Page 32 of Heart of Night

“Don’t worry, Wolayna. I know you’ve paid dearly for your offenses. No one here knows you were part of the Wild Ray’s crew, except for General Katrijanov, of course.”

As if on cue, Katrijanov strides into the room, bowing briefly before he marches toward us. Herinor tenses as he moves a few inches closer in what seems to be an instinct.

“The crew is dead for all that the public knows, and you have been miraculously recovered from the fairylands of Askarea by our brave general after narrowly escaping the menace that was the Crow King. Oh yes…” he adds as I flinch at the mention of my dead husband. “I know all about him. People might believe they are fairy tales, but I know better. I’ve been sending a woman to die every three years after all. How pleased do you think I was to see your name on the list when it was time to make the choice last year? Another traitor down.”

Katrijanov reaches us, standing at attention as Erina continues to speak so softly, not even Herinor should be able to pick it up. “But don’t worry. I’ve forgiven you. It takes some tenacity to survive all of that. That’s the material true queens are cut from.”

I’m not sure it’s a compliment, and I don’t want to know. All I want is to run from the room and let the tears pricking at the back of my eyes flow freely.

But Erina isn’t the only one standing in my way. When I turn around, Herinor is blocking my path, a grimace of menace on his features that makes the scars on his skin stand out like a warning of what he’s capable of—and what he’s capable of surviving.

“I wouldn’t try if I were you.” His tone is that of the torture master once more, and what little confidence I’d gained since the moment he handed me the knife tucked between the folds of my skirts is swept away by a man-high wave of fear.

Sixteen

Ayna

My heart beats out of my throat as I struggle to keep my feet in place when Erina’s hand slides down my arm until it rests on the side of my elbow. Herinor doesn’t blink. He doesn’t save me. He can’t save me from anything. I wonder why a part of me believed he might try.

“Welcome, Wolayna,” Katrijanov says in that cold, assessing tone of a commanding officer. His uniform is impeccably clean, and the only wrinkles are those around his eyes and the slight lines around his mouth where his mustache was drawing attention the first time I met him. My stomach is mercifully empty, or I’d throw up on his polished boots. “I didn’t expect to see you so … alive,” he finishes with a cruel smirk.

“Must be the climate,” Herinor says in the same icy tone he used on me a moment ago, and my heart dares to beat. “Early summer in Askarea becomes humans.” I’m almost certain there is a flicker of sarcasm in his voice—or a lot of sarcasm… All right, it’s dripping with sarcasm, but I doubt either Erina or Katrijanov pick up on it. They are too busy staring at me as I refuse to fidget under their scrutiny.

“I must say, when you told me you found out she was alive, I was wondering what you’d bring me, General Katrijanov.” Erina’s eyes crawl along my form, lingering on the loose hem of my shirt where the skirt pulls in at my waist, revealing more than enough of my shape even when the shirt is covering up enough of my torso with its straight cut.

“Last time I saw her, she didn’t look quite as … vibrant.”

What’s with all those deliberately picked descriptors Katrijanov chooses when talking to me, about me, or talking in general? It gives me the distinct feeling I’m missing something—again. I’ve had a whole few months of missing too much and ending up almost dead. Of losing the male I love because I was too ignorant to realize what it takes to break a curse.

Not again. I can’t do this all over again.

Herinor shifts his weight, the sound of leather scraping over metal disrupting my downward spiral long enough for me to force a breath down my lungs and blink a few times to clear all emotions off my face. It was his advice, and even if he wasn’t on my side, it’s good advice. They already have enough ammunition against me. Anything else I give them could be disastrous.

“Ah, perfect.” Erina’s gaze swings to the man in black uniform returning through the hidden side door followed by a row of servants in sepia and skirts and white aprons, each of them carrying a tray with tiny dishes as they keep their eyes on the floor in front of them on their way to the small table and four chairs a handful of men are carrying into the room. They curtsey and bow when they pass their king before hurtling on to set up our meal. Erina watches in silence, his attention undoubtedly making the servants uneasy. A young woman with bronze curls pinned to the back of her head under the white maid’s cap stumbles as she accidentally meets the king’s gaze, and I can almost feel her shame as she drops into a low curtsey before she scurries from the room, almost forgetting to set down her tray. One of the older women intercepts her, picking the silver piece from the younger one’s hands and sending her on her way before passing us in a perfect maneuver.

I don’t know if I pity the bronze-haired one or am impressed by the older one who doesn’t even seem tempted to glance in our direction. She must have seen a lot in her years to be able to ignore the massive Crow Fairy standing in the middle of the throne room. The other servants have more issues pretending not to notice him—or me. However, none of them dares make eye contact with Erina. They know the court rules, and so do I.

When they are done, a perfect small meal is prepared by the columns separating the balcony doors, a place with a perfect view of the gardens behind the palace. And a perfect place to shift into a bird and fly away—if only I could.

The way Herinor eyes the clouds lets me believe his thoughts don’t differ much either.

We wait until Erina picks a chair and sits down before I dare follow him to the table.

“Tavrasian specialties from the coast,” he announces with a gesture at the colorful foods. “I had them brought in solely for this occasion.” He turns to me, gesturing at the chair next to his. “Sit, Wolayna. I’m sure you could do with some food that brings forth childhood memories.”

I don’t trust the smile on his lips or the reason he wants me to remember my childhood. I don’t trust him at all. The fact that he’s working with Ephegos is enough to make him a red flag.

Katrijanov follows suit, seating himself across from Erina, which leaves one chair for Herinor, who looks like he isn’t sure he is supposed to sit down at all.

“Please,” Katrijanov invites him with a cold smile. “Ephegos would want you to eat with us. It’s been a long journey for you from the … estate.” His sideways glance at me informs me that he remembers the day he came to the Flame residence to appraise me like a chest of goods for shipping.

It’s more than fresh in my mind, his words echoing as if he were speaking them all over again.

Don’t die anytime soon, Wolayna. We have great plans for you.

Now I know what these great plans are: I’ve been sold to the King of Tavras to continue the punishment for my treason—for my father’s treason in part, I’m sure. The way Katrijanov keeps exchanging looks with the king speaks volumes about the hidden layers of these plans.

Herinor steps behind me, his hulking shape alarmingly close to my shoulder as he shakes his head at the general. My blood stills, my entire body tensing for an assault with one of his blades the way he’d carved me open in the Flames’ torture chamber, but he won’t hurt me unless he’s openly commanded to—by the male he so thoughtlessly pledged his loyalty to. “I believe Lord Ephegos would have objections if his guards ate with a king and a high-ranking general.”