Page 18 of Heart of Night
“I’d make a fine lady’s maid. It would be a very different type of task for once. Not that I don’t enjoy torturing, but I’ve heard Tavrasian fashion is almost as good as a knife to the throat with its fishbones and tight lacings.” His eyes travel my torso, stopping at my waist. “Go see to your needs. I’ll be right here.”
It’s all he says before he turns around so his back is to me, but I hear words unspoken that do not match his grumbling tone or the menace of his appearance. If you need me.
I decide not to listen to the silent add-on. I can’t trust him. Herinor put poison in my tea. And I sure as the Guardians are Eroth’s children can’t confront him about that with Ephegos this close by.
A few awkward minutes later, I step out of the bushes past the male’s shoulder. He follows at a few paces distance back to the carriage where Ephegos is waiting with a basket of food in his hand and a smile on his lips as if all he wants is to have a sweet picnic with the master of torture and me right here on the forest ground.
The horses stomp at the scent of apple and sugar filling the air, and I pause as I realize that I can actually smell the pie sitting in the basket from a few steps away.
“Here, Ayna.” Ephegos holds out a piece to me. I don’t wonder where he conjured the porcelain plate from or the silver fork but simply take it from his hands and start eating. Being rattled to the bones inside the carriage while my stomach has been clenching with trepidation hasn’t helped my already shaky condition. It’s a miracle I’m not swaying on my feet as I march to a fallen tree trunk and sit down, already shoveling the pie into my mouth. Herinor follows me like a prison guard.
“So, what about that lady’s maid?” I ask between bites.
Herinor’s jaw feathers as he turns those fir-green eyes on me, and I squirm at the promise of more knife-cutting if I don’t shut up.
By the carriage, Ephegos observes us with a raised brow. “Interesting you should ask. I already sent someone ahead for you. I don’t know if you’ll be happy with her, though. She’s quite a wreck.”
Something deep down in my chest turns to ice, and at the back of my mind, a small voice is screaming a warning. Ephegos is planning something. I don’t know what it is, but it includes the entirety of his wicked cunning.
“Now eat up. We’ve got somewhere to be.” He watches me finish my pie before he waves me back to the carriage. I don’t even try to resist, knowing that Herinor’s strength unquestionably outmatches mine even if Ephegos wouldn’t get involved in dragging me back.
At the door, he holds out a small canteen. “You haven’t had anything to drink in a while, Ayna.” Again, it’s not an invitation; it’s an order. So I take the canteen from his hand and take a sip before handing it back to him.
The familiar taste of herbs spreads on my tongue, and I know I’ve been poisoned again. Before my senses fail me, I shoot an accusatory glance at Herinor, whose eyes are already on me, conflicted, yet he doesn’t make a move to help me as I drop to the forest ground, uncaught by protecting arms.
The ground beneath me sways, making it difficult to keep my balance. I haven’t been in a storm like this since the night before the Wild Ray was captured by Tavrasian soldiers—by General Katrijanov to be precise. The ship aboard which I am standing isn’t the Wild Ray, though. This is a simple sailing yacht, big enough to hold a small crew, but nothing as formidable as the pirate ship I once called my home.
Gripping the railing harder, I glance over my shoulder, trying to figure out how I got here, if I’m a prisoner, or if I miraculously escaped Ephegos and made it to the ocean. Perhaps I’m on my way to freedom and the storm is the only obstacle standing between me and the Eastern waters of Eherea bridging the way to Neredyn.
“Ayna.” Myron’s voice pierces right through my heart. I don’t see him, but his scent drafts into my nose as I whip my head around to locate him… Wind and pine and something reminding me of freedom. My chest clenches at the possibility of him being here, of all of the horrors from the Seeing Forest being nothing more than a horrific figment of my imagination.
“I’m here!” The gusts of air whipping around me swallow up my voice, tearing at my long, heavy dress, at my loose hair, until my view is blocked by strands of ash blonde.
From within the haze, Myron’s powerful outline appears, black-feathered arms hanging loosely at his sides as he takes me in, head to toe—the tight leather pants, linen shirt, and vest that are my pirate uniform, the daggers sheathed at my hips.
My heart stops as his all-black eyes lock onto mine, and he closes the distance between us in a few long strides, wind ruffling his feathers and tousling his hair. He’s just like I remember him: the lean muscle rippling along his torso with every step he takes toward me, the darkness of his mood mirroring on his face. I still haven’t taken a breath when his talon-tipped hands wrap around my waist, pulling me against him, and I crash against his chest like in free fall. I’m still free-falling as he lowers his face, aligning his mouth with mine. A rush of heat brushes my lips, and I remember to breathe, remember that he shouldn’t be here, that he’s dead. But he’s kissing me in a symphony of all the memories he and I made during my time at the Crow Palace.
My stomach flutters as he nudges his tongue against my lower lip, requesting access … and I give it to him. I give him all of me because this might be the last time I’ll get to see him. Tingling warmth turns into liquid heat as he slides his tongue into my mouth, at the taste of him, his fingers splaying on the small of my back as I tilt my head to give him better access. The wind relentlessly beats against our silhouette, trying to cool down the fire Myron ignited in me, but his touch is a million times hotter as it finds its way up my spine until he’s cupping my neck, fingers tangling with my hair, and I sink my hands into the soft feathers of his arms.
Guardians—
I moan as he presses his hips against mine, trapping me between the railing and the hard planes of his body, lining them up with my curves—until I forget where we are and that this can’t possibly be real. Until all I can think of is how to get him out of his leather pants and have him take me right here, right now on deck of this ship?—
A ship…
This isn’t real. I carefully pull back my right hand, bending and rolling the wrist. It moves like it’s never been shattered, like it used to when I was still able to wield a dagger with it.
As reality settles in that this is a dream—a dream I don’t want to let go of—Myron is tugged away by the ruthless storm, his wings flaring as he fights the relentless forces that are the weathers at sea. He doesn’t stand a chance. Neither do I when I push my path after him through the fog hiding his beautiful face from view once more.
“Don’t leave me.” Panic grasps me as the last of him is swallowed up by a barrier of dense white, and I have to hold onto the railing so my strength won’t leave me.
“Where are you, Ayna?” He sounds close enough to touch, but I can’t find his outline in the haze spreading along the planks of simple wood I stand on, eating up every inch of clear sight until I’m trapped in smoke and mist and my own thundering heartbeat.
I try to grapple my way through the haze, pierce it with my gaze, but it doesn’t yield. “Myron…” I pant his name, another gust of wind stealing my breath.
“I will find you. And if it takes a lifetime, I will find you.”
The promise still echoes in my head when I claw at the barrier pushing toward the source of his voice, then something hard hits my face.