Page 71 of Heart of Night
Their voices are hushed, but my fae senses are alert, picking up every single word.
“Lord Ephegos ordered for an additional set of guards in the hallway on the third floor,” one of them says. “I wonder if something happened with King Erina’s betrothed.”
“He wants to make sure no one steals her away in the night,” the other guard responds, his tone annoyed enough to inform me of what he thinks of the King’s choice.
My stomach tightens at the mere thought of anyone finding Ayna unworthy of anything, and I almost leap off Herinor’s shoulder, but the sharp pain in my side reminds me why I’m up here.
“Did you hear what happened in the throne room?”
The guard with the deeper voice makes a noncommittal sound, so the other one explains. “Apparently, the king had an additional guest invited to his table. A stranger no one knows anything about. They say he needed Katrijanov to keep the guy in check.”
“Why would he invite a dangerous man to his table?”
“Not just any man… A fairy.”
“A fairy?” The shock is obvious in the man’s voice.
“One of the prisoners, I assume. I heard rumors he has someone down there. Some fairies he’s been experimenting on. Maybe it was his way of showing his new bride he has the power to defeat even a magical kingdom. What a king…”
I block out the rest of the conversation in order not to make a mistake and let my rage take over. If that’s what people think, they are closer to the truth than they actually know. Erina is working on weapons to defeat fairies. He has managed the first steps, all he needs is to make the process faster so he can produce larger amounts. If he achieves that, Askarea is fucked.
I blow out a slow breath. At least, no one guessed who I am. Certainly, Erina didn’t advertise Ayna is already married to the King of Crows. That would make it a lot harder to lay claim to her.
It takes me all I have not to growl at the thought of him even wanting to lay claim to her.
“Easy,” Herinor whispers, shaming my primal fae side into silence while I stop myself from moving.
We weave through dark hallways, Herinor’s steps steady while my strength is fading even when I’m free and the drugs should be wearing off with time. My body is at its limits.
But my mind is not. It’s racing like a Crow mid-flight when we turn the corner and Herinor abruptly stops, almost letting me slip from his shoulder. His hands circle my leg as he holds me in place, and my head hits the wall all over again. I try not to notice the pain and remain as still as a corpse, the way Herinor told me to, not that I care for following anyone’s orders—only when they make sense, and Herinor made a point.
“Where are you going?” a deep male voice demands. I don’t recognize it.
Herinor shifts his weight to hide my torso from the man, moving me a bit higher on his shoulder, his bones digging into my ribs.
By the time he responds, my lower lip is bleeding from biting it to hold in a grunt. “Disposing of a prisoner who didn’t make it,” Herinor says matter-of-factly, probably featuring his signature grumpy face that will scare off anyone lesser than a powerful Crow. “You know how the general likes the dungeon clean of any traces of…” He pauses as if waiting for the other man to fill in the rest of the thought and, when he doesn’t, continues, “Of what they do down there with them.”
There is some mumbled agreement, then feet shuffle aside, and a door swings open. Herinor rolls me over so I’m draped over both shoulders instead of dangling down his back, and I swear I’ll hurt him for how ungently he handles me, no matter if he’s the one getting me out into the sweet, humid night air.
“Soon,” Herinor grumbles. “Just a bit more patience. I’ll set you down soon.”
“I’ll hold you to that promise,” I murmur, words weak from pain and exhaustion.
Herinor musters a small chuckle. “I know you will. Trust me, I’m counting the heartbeats ’til I can set you down.” He pauses, taking a long step across a segment of uneven ground, thoughtful and out of breath. “And you’ll probably have my head for my betrayal. Perhaps that will be a mercy.”
I’m not ready to respond to that. Even knowing how he’s chosen Ephegos’s side before, I’m not sure I have it in me to kill him for treason the way I would easily kill Ephegos if given the chance.
Not true… I have it in me to kill without remorse if the situation demands it. I did so for a hundred years, watching my brides die one after the other; even when I wasn’t the one to kill them, I was still the reason for their death. I’m not any better than Herinor when it comes to the amount of blood on my hands.
For a while, he strides in silence, his heavy breaths the only tell he’s struggling as we follow a gravel path toward a pit where I assume they dispose of real deceased prisoners. Instead of throwing me in, he ducks past the narrow wall shielding it from one side, and crouches, rolling me onto the cobbled ground on the other side of the wall.
I can’t help the groan of pain as my shoulder hits the stone, and I sag in a heap of weak bones and shredded flesh.
“You’ve seen better days, Myron.” Herinor studies from above, sweat beading his forehead and scar-flecked face unreadable the way I remember him.
“If you believe putting me out of my misery will save you, now would be your chance.” I hold his gaze, ignoring the way my healing power strains to catch up with all the injuries, visible and hidden.
Herinor’s chin dips, the light-brown scruff on his chin shimmering in the moonlight as he draws his blade—correction: one of his many, many blades—but instead of slitting my throat, he lays it down next to my head like an offering.