Page 60 of Heart of Night
“Or you will kill us,” Ephegos finishes for him in a singsong voice. “I’ve heard it all before. And guess what.” He whirls on Myron, turning his back to me, which allows me a moment to breathe while his attention isn’t lingering on me with the promise of more pain, but it’s on Myron. And I can’t bear the thought of Myron taking the next blow just because he doesn’t want to see me suffer. “You’re bound by magical shackles and injected with a serum that suppresses your magic. Your strength won’t help you here, King of Crows. Your tantrum will only cause her more pain.” Ignoring Myron’s horrified expression, the fury in those beautiful eyes, Ephegos turns back to me, examining my cheek with a probing finger. I try not to wince at the searing sensation running through my bones.
It might be broken.
“Perhaps I’ve pushed her too far with the drug,” he says to Katrijanov as if I’m not even here. “I should have waited a day or two to let her recover so the serum kicks in faster.”
Katrijanov inspects my face with a shrug. “She’s breakable as any human prisoner for now. Perhaps we should give her more.”
I don’t even want to know what that means—what they do to their prisoners—but the bruises on Myron’s face—Guardians, the red lines crisscrossing along his bare torso and arms?—
The pain in my cheek is forgotten as my vision finally manages to focus on something other than Myron’s features.
They tortured him. They cut him open over and over again on different occasions. The various degrees of scabbing and healing tell a whole tale of violence and misery that I’m not ready to know.
There is no unknowing what is obviously the map of torment during his captivity in this dungeon. If I thought I’d been bad off with the drugging and being forced to marry a cruel man because of my father’s crimes and his last name, Myron has had it a million times worse.
“What serum?” I demand. If I can get him to leave Myron alone, I will be able to breathe more easily.
Fragments of memories come back to me… The table, the tray, the note. The note. I manage to tear my gaze off Myron to whip it to Herinor, who’s been suspiciously quiet. He wasn’t there when Ephegos and Katrijanov came to pick me up for torture. But was he the one who sent the note? Don’t eat the bread.
His face yields nothing as he stares back at me with unreadable green eyes.
Whatever was in the bread, I ingested at least parts of it when they forced me to eat.
“An antidote to the original drug.” Ephegos’s smug expression is the last thing I want to see right now, but he forces himself between Herinor and me with a graceful step. “You’ve been drugged since I collected you at the palace in the Seeing Forest. Theories say that the effect can last quite a while when a magical creature is being sedated with it for longer periods of time and in high dosages.” He gives me a pointed look. “And you, dear Ayna, have been requiring unusual portions of the drug. I would say I’m impressed if you weren’t such a nuisance.”
Antidote. They gave me an antidote. Grimacing at Ephegos, I reach into myself, but there is no hint of my powers.
“Excuse me for raining on your little plan, whatever that is.” Every word hurts like fuck, and I don’t care if I can keep him engaged enough to forget Myron even exists. Who knows how long until the serum he gave Myron wears off and he regains access to his magic? There is hope?—
And hope is foolish and the only thing that can truly break us. I know it when Katrijanov takes his place next to Myron’s table, wiping my blood on the thigh of Myron’s pants. At least, they didn’t strip him down completely to carve him up. Again with that hope… I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from shouting out all the curses I have in store for the general as he grins down at my Crow.
“Oh, Ayna…” Ephegos shakes his head, stepping closer to my side, revealing the view of Herinor once more.
The male shakes his head infinitesimally as if in warning. I have no idea what he’s trying to tell me. He can’t help; he’s made that clear hundreds of times, and I don’t expect his help, even though it would have been nice if one thing in life was easy.
“Ayna, Ayna. You’re too smart to be a pawn in this game, but you’re a pawn all the same.” False pity drips in every word Ephegos speaks. He doesn’t seem to be having any regrets though as he lifts another syringe to my arm.
On the table across the room, only a few paces away, Myron is thrashing as he tries to get to me without success.
“King Erina made a clever move, sending you to the Seeing Forest at last Ret Relah. He saw an opening to make his enemy bloodline disappear for good. But you survived. You, clever girl, survived and won the heart of the Crow King.” He seems to be musing more than explaining, and it has nothing to do with the syringe—at least nothing I can fathom, yet. “When both Myron and you survived, he saw an even better plan form before him.” He gives me that look I used to find endearing when I still believed he was a decent male who had my best interest at heart. The look that reminds me of a concerned friend. “Erina has been experimenting for a while, and with my help, he made great progress with his collection of anti-magical substances. Tavras is thriving, but Erina wants to expand his reach. The Southern Continent isn’t interesting enough to conquer, and trade has been good, so that would weaken rather than strengthen Tavras’s position. In the West, Cezux has been stronger than ever with Dimar II on the throne in Jezuin and the ties to the Askarean rule.”
I try not to let my mind wander to the many questions threatening to pop to the surface. I need him to speak, need him to spill all those secrets he’s been hiding. Even Myron has gone still now that Katrijanov has sheathed his blade, his pointed ears listening, his ocean eyes finding mine across the room like he could touch me with a gaze.
“That leaves Askarea itself. The wealthiest realm in all of Eherea, or so they say. I wouldn’t know. I was never invited to King Recienne’s palace in Aceleau.” Bitterness laces every word as Ephegos pauses with the syringe right above my arm. One more inch and he’ll prick my skin. “Askarea has never been an option for conquest. But the serum changes things.”
Clio’s words come back to me from our conversation after Erina informed me Myron is alive. Erina had used her… To create a weapon. Something that will take out fairies the way a punch to the nose can take out humans.
And he wants to use that weapon to conquer the fairy realm. Guardians above. Erina is even more devious than I’d thought.
“And what role do I play?” It’s all I can think of to ask to keep him talking as he starts moving the needle closer to my skin.
I can’t escape. No matter how hard I pull on the leather, it holds fast. Besides, if I start thrashing now, I might accidentally touch the needle and speed up the process.
“You?” Ephegos asks as if he’s forgotten I’m here, his gaze finding mine with loathing and malice. “You are my means to keep Myron in check while I watch him go insane with the yearning for his mate.” His eyes cut to Myron, and I want to scream just so he returns them to me.
“And the others?” I prompt, the only way now to divert his focus from my Crow—I don’t dare repeat in my mind what he said, what they’ve all indicated: my mate.
Ephegos’s laugh cackles like a caw as his features start shifting into bird form the way they used to when the curse was still active, but his arms remain tucked into his sepia finery. Only his hands turn into claws, the syringe nearly slipping from his grasp. “Royad and Silas will find their end before long. As for the Askarean general… He’ll be quite useful in the months to come.”