Page 34 of Heart of Night
“So, you don’t sit in the Tavrasian king’s presence, but you do in mine?” I’m a queen after all. His queen. Not that I feel like one.
His shoulders rise in a slow shrug, leathers sliding across his muscles. “We have a lot ahead of us, so we best both rest.”
His tone is so at odds with the way he just kicked out Odja that it startles me all over again.
“You know exactly why I’m here, don’t you? Not just that I’m to be part of his court. There is more.” I pin him with a glare as I settle into the chair across from him. “Spit it out.”
“I am not allowed to tell you, but you’re a smart woman, Ayna. You can put two and two together. Why would a twenty-five-year-old king invite you to his palace?”
Katrijanov said that Erina needs to think of the future of his kingdom.
“By the Guardians—” Things click into place. “No. No way.” I’m out of my chair, pacing the gold-threaded carpet before the wide bed by the far wall. I’m exhausted from travels and being poisoned again and again, slightly surprised I’m still on my feet after all of it, but this keeps me wide awake. “I’m not marrying the King of Tavras.” Because a legacy—progeny—would be the only reason he’d invite a young woman to his realm. Not invite—buy.
“Couldn’t agree more.” My head whips around at the familiar wind chime voice announcing the new arrival from the threshold, and my knees finally give out.
Herinor catches me by the shoulders a moment before my head hits the edge of the bed.
“Ayna.” Her copper braid swings toward my face as Princess Cliophera of Askarea leans over me, shoving the Crow aside with her small shoulder and cupping my face with one hand while the other wipes across my forehead. “Are you all right?”
No. “What are you doing here?” It’s the only thing I can think of asking. Not how she’s alive after being in the explosion that took me out after the battle in the Seeing Forest.
Clio sighs, and it might have been the heaviest sound I’ve heard in my life, and I’ve heard my fair share of burdened sighs—Guardians, I’ve sighed them myself.
“Long story.” She turns to Herinor, a frown etched into her features. “Is this one trustworthy?”
“Depends.” I struggle into a sitting position, allowing both Herinor and Clio to stabilize me. Guardians, it’s good to see her. Even when she looks different. Very different, now that I take a closer look.
The copper of her hair isn’t as vibrant as I remember, and her movements are slower, less edged and honed. And her eyes… The usually bright jade has dulled to a nearly human hue. Above her face rests a white maid’s cap that directs my eyes toward the sepia uniform with the same white apron I’ve seen on the servants in the throne room. “What happened to you?”
“First, I need to know what happened to you?” Her tone doesn’t leave room for discussion, so I give her the brief version of the Flames capturing me and my time at the estate. I don’t leave out how many times I’ve been given poisoned water or how frequently I’ve vomited my guts up. When I try to explain Herinor’s role in all of it, her eyes narrow on the male who has returned to his chair and is watching like an eagle as I paint his character in the shades of gray I can find. To his credit, he doesn’t object when I accuse him of hurting me multiple times, he doesn’t defend his position or try to make himself look any more honorable than he is—which isn’t very much at all.
“You can be glad I don’t have access to my magic at the moment, or I’d freeze you and shatter you with a good punch to your sternum,” Clio throws over her shoulder with enough venom to make Herinor visibly shudder.
“I’m not going to hurt her if I can help it,” he merely says. “And before you start, I’ve learned my lesson. I am fully aware how bad an idea it was to bind myself to Ephegos.”
“Truth? Or a convenient lie so you can shove a knife into her back the moment she starts trusting you?” Clio is on her feet in a fighting stance, and even in her servant’s uniform and without a weapon, she is a sight to behold. Fierce and ready to defend me to the death, I can feel it in my bones.
Wiping his hand over his scar-flecked features, Herinor shakes his head. “You forget I’m not an Eherean creature. While you Eherean fairies can lie until your throats bleed, Neredynian fae can’t. Shaelak likes his creatures truthful.”
At that, Clio straightens. Something passes between them like a silent communication only ancient creatures have access to. “You can still bend the truth to your advantage,” Clio claims, and I want to chime right in with my agreement, but Herinor beats me to it.
“I could, and I have. But not on this. I made a mistake. I pledged my loyalty to a power-hungry male in false hopes of freedom. Instead, I ended up in an even worse sort of prison. Look at me.” He gestures at his chest, his weapons. “I’m a warrior. And Ephegos made me into a babysitter for a queen he wants taken care of so he can follow his own aspirations.” His mouth closes as if he’s said too much and is expecting blood to pour from his lips.
This isn’t the curse Vala placed on them, though. The curse is broken, and he can tell me whatever he wants—except for whatever his bargain with Ephegos prevents him from saying.
Guardians—could things be any more complicated?
“Now what’s your story,” he bounces the question back to Clio, who has relaxed her posture if only slightly. She still appears ready to kill on my behalf if Herinor as much as breathes wrong.
“I was knocked out by the explosion the combined Crow magic and Flame fire caused. Ephegos used the opportunity to haul me to Tavras and drug me so I can’t use my magic.” Her gaze wanders to me as if expecting for me to remember.
“What do you mean … drugged?” The emptiness in my chest and palms where my magic once flowed tingles as if in response before Clio can answer, and my head whips to Herinor. “The water?”
He dips his chin but doesn’t speak.
“Whatever unholy brew it is, Ephegos has found a way to sedate magical abilities.”
Fuck—