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I don’t know how long I relish the feel of the water carrying me before exhaustion claims my body so thoroughly I am boneless as I climb out of the pool. I’m about to reach for my pants and tunic when I spot they’re gone, replaced by a thick towel and a dressing robe made of decadent, black silk.
My head whips around, eyes searching for whoever might have put them there, but the room is empty.
The towel is soft and heavy, soaking up the water dripping from my hair and running down my body, as I wrap it around me and sit on the top of the steps leading into the water so only my feet are in the pool. I stare at the play of light on the ceiling, part from the torches and fire bowl, but part of it is reflections from the dancing waves. They glimmer like brass and amber—like the treasures Ludelle and I used to loot.
A heavy sadness weighs on my heart. One that has nothing to do with my own fate but that of the man I loved with all I have and whose life was ended by a slice into his throat. My tears mingle with the droplets of water on my cheeks, and I can’t tell if, maybe, I deserve to end up here after being the only survivor of the Wild Ray’s crew. Maybe this is my punishment for getting away when my father betrayed the king, for the few peaceful years with my mother at the coast before she followed my father behind Eroth’s Veil. For the blissful years on the Wild Ray. Perhaps, finding love and happiness after being responsible for my father’s death angered the Guardians and this is their way of restoring balance. Because, with what lies ahead, there is no way there will be any love in my life ever again. Only death and pain and the constant fear of which moment will be my last, just as I now fear that I won’t survive tomorrow.
My face is buried in my palms, a vise clamping on my chest, when something grabs me by the shoulder, throwing my head underwater so fast I can’t scream. I struggle for purchase, my feet slipping on the stone underwater as I try to push myself up, but the claws have me in an iron hold, and my air is running out as I thrash in the water. I flail my arms, blindly grasping behind me to where I expect the Crow to be—because who else should attack me in this palace but a Crow Fairy? Perhaps it is King Myron himself who wants to make quick work of his new bride before she can find a way to escape and embarrass him.
My thoughts get more jumbled with each painful heartbeat as I fight, fight to get my head back above the surface. But the claws dig into my shoulder and neck, pushing harder, squeezing so tight I’m sure there’ll be a puncture wound on the side of my neck when someone finds my body.
Darkness swims before my eyes, and it would be so easy to give in. Yet, I refuse. I refuse to be bested by these monsters who feel entitled to my life. I stare the darkness in the eye, water burning as I open my lids.
I am not afraid of you, I tell it and reach lower with my good hand, right where I expect the Crow’s legs. My fingers curl around leather, and I blindly grasp, throwing my weight forward, straining to keep ahold of whoever’s knee I hooked my hand around.
I’m certain the water helps when the monster loses footing and releases my neck to regain balance as he stumbles into the pool.
Air floods my lungs, and I fight a coughing fit as I scramble to my feet just in time to avoid the claws grabbing for me. The male rising from the water is in plain guard uniform, and his face is mostly bird. His hissed caws remind me of curses and insults I’m glad I don’t understand. If I don’t get my body to move, he’ll be on me again so fast I can’t even get down a deep breath.
His wings drip with water, giving a better outline of the muscled arm under the feathers. I back away, desperately searching the room for a weapon.
If I make it to the nearest wall, I can pull a torch from a metal hook and set him on fire—at least sear him with the torch if he doesn’t catch flames. My own violence doesn’t surprise me. I’ve been cornered for almost ten months, and this creature is going for my throat.
I bolt, not caring about how my towel threatens to slip as I slam my good hand into the wall to stop my face from crashing into it and grab the torch with the bad one.
Nine
Pain traps my breath,but I don’t loosen my hold of the handle. If I drop the torch, my life is over. The mean gleam in the Crow’s eyes is all the proof I need.
He takes a heavy step closer while I fight for breath at the mere memory of those claws at my throat.
Think, Ayna. Think.I’ve fought more soldiers than I can count on the loots with the Wild Ray, have killed when necessary. I used to be good with daggers, quick and agile. Now, only one hand remains good enough to wield a weapon of any sort.
“Get back.” The threat gives me a heartbeat to switch the torch to my left hand, and I stifle a groan as the pain in my right one recedes.
The Crow laughs a crackled sound that makes the blood in my veins freeze all over again. He isn’t here to play games.
I catch his claws with the torch as they lash out toward my arm, the impact drawing a hiss from his beak.
Good. At least, he isn’t immune to pain. But, Guardians, is he quick. Before I can bring the torch back to a defensive position, the Crow strikes, claws landing on my forearm, and I scream as he slices down the length from my elbow to my wrist. Warm liquid trickles down my arm, and I know it’s more than a shallow cut.
The Crow is shorter than Myron and Royad, but his torso is covered in corded muscle where it’s not coated with feathers. His leather pants are stiff from the water, and his wings are sticky, but apart from that, I can’t find a weakness. Hopefully, it will be enough.
The Crow cocks his head as if measuring how much fight I have left in me.
I don’t wait for him to come to a conclusion but leap forward as if that were a dagger in my hand rather than a piece of ever-burning wood, and surprise hits me hard when I land a blow on the Crow’s sternum. I would have stabbed him straight in the heart were that a blade in my hand. Yet, with the torch, I leave a scorch mark between the carpet of feathers running across his shoulders and arms. His hissed scream is almost deafening, and he doubles over, clutching his chest.
This is my chance.
I don’t look back as I run for the door, my bare feet slapping the stone floor as the Crow’s angry caws follow me.
“Royad!” I’m shouting his name before I reach the door, pushing with my bad hand while trying to keep the other from loosening its grasp on the torch. If I drop that, I am defenseless. There are too many ways in here to kill me, and only one way out.
The door gives, and I stumble into the hallway, almost colliding with Royad, who is staring at me like at a ghost. The caws behind me cease, turning into the beat of wings, and a pair of bird claws rip on my hair as a crow flutters over my head, down the hallway, and out the window that I hoped might be my path to freedom.
“What the fuck happened in there?” Were it not for the shock on Royad’s face, I might have accused him of staging the attack himself, but the way his gaze darts down my arm, to the torch in my blood-covered hand, tells me he has no idea.
“The Crow—” I manage to nod in the direction the bird disappeared, and Royad seems to understand.
