Page 44 of Heart of Night
Had it not been for him, I might have withdrawn the knife that now wanders from dress to dress, a fixture in my inventory, and stabbed Erina in the back. Herinor might even stand by and watch—unless Ephegos gave him orders to protect the King of Tavras from me. Maybe I’ll try on the way back—if there is a way back up for me. Erina might as well lock me in one of these cells.
But first, I need to see if he told the truth and Myron is alive. If I attack Erina, he won’t ever tell me, and I’ll be left to fight my way through the entire palace in hopes Myron is stored somewhere in these halls—or dungeons.
The guards unlock the door and step aside, making way for their king as their eyes swipe across my form quickly before returning to Herinor. He’s the threat, not me. I’m a puny human without magic.
The room we enter is even darker than the stairwell and the corridor. Not one single torch lines the rough stone walls. A tiny window allows a lone ray of cloud-diffused sunlight to sneak into the space, revealing enough of it to make my stomach clench with a fresh wave of nausea. I grab onto the nearest steel bar for support … and pull back my hand as the metal bites like poison.
“What was that?”
Erina smirks at me over his shoulder, the torch light falling in through the doorway illuminating his features. “This, my dear Wolayna, is my latest invention.” The pride in his gaze would have been adorable had he been a child and his invention not something enforcing the bars of a dungeon cell.
“A magic-neutralizing substance,” Herinor supplies, reaching a finger along the bar next to my shoulder, but before it can make contact, he pulls it back so fast the motion blurs before my slow, human eyes.
Of course. This blends right into what I already know about his experiments. Whether Clio was held in one of these cells, I try not to think about. Too much pain comes with the thought of her suffering because she returned to the Crow Palace to protect me.
“Ingenious.” With the energy draining from my system fast, it is no challenge to keep my voice so low Erina doesn’t hear it. He can lock in his magically gifted enemies even as a human king. Between the drug he keeps administering on Clio and me, the weapon to suck magic from fairies that he needs to spray on his opponents, and this, the playing field of an Eherean war is leveled.
“So … do you hold magical prisoners down here?” The bravado I muster comes as a true surprise as I hold Erina’s gaze.
He shrugs. “I needed to take precautions. Just in case, you know…” His words trail away as he turns and continues into the near darkness.
About halfway into the room, more bars come into view, more cells. My heart beats like a drum as images of Fort Perenis flash through my mind. The darkness, the dirt beneath my bloodied fingernails from etching lines into the wall for each day I spent in that shit hole. The walls are closing in. Tighter. Tighter. I can’t breathe. Can’t?—
Searching for anything that would allow me to ground myself, my eyes land on a still, human form at the back of the room.
My heart stops for the second time this morning, and I take a step closer to the bars, trying to get a better view of the prisoner.
“Myron—” Knees shaking, I stumble past Erina, uncaring of the little shocks running through my body every time I touch the bars.
Erina doesn’t hold me back. Neither does Herinor. They merely follow me as I push myself along the rows of cells until an iron fence blocks my path, and I can see the long, brown hair covering Royad’s scarred cheek. His chest rises and falls with slow, shallow breaths like in a restless slumber. Not dead. He’s not dead.
“Royad.” My gasp dies as I scan the cell for more prisoners. If he is here…
It takes half a heartbeat for me to spot the tall, muscled form with a black curtain of hair sprawled on the floor in the cell next to Royad’s.
Tears shoot to my eyes, spilling without permission. I don’t care.
My knees crash to the hard ground, screaming at the impact, hands sliding down the bars as I hold onto them like a lifeline. “Myron.” It’s less than a whisper, but my heart is flying.
He’s here. He’s alive.
“Myron.” This time, my voice doesn’t fail me. “Myron, can you hear me?”
A groan sounds through the dungeon as the male lifts his head, gazing at me with dark eyes.
Like a meteor, my moment of relief plummets behind Eroth’s Veil as the unfamiliar face twists and contorts with pain.
“I’m afraid … not,” the male croaks, pushing up to his hands and knees on the rough stone ground of his cell. His pointed ears peek through the straight lengths of his hair like beacons, as does the brutal tattoo inked to his arm. “Good. To.” He coughs and spits to the side. “See you, Ayna.” The smile he flashes me is more of a grimace, but I recognize it as genuine relief to see me. “Myron will be … pleased you’re alive.” Each word seems harder for him than the last, but he pushes out every last syllable, determined to speak what he has to say. “Don’t trust the … bastard of a king behind you.”
Myron. Myron is here. Myron is alive.
The bars rattle as Erina slams his hand against them, and the male cringes, almost slumping back to the ground.
“You didn’t have enough last time, did you?” Erina steps to my one side, Herinor to the other, framing me like I’m about to explode the way the fairy magic did at the battle. “I can send in General Katrijanov again, now that you’re awake. I’m sure he has more … questions for you.”
“What do you mean, questions?” The sour taste returns to my mouth at the meaning implied even when Erina ignores my demand.
I can’t keep my eyes from pivoting to scan the rest of the cells, though, until I spot two more sleeping forms to the right of Royad’s cell. It’s hard to tell if either of them is Myron. After guessing wrong two times already, I am cautious not to allow myself to hope before I’m sure it’s him. There could be more Crows trapped in more cells, and it could take all day for me to find him—if Erina doesn’t drag me away before I succeed. Or he might hold Myron isolated somewhere?—