Page 35 of Heart of Night

Not poison. They weren’t trying to slowly kill me so it would be a longer suffering than a swift execution. It’s a fucking drug.

“You sent my magic to sleep?” I don’t know why I’m surprised after everything I’ve been through in the fairylands.

Relief as sweet as a poison of its own rushes my veins at the thought that my powers aren’t gone, merely dormant. Gently, I reach into my body, searching for hints of the cool liquid magic running through my veins—hidden but still there, somewhere beneath the layers of sedation.

“Ephegos demanded it at first, but I chose to continue on my own. I already told you, he’d never order me to hurt you while you are sleeping. He’d want you fully awake and alert for torture.” The fact that I now know whatever Herinor says is the truth is as unsettling as the thought that, without the drug, I might be strong enough to free myself from this new prison.

“Yes, yes, you’re a selfless hero.” Clio turns her back on the fairy as she looks me over. “We need to get you ready for the banquet. And before you ask, yes, I’m your lady’s maid.”

I don’t ask. Her outfit is proof even when a tiny part of me had hoped she was here to get me out rather than dress me to meet the man who intends to marry me.

Instead of screaming at the top of my lungs at the thought of having ended up in another arranged engagement, I turn to the only person who’s been around this court long enough to perhaps have a clue what the Tavrasian king wants with a traitor. “I thought he’d execute me to make a statement, not put me in a wedding gown. Why does he want to marry me?”

Both Herinor’s and Clio’s gazes whip to mine, Herinor shaking his head and Clio’s face filling with pity. “If there is one thing I’ve learned about things involving the King of Tavras, it’s that whatever it is he wants, it can’t be good.

“His court doesn’t know who you are, Ayna.” Herinor’s voice is so quiet I can’t believe he’s spoken, but when I meet his gaze again, he’s nodding with encouragement. “King Erina, General Katrijanov, and Ephegos are the only ones who know, and they won’t lift a finger to advertise the King of Tavras intends to marry a convicted criminal and foreign queen.” It feels like those are the most words Herinor has ever spoken to me, their meaning sliding over me like poisonous honey.

I left Meer so long ago that no one here will remember my face even when I remember too many of them. I left as a traitor’s daughter, and I’ve returned as a nobody. So far, I haven’t decided if my anonymity is a blessing or a curse. If I had someone … only one person who remembers my family, I might have another ally—or another enemy.

Before I can choose to be strong, I slump over my knees, and tears fall from my eyes.

Clio’s arms wrap around me so fast I gasp as she pulls me against her chest, sitting down beside me and rocking me back and forth like a child. “It’s all right, Ayna. Cry those tears now so Erina will never see them. He can’t know how close to breaking you are, or he’ll make it a public spectacle to watch you come apart.”

I don’t question her. She’s been in this palace longer than I have. As a fucking servant. The horror of one of the most powerful creatures I know ending up in a human king’s service… It nearly breaks my heart.

If Myron could see me now, he’d be ashamed of the woman he entrusted his heart to, and his people.

On instinct, my fingers wander to my biceps where the edge of the crow tattoo curls around my arm. Myron. If he were still alive, he’d bring down this palace with his vengeance and pick me from the rubble. He’d break apart Ephegos and Erina like twigs until their blood tinted the ground the color of nightmares, and even Herinor for the role he played in my pain.

It’s not much but enough to shock my tears into submission. As I trace my fingers over the fabric covering the corner of my tattoo, a current courses along my skin all the way to my spine where the tattoo ends. It’s stronger than a caress, near painful.

“What’s wrong, Ayna?” Clio’s voice is pushed to the background at the flicker of darkness running through me like an echo of Myron’s touch, and I jolt out of her arms, heart racing and breathless.

Eighteen

Myron

I’m used to utter and complete darkness. Being a creature of Shaelak comes with lots of experience in that department. What I’m not prepared for is the stench of rot and mold greeting me as I wake to a hint of starlight and lots of pain—and weakness. My limbs are like the tentacles of starfish, trying to stack themselves under my body as I pant at the stinging sensation in my shoulder that woke me mere heartbeats ago.

I’ve seen the dungeons in the palace in the Seeing Forest, have used them for one or the other prisoner, but this is worse than even those forgotten cells flecked with blood.

My legs are trembling from the effort to push myself up, and my hands keep slipping on the wet sheen on the ground. I don’t bother wondering if it’s blood or vomit or my own urine as I roll over to my back, forcing in slow, deep breaths.

“Myron,” someone whisper-shouts from not far away.

In reflex, I shoot to my side, managing to get into a kneeling position. Gods, whatever they did to us, it knocked me out so thoroughly I can’t tell what time has passed or if I am alive or burning in the pits of Hel’s realm.

Again, that voice pierces through the throb in my head, in my shoulder, in my entire body.

“Are you awake, Myron?” Royad.

Of course, my cousin would be here. He’d follow me even to Hel’s realm if it would ensure I’m fine.

I’m not fine.

I respond with a groan.

“Oh, thank Shaelak you’re awake. I was beginning to think they knocked you out for good.”