’s having a bad dream, but she doesn’t wake. I don’t care who hears it when I bend over her a few inches and whisper, “From now on, I won’t let you out of my sight, Kaira.”

I tell myself that it is because I don’t want her to get into any more trouble, and it is a part of the reason. It truly is. But mainly,ever since she showed up behind the camp exactly at the right moment to save my sorry ass, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her. Every moment I turn my back to her feels like a waste. Every minute I don’t tell her there’s been something brewing inside my chest and I will no longer ignore it is like breathing under water.

Since I’ve spent millennia in denial of any emotion, I’m not exactly fluent in sharing my feelings with anyone. So I’ll wait until she’s no longer fighting burnout to tell her what she means to me.

I don’t know how long I sit there, but eventually even Silas’s breathing returns to the even cadence of sleep. When day eventually breaks through the wall of shadows and a ray of sun wanders the worn wood of the floor, the others rise and make their way to the kitchen, Gabrilla giving me a smile of understanding and thanks as she pads by in her woolen socks, her pants and thick woolen shirt hanging loosely on her athletic frame.

Myron pats my shoulder, briefly stopping to check in on the patient. “She looks better.” He brushes back a strand of hair from Kaira’s forehead, assessing her temperature, and nods with approval. “No fever. And the color is returning to her cheeks.”

He doesn’t need to point that out. It’s the first thing I noticed when the first light climbed into the room. A light blush lingers on her bronze cheeks, the tint so delicious I want to bend down and brush my mouth over it.

Myron eyes me like he’s seeing right into my black soul. “You wake her,” he orders. “I’ll help make breakfast.” And he disappears through the door, letting it swing shut behind him.

Drinking in the sight of Kaira’s face—the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the messy tresses spilled across the pillow, the arch of her neck where it meets her collarbone an inch above the rim of the covers… I swallow hard.

I don’t know nearly enough about this female. Yes, I know about how hard her life was with the Flames before Myron and Ayna adopted her into their court. I know I didn’t do a stellar job at helping her out when we first met at Jeseida’s estate, or later, when she was trying to get Ayna out of Erina’s palace. I was an arrogant, cowardly, selfish bastard, and she saw me anyway. She didn’t give up on believing there was a kernel of good in me. She has no idea that, without her, I would have remained an observer of Ayna’s misery instead of finding ways to help everyone around her. With her fierce, unwavering loyalty to her sister, Kaira burned a path right to my heart until I could no longer live with myself just watching the Crow Queen waste away.

“Good morning.”

Her raspy voice startles me from my thoughts, but the calm in her eyes anchors me before my heart can kick into a frenzy.

“Good morning.” I attempt a smile but am almost convinced it’s a grimace at best.

Kaira manages a weak grin in return, and my heart all but explodes.

“You look better.” Keep it casual. Breathe.

She digs her hand out of the covers and reaches for her face, the side where a bruise was blooming less than a day ago. “I feel better.” Closing her eyes, she takes a few deep breaths as if taking inventory of her body—or her magic. When her eyes open again, a yawn stretches her mouth, and she rolls to the side, hiding it in the pillow.

I want to tell her that she doesn’t need to hide anything from me. I’ve seen her at her worst when she was purging from the drug after the first escape from Erina’s palace. I want to tell her that she’s beautiful. That I’m anxious I’ll never be able to look away again. “Hungry?” I ask instead. “The others are preparing breakfast.”

Rolling out of the pillow, Kaira gives me a glance of mock-disapproval. “What? So you’re the only lazy bastard not helping out?”

Biting back a laugh, I give her a wicked grin. “Technically, you’re the lazy one. You’ve been sleeping most of the time since we returned here.”

Her expression of outrage is equally adorable as it is reassuring that her energy is returning.

“Iblastedyouout of that camp, in case you don’t remember.” Her voice is back, the croak vanishing as she falls into a pattern of banter I realize only now how much I’ve missed. “While you preferred to cuddle with Silas on his deathbed.”

“Not deathbed,” I correct. “Death-frosted-ground, in caseyoudon’t remember,” I counter, warmth filling every last corner of my body as this female gives me her full attention after so many weeks of barely speaking. No hint of the judgement or disappointment from after she learned how much of the knowledge I’d held back lingers. And I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a boulder crumbling from my chest.

Before I can spill any of these thoughts, I get up from the bed and hold out a hand for her. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

At that, she smiles a real, broad smile that pierces straight through all layers of protection I’ve built, and I nearly fall to my knees to confess all the hundreds of ways I’ve dreamt of her, that shoving her up against the wall is no longer connected to that ire sometimes flooding me when she hits a nerve but mainly to the way I want to feel her pressed up against me.

“Breakfast sounds perfect.”

I don’t know why she’s whispering as she lays her fingers into my palm, folding back the covers. I don’t know why my hand is shaking as I hold hers firmly but gently, pulling her to her feet and failing to stop pulling until she’s half a foot from me, herface tilted up as her eyes search mine for answers I’m not sure I have. The warm, woolen pants and shirt Garbilla helped her into before bed look so soft and cozy I can almost talk myself into using them as an excuse to touch her.

“You smell like sunshine.”

---