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At least, I’ve dismantled some of them, like the curse and the Flames, and the lake. It’s more than I want to know, to be honest, because it makes me feel even more useless when every attempt at figuring out what will save them is a failure. I don’t know how many hours I’ve spent digging through Myron’s library or scouring the details of the carvings in the palace walls. Nothing. All I find is more details on the Flames, who apparently are a people as vengeful as they are powerful—not that I needed to know. Them still trying to take back their palace after thousands of years tells me everything.
Shaking my head in defeat, I change the course of my thoughts to something more imminent. “What’s for dinner?”
At that, Myron’s gaze snaps to mine. “Fig pie.”
Holding back a startled laugh, I lay my hand on his wing where his forearm would be if he had normal arms and earn a brow arched in surprise. “What?”
“I thought you only ate meat.”
That, however, makes him laugh, and it’s a sound so rare, my chest aches for the king trying to save his people, the male isolating himself further and further from his people in whatever misguided guilt for their horrible situation.
I slow to a stop, and Myron takes the cue, halting beside me and angling himself toward me as I glance along the empty corridors to make sure no one overhears our conversation.
“It’s not your fault.”
His all-black eyes lock on mine as he tries to decipher what I’m trying to say.
“That I don’t eat meat?” It’s a lax attempt at humor, and I’m not buying it.
“Your people. The curse. This mess—” I gesture around and at the two of us. “It’s not your fault you’re stuck here.”
Myron cuts me off from whatever his gaze might show, eyes fluttering and shutting as he shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ayna.” His voice warps around my name like a caress of silk and darkness. “Itismy fault.” He gestures around, between us. “This mess, my people, that we’re still stuck here.” His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “I didn’t try hard enough, Ayna. And now, it’s almost too late.”
When his eyes open again, remorse is the only thing filling the fathomless depths that are Myron, the Valiant. And I forget to breathe.
Just when I think I might black out from the lack of air in my lungs, boots thud along the hallways leading toward the end of our corridor, where it ends in the entrance hall, and Myron turns and starts walking again. “We’re expected at dinner.”
I don’t object when he places his hand on the small of my back, tucking me a bit tighter to him than usual as my thoughts still swirl in my mind.
I couldn’t save my father or my crew. I couldn’t save Ludelle and Ephegos. But I will find a way to save him.
* * *
Over the next weeks, Clio shows up every other day, a dangerous smirk on her beautiful fairy face and always a taunt at the ready for Myron, who never fails to sit with us for the training lessons.
Today is no different. I’m in my black pants and tunic, hair braided back and rolled into a bun at the nape of my neck. My daggers are sheathed at my hips, and my mood is the opposite of bright. I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to reach that supposed magical well inside of me without success, and Myron seems to be the only one convinced it’s there. Clio offered to call it a day more than once, and I’d have happily agreed had Myron not insisted we keep trying.
So, here we are, me sitting cross-legged on the stone floor while Clio paces the room in large ovals, her gaze darting back and forth between the Crow King and me.
“Any specific reason you think I’ll be able to find my magic sitting down?” I inquire without looking up from the pitcher of water in front of me, from which I’ve been trying to draw even a drop of water for the past hour.
“None other than that it’s easier to pour a jarful of water over your pretty head from up here,” Clio informs me with a grin I’ve learned to read as her making mock threats.
The warning hiss Myron issues across the room, however, is the real deal. He waves a casual wing at the fairy princess, gesturing for her to step as far away from me as the rectangular room allows.
Clio gives the Crow King a saccharine smile. “Come on, Myron. We’ve worked together for a century now. Don’t act like you can’t trust me to keep a bargain. The high fae have delivered every third year as the deal with my brother demands. You really think I’m going to mess up an agreement that could save both of us the trouble in the future?”
My mouth opens to ask what she means, but Myron growls, the sound bouncing around the room drowning out all thoughts.
“Too soon?” Clio asks sweetly over her shoulder before she turns her attention back to me.
Myron doesn’t respond, only rises from the rock like a walking menace and comes to stand at my side. “Teach her. That’s all you’re allowed to do in these halls.”
Clio has the good sense to look nervous at the cold fury in the Crow King’s tone, and even I shudder as his wrath rakes through the air, tangible like the icy wind the fairy princess likes to produce. It’s all I can do not to take a casual step away as the two immortal creatures stare each other down.
I roll my shoulders, reaching into the depth of myself, and beg the Guardians to give me a hint where to find that supposed magic of mine so I can throw a cold shower over Myron’s head the way Clio did with me, and much to my surprise, I find a weak current in my veins that has little to do with the adrenalin coursing there.
Reach for it,Clio instructed the days before.Reach for it, and pull it into your palms.
