Page 47 of Heart of Night
I didn’t eat breakfast today, or lunch. I refused the tea and the water, too. At least, with my own bathing chamber, I have access to un-spiked water whenever I want. It’s the food I need to be wary of, I’ve learned. My stomach grumbles uncontrollably as the door opens and Clio enters with a bag draped over her arm.
“Good day, Ayna.” She marches up to the sofa where she sets down the bag then drops onto the sepia cushions right beside it.
“Is it a good day?” I cross the room from where I’ve been staring out the window, following the unusually dense activity along the gravel pathways of the gardens. More courtiers seem to be arriving as the day progresses, their dresses and suits more elaborate than even at the banquet on my initial day.
We’ve discussed what happened with Erina a few days ago in length and multiple times, and much as I hate to admit it, Clio looks happier since I told her who is with Myron in the dungeon.
“Good if we’re both alive.”
She isn’t wrong. My chest has been lighter since I’ve seen Myron for myself, alive and breathing, even behind bars. I’m not naive enough to believe they aren’t hurting him. The condition I found him in speaks for itself. If anything, now I have confirmation that Erina is willing to capture, incapacitate, and torture magical creatures in order to get what he wants. And what he wants?
I wish I knew.
Annihilating the royal Milevishja bloodline by marrying it into his own line is one goal. No competition when it comes to the throne of Tavras, yes. But what else is he brewing behind closed doors?
If he has a weapon able to wipe out magic, nowhere in Eherea is safe. Where the borders to the fairylands used to be a natural barrier preventing humans from conquering territory in the north, Erina’s inventions may lift that restriction, giving him access to new lands, new power.
My stomach sours all over again as I watch Clio unfold the cloth protecting today’s attire.
“We need to get them out of the dungeon.” I settle on the chair across from her, resting my head in my hands as I brace my elbows on my knees. “If they’re free, they’ll recover their magic, and Erina has no power over them.” My voice comes out muffled, and I’m wondering if Herinor can pick up even those distorted words. Probably. It would be a novelty if anything were easy or would work in our favor.
Clio smooths her apron over her thighs, studying me with those vigilant jade eyes. They have more fire today than the color of her hair, their vibrancy partially restored as if by some magic of its own even when her fairy powers have been suppressed by the drug. “You know I’ve debated running over and over again—not that I could fight my way out of here with the guards following me everywhere but into your room. But I’ve debated it often enough to know the layout of the palace and the rotations of the guards. But with you about to be married to the Tavrasian king and Tori in the dungeon…” Her gaze grows distant as if she can see straight through the wood and stone of the floors separating us from our males, and a shiver runs through my body at the thought of how close Myron is. “I can’t find it in my heart to leave without them.”
Because the Princess of Askarea is a good female. If I hadn’t already liked her during our training sessions at the Crow Palace, now I do for sure.
“He’s your mate.” I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the concept of mates, even after Clio’s lengthy explanation of the soul-bond existing between fated fairies. She couldn’t leave him behind even if she wanted to.
“He’s my everything.” The pride shining in her eyes tells me what a creature that male has to be—one of the best. Because Clio deserves nothing but the best.
Clio didn’t tell me details about how they got together or how long they’ve been a mated pair—a story for another time, she’d said—and I didn’t dare ask when my head was spinning from seeing Myron fast asleep in the dungeons. At least, that’s what I tell myself, that he was asleep from the effect of the drug they keep giving us rather than from a punch to the head.
That sour taste is back in my mouth, and my shoulder aches where Myron has a matching one. I haven’t given it much thought with everything going on, but now that the sensation is back, I can’t help obsessing about the fact that we have the same tattoo.
“When Erina took me to see Myron…” I pause, waiting for Clio’s attention to make it back to this room. Only when her gaze meets mine do I continue. “I noticed a tattoo on Myron’s shoulder.” With sweaty fingers, I pull my nightgown aside to expose my own inked bird and turn so she can take a closer look. “The same crow on the same shoulder.”
Clio’s head tilts, expression neutral as she examines the black curves and lines making up the mark I can’t remember ever receiving. “How long have you had this?”
“It was there when I woke at the Flame estate.” The memories of those first days of vomiting my guts up are nothing I like to recall.
“And before?”
We both know the answer even when she’s never seen my naked shoulder before she was assigned as my lady’s maid.
“The only tattoo I had before is this.” I hold up my right hand where I was given the mark all prisoners at Fort Perenis get inked into their skin. A thin chain identifying them as criminals sentenced to rot in a fortress at the edge of the world.
At least, I used to think the island in the northeast of Eherea was the end of our world. Then Myron mentioned he was from a different continent in the east, and everything changed.
Neredyn. Where the gods curse their creations, and generations suffer for the wrongdoing of their ancestors.
“If Erina truly intends to marry you, he’d better cover that up. No one will be pleased to have a criminal as a queen.” The way she says it tells me that she approves of the thought of defying all traditions and advertising that a so-called traitor is wearing a crown, and a part of me agrees. A part of me is rebellious and ready to fight with all I have to make this an impossible endeavor for Erina.
Then I think of his threat—You will marry me, Wolayna. If you refuse, I will destroy him—and all that was hopeful inside of me crumbles back into a heap.
“As for the crow tattoo—I doubt Ephegos put that on you.” Leaning forward, she traces a fingertip along the smooth image in expert assessment. “This wasn’t put there by ink and needle.”
“What do you mean?” I run my fingers across the edge of the mark where the crow’s wing winds around my biceps. “How can you tell?”
She gives me a knowing look. “Even if I don’t have access to my powers right now, I can tell when magic is at work. Trust me.”