Page 45 of Heart of Night
Before horror scenarios can unfold in my mind, my gaze catches on the bare, pale back of the prisoner in the first cell to Royad’s right. It isn’t the muscled form or the black hair touching the neck and shoulder that hold my attention but the distinct black shape curling between streaks of blood and grime from his biceps to his neck.
My blood stills. My skin prickles. My breath catches as I recognize the crow mid-flight inked onto the male’s skin.
“Myron.” This time, I don’t need to see his face to be certain. The tattoo on my own shoulder stings as I scramble to kneel in front of Myron’s cell as close as the bars will allow. The steel no longer stings, probably having leeched all remaining magic from me for now, so I stick my arm between the barrier as far as I can reach, praying to the Guardians that it’s enough.
The bars bruise my shoulder, my neck, where I push farther and farther until my fingertips are mere inches from his elbow sticking out to the side, but I can’t quite reach him. Frustration creases my features as I strain against the unmovable barrier while Erina and Herinor watch on.
“Wake up,” I sob. “Please wake up, Myron.” I love you. I love you more than words can express.
He doesn’t as much as twitch.
“He’ll be out for another few hours if we can trust his usual pattern.” Erina crouches beside me, studying my face from up close with morbid interest. “If I’d known how much of a motivator he’d be, I’d have taken you down here the moment they brought them in.
The prisoners have arrived, Your Majesty. Odja’s words as he entered the throne room the first day come back to me.
That was them. Myron, Royad, and the male who’s awake. My gaze darts to the fourth fairy locked in the cell behind Myron’s.
“Who’s that?”
The question is directed at Erina, but it is Herinor who answers, speaking to Erina rather than to me. “Your Majesty has gotten hold of King Recienne of Askarea’s general. However did you capture him?”
All color leeches from my face as I realize two things at once: There aren’t only Crows in there but Crows and a fairy belonging to the royal Askarean court like Clio. And if Erina is truly holding an Askarean general prisoner, war with the fairy realm might be more imminent than I could have ever believed.
Twenty-Two
Myron
Silas is awake when I open my eyes, his dark gaze piercing and full of an emotion I haven’t seen on him ever. Emotions aren’t necessarily his strong suit—except for the menacing kind pushing him into action and violence.
I roll my head from side to side to take the strain out of my neck before sitting up and taking inventory of my body. A few new bruises bloom along my abdomen and jaw where they used me as a punching bag, but apart from that, it’s mostly older aches from the first few days in this dungeon.
My head clears a little faster this time, a small mercy I thank Shaelak for.
“Are you coherent?” Silas asks without delay. None of us asks if we’re all right anymore because none of us ever is. Ten days of torture will do that to a fairy. Especially one lacking their usual ability to heal fast. It’s the first time I understand Ayna’s frustration with her human body. Only, while she used to see herself as weak, for me it has always been a special sort of strength, putting yourself in harm’s way full-knowingly that one good blow could cause pain for weeks or even months if bones are broken.
“Enough to tell it’s the middle of the day.” I glance around to find Royad asleep and Astorian sitting in the corner of his cell, a tray of food beside him, which he hasn’t touched. “Royad?”
“Been out for a full day. Astorian was the first to wake this time.” Silas gestures at the male with the stringy auburn hair. Gods, even the formidable warrior doesn’t appear as intimidating with hunched shoulders and gaze lowered to the ground. If it weren’t for the constant glint of vengeance in his eyes, I’d be inclined to believe he’s broken under the pain they expose us to on a regular basis. He even has a fresh burn mark on his forearm, something they’d done only to me so far.
I absently trace my fingers over the angry skin where they planted a white-hot iron poker the other day.
When I woke last, Silas wasn’t in his cell, and when they brought him back, he was far from coherent, blood trickling down his chin from a split lip, and curling over himself as he tried to walk into his cell on his own two feet. A fresh knife wound graces his side as well.
Those human bastards. If they’d at least tell us what they want from us, but they basically simply enjoy hurting fairies is what it seems like.
Royad is the only one not sporting any fresh injuries, and I thank the gods for that in particular if there’s nothing else to thank them for.
“Shall I eat, or shall I refuse?” Astorian picks at the stale bread on his tray, lifting his head as he studies me getting to my feet with a wince. “Got you bad last time, didn’t they?”
I don’t bother confirming. The way my body has turned into one big bruise speaks for itself.
“Stop pitying yourselves and listen.” Silas’s voice is more animated than I’ve heard him use since the day he swore to break King Erina’s neck if he ever gets his hands on him.
Stepping up to the bars to check on Royad, who lies close by the fence separating our cells, I nod at Silas.
“I saw her, Myron. Ayna is here.”
The world turns silent as I hold my breath.