Page 5 of Heart of Night
“Luckily, my friend here”—he lays a hand on Ephegos’s black-clad shoulder, and it’s the first time I notice the fine making of his jacket—“alerted me that you survived your sentence, which I’m here to remedy.”
Everything inside me goes still as the meaning of his words hits. Death. He’s come to execute me after all. The punishment for treason is death.
The warm sound of Ephegos’s laugh fills the room, and I want to cry as it wraps around me with such familiarity just before I catch myself and remember that he is a traitor of his own. That the warmth isn’t real. That he doesn’t care about my suffering other than that it happens. He wants me to pay for Myron’s hand in his sister’s death.
Sariell, I remember. A half-breed of Crow and Fire Fairy blood. One of Myron’s countless brides who died because of the curse, not because Myron willed it so.
“You’re too kind, General Katrijanov.” He turns to the man he’d called Adrian before, and the ice in my veins solidifies. Adrian Katrijanov. General Adrian Katrijanov. King Erina’s general and the youngest general in Tavrasian history under Erina’s father’s rule. I didn’t care much for Tavrasian politics during my time as a pirate, but some news made it out to even the remotest ports where the Wild Ray laid anchor. Adrian Katrijanov’s promotion before the late king’s death is one of them.
I’m trying to hide the thoughts clanging through my mind behind a mask of boredom and calm as one piece after the other falls into place like a tapestry-sized puzzle I am merely getting the edges of.
Apparently, I fail miserably because Katrijanov gives me a smirk. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to execute you on the spot.” He runs his fingers over the pommel of the sword at his hip. “Your punishment was always meant to be something worse than death.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard that line. A punishment worse than death.
And it’s not the first time I crumble at the multiple ways life can be worse than death. I’m living my personal nightmare right now, even without Katrijanov’s interference. Losing Myron is bad enough for a lifetime of heartbreak.
But the Guardians must be in a horrible mood today since they paired up the traitor Crow and the man determined to punish me for both my father’s crimes and my own. Two men determined to see me suffer and both with a track record of the lengths they are willing to go to make it happen.
“Why don’t you simply tell me what will happen to me.” I hold Katrijanov’s gaze, meeting that pale stare with what I hope is more fire than I feel. Anything is better than being locked away for a year again without knowing what fate awaits me.
“That, dear Wolayna,” Ephegos cuts in before the general can open his mouth to answer, “is not for today. For today, our task is done.” The last words are for Katrijanov, and the man gives a brief nod, snapping his heels together as he turns on the spot, marching for the door.
On the threshold, he pauses, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Don’t die anytime soon, Wolayna. We have great plans for you.”
Four
Ayna
An hour after the general and Ephegos leave, my hands haven’t stopped shaking, and I can’t move from the chair the Crow tied me to, even when he removed the invisible bonds upon his exit.
It doesn’t seem to matter how far I sail or run, the past always catches up with me. Even in the fairylands, the reach of the Tavrasian king extends deeply enough to put a sling around my neck.
Then there is the little detail of Katrijanov and Ephegos working together. It doesn’t add up in my mind. Not yet. But if Ephegos meant what he said, that I’ll be here for a while, I’m ready to put my efforts into finding out so I can prepare myself. Anything is better than being pushed into dire situations blindly. It was hard enough with the prison in Fort Perenis and then being dragged across the lands by Royad. No matter how he became my friend later, at that point, he was a monster to me, and I nearly shat myself at the sight of him. Not to mention what the news of being a tribute for the Crow King did to me.
How fate twisted to gift me a friend and a lover out of that terror, I am yet to come to terms with. Perhaps losing both of them is the price I’m paying for stealing hope from darkness. Perhaps it’s the rage of the gods the Crows pray to, the same ones who cursed them for their ancestors’ wrongdoings.
So much I yet have to learn… So much to wonder and guess and break over if I’m not careful.
My hand absently wanders to my shoulder, tracing where I now know a crow tattoo graces my skin. Yet another mystery to add to the pile, and the pile is already sky-high.
I take small comfort in the fact that Ephegos isn’t here to watch me fall apart, in the fact that I’m not chained to a dungeon wall with moldy bread and stale water as my daily meal. It’s not anything I trust to remain, though. I’ve seen what Ephegos is capable of, how he doesn’t shy away from spearing his friends with blades for self-righteous reasons, have been on the receiving end of his blade. There is no way I’ll live in silk and luxury forever. This is a temporary reprieve, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it’s preparation for something more, something worse than the dungeons of Fort Perenis. If darkness hits worse in bright and cozy places like this, where it can hide behind polished corners and between shiny ornamentations, and you’d never see it coming when it finally sneaks up on you.
A knock on the door tears me from my thoughts. With a quick hand, I wipe away the tears threatening to fall and take a stabilizing breath before getting to my feet, fingers gripping the backrest of the chair to keep my balance as I stand as straight as a silk-and-blossoms-covered pillar.
Before I can say a word for whoever knocked to come in or stay out, the lock on the door clicks, and a woman strides in, her long brown braid bouncing on her shoulder as she carries a tray to the table in front of me. Her linen pants are as brown as her hair, and the leather vest covering her torso is that of a fighter or hunter rather than of a household servant—as are the knives strapped to her thighs and the sword peeking above her shoulder as she sets the tray down.
“Order of Ephegos,” she chirps while dishes clink against each other as she jostles them, not paying attention to her task and taking in my appearance instead. “Nice choice.”
Whether she means the dress, my still-drying hairstyle, or just me, I can’t tell. I’m too flabbergasted that Ephegos would let any other being near me without supervision. And more than that: the woman is human. Her ears are rounded, and her face is gloriously … normal. Pretty, but not fairy beautiful. No sign of immortal grace or other magical attributes to give away that she’s anything more than an average human.
“Who are you?” The words slip out so fast I can make a conscious choice to ask.
The woman gives me a clipped smile. “Kaira.” Abandoning her grip on the tray, she picks up an elaborate teapot and pours steaming liquid into a cream and brass cup the size of a doll dish.
“Kaira,” I repeat, leaving the word hanging in the air with the expectation of an explanation.
When she’s done pouring, Kaira sets down the teapot, gesturing for me to settle in the chair I just made an effort to get out of. “You should drink and eat while you can. Who knows when Ephegos will feel another surge of kindness and allow such luxury?”