Page 78 of Heart of Night
Kaira bobs her head. “Long story. We took a servant exit, disguising Ayna as one of us so they’d let her pass. Nothing happened. We’re here.”
Clamping my mouth shut, I hold in all the retorts I have for her recklessness. “Nothing happened,” I grind out, more to convince myself.
Ayna shoots me a sideways glance that has my stomach easing, and her hand drifts into mine. “Nothing happened,” she repeats in a whisper, but her heart is beating like she’s reliving those moments, and the petrifying panic floating through the bond is enough to send fury charging through my veins all over again.
“Easy, Myron. Kaira was helping Ayna, not trying to get her caught.” Herinor places a hand on my unmarked shoulder, squeezing as if with compassion. “You’ll get used to seeing threats at every corner. Just remember which ones to attack and which ones to recognize as your allies.”
It’s his tone that gives me pause, the wistfulness in his green eyes as I glance up at him. There is a story to be told—one which he hasn’t chosen to share, though I can sense the weight of it in every word.
“I’m ready to go back as soon as my magic kicks in,” I say to Clio. “None of the males deserve to be left behind.”
The Askarean princess nods her gratitude, flexing her fingers before her face. “I wish I could do more than form a snowflake or two. It’s not enough to break through magic-nullifying cages or fight my way out against an onslaught of palace guards.
“Military,” I correct. “The dungeons fall under Katrijanov’s reign.
Clio cocks a copper brow in question, and Herinor rushes to explain. “Whatever Erina is up to, there are no palace guards in the dungeon. They all wear military blue and black just like Katrijanov.”
Unimpressed by the news, Kaira snaps her fingers, sending tiny sparks to meet the single snowflake Clio has managed to produce. It melts on her fingertip just as she releases it.
“What was that for?” the female snaps with annoyance, earning a shrug from Kaira.
“Trying to see if emotions help bring your magic back faster.”
I have to give it to her, it’s a smart idea, but judging by the level of emotion I just went through while losing myself in Ayna without regaining even a little of my power, I doubt it has any effect. I don’t mention that, though.
Herinor strides to the window, glancing out at the street, and once more, I’m glad this part of the city is mostly abandoned houses. The likelihood of us getting caught is minimal compared to the better quarters of Meer.
“I’ll need to head back before Ephegos notices I’m gone,” Herinor says, fiddling with the hilt of his knife. Herinor never fiddles. “He hasn’t forbidden me from helping anyone else, but he might find ways to limit me even more once he notices both of you are gone.” He gestures at Ayna and me. “And you—” Then at Kaira, where his eyes linger for a heartbeat longer than they’d normally do. “I’ll be looking out for the signal,” he adds, a frown forming on his forehead as he inclines his head at the Flame, at Clio, and then bowing at Ayna and me.
Without another word, he shifts into his bird form, inky black feathers eating up his leathers and weapons as he turns and flutters out the broken window.
“What signal?” Ayna asks, and I know with absolute certainty that, while Ayna and I were busy in the rain, the others used the time to make plans of their own.
Thirty-Eight
Ayna
Kaira rubs her hands together as if hoping that would bring forth another spark. It’s the most magic I’ve seen her use, that ice-melting flicker of fire, but it’s nothing compared to Clio’s full powers or mine—I’m not even thinking about what Myron is capable of now that the curse is broken.
The Crow King has been uncharacteristically silent by my side, his fingers twining with mine as he listens to Clio laying out the plan. It’s a good one, I have to admit, but if Clio’s and Myron’s magic continues to recover at this rate, everyone we want to rescue might long be dead by the time we make it into the palace.
“I got the servant uniforms; I can get the military ones,” Kaira says with conviction when I question her for the fourth time. “I got you out of the palace. Trust me to get you back in.”
“Trust me to want to help,” is what Kaira says through our mental connection, while Clio is debating the merits of merely cutting down a military patrol in the streets and stripping off their uniforms.
“I do trust you,” I reassure her through that same connection. Aloud, I say, “If I could shift and fly in, would that help?”
Myron’s hand tightens around mine. We haven’t addressed my Crow form in his presence, so for him, this is the first time he has heard it from my mouth. It still feels like a lie to me.
“Can you shift at will?” he asks instead of telling me that I shouldn’t, that it’s too dangerous, that I’m too inexperienced. His eyes meet mine, ocean-blue shadowed by the rainy night. I spot every streak of light in his irises anyway, my fae senses enabling me to perceive the world in such detail it almost becomes overbearing.
“I haven’t tried.”
He nods in encouragement as if expecting me to do it then and there.
“Is it wise? What if I can’t shift back?” The moments of confusion when I shifted for the first time come back to me, the surreal scope of the world from up high beneath the ceiling.
Bracing a forearm on a knee, he studies me intently. “Considering we’re planning to break into the King of Tavras’s dungeon to retrieve three males from captivity while neither of us is in top form, wisdom has long left this discussion.”