AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Royad settles on the single chair by the desk in the corner, eyeing me pace between the bed and the bathing room door while I wait for him to answer the one question I asked him before leaving Myron’s room.
“Are you going to tell me?” I prompt when he merely follows me with a heavy silence that might be deliberate but somehow feels more like an attempt at forming the right words.
“It’s an ancient room for sure. Thousands of years old.” He pauses, waiting to know if I’m satisfied, but I’m not.
“Has it always been in the building?” I figure asking about why it tried killing me hasn’t brought me any answers, perhaps figuring out what exactly it is and how it got there is a better start. No personal issues involved.
Not that anything about a relationship with a room should be personal—unless it’s murderous. Then it’s something to consider. It surely hasn’t killed off Myron or Royad. So, it’s either personal against me or it has something to do with the role I’ve taken up in this palace.
“Not always.” Royad swallows. “Not the way it is now.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” It’s hard enough to believe there truly is a lake locked in a palace room on this very floor. “Did you put the water in there?”
Royad’s gaze locks on mine. “That’s something you’ll need to ask Myron.”
Of course, there’s no direct answer. “Is that a fairy thing? Not being able to give a solid answer?”
For a moment, Royad considers me, those all-black eyes not half as hard as I’m used to, and I could swear it’s pity I spot there. “All fairies are experts with words. But Crows are not normal fairies. We aren’t like the high fae of Askarea. We aren’t even like the other fairies of Askarea.” He starts saying something else, but his voice cracks on the first sound, and he shakes his head. “And that’s all I will say on that matter.”
The way his gaze is now pleading for me not to push the topic makes me wonder if there is more to it. If there is a hidden meaning behind his evasions. If hewantsme to find out on my own.
“Very well…” I settle on the edge of my bed, braiding my damp hair over my shoulder just to have something to do with my hands. “While we wait for Myron, then, tell me a bit more about Carius the Cruel.” Before Royad can open his mouth again, I add, “And what do they call Myron?”
A flicker of affection crosses Royad’s features as he answers, “The Valiant.”
I have nothing to say to that except, “Whoever gave him that name made a mistake.” There is nothing gallant or brave about the creature I married. If anything, he is a coward. Adangerouscoward. A coward who insists on marrying every year when he knows his new bride will die. Who pretends to have had a wedding night rather than putting an end to whatever horrible tradition has been kept alive by his people. “Perhapsthe Cruelwould fit equally.”
Royad is on his feet so fast my heart leaps into my throat as he bends over the table, pinning me with a gaze that speaks murder. “Myron is nothing like his father. You have no idea of howvaliantMyron is. No. Idea.” I could swear I hear his teeth grind against each other. With a deep inhale, he straightens and marches to the dresser by the wall where he leans back, hands braced on the edge of the wood on each side of his hips. “Be careful how you speak about him, Ayna. He is your only hope.” Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth as his sentence ends in a wince, but the words are out, and all I can do is stare.
“What’s happening?” I’m on my feet and rushing across the room before I can think any better, and my fingers fall on the side of his cheek, turning his head so I can take a better look at the blood.
Royad pulls out of my touch, taking a step away and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “It isn’t Myron’s fault he is a monster. It isn’t his fault any of us are.” His breathing is uneven, more blood leaking from his lips as he keeps speaking. “Don’t expect any answers, no matter who you ask. But never stop asking.” He wipes his mouth again, drawing a crimson streak over his cheek, while I stand there, gaping at the Crow King’s loyal servant, who is slowly backing away toward the door. “You were chosen as a bride by Tavras because you are a lost cause, Ayna. But that’s not how Myron sees it. It is because you have nothing to lose that you have everything to gain.”
He chokes on the last word, hand flying to his throat, but before I can reach him, he shifts, face first, then all the way to his feet, until he is a bird twice the size of a normal crow. He flutters, and the door opens on a phantom wind.
“Wait!” My shout dies in the hallway where the guards turn their heads, pinning me on the threshold with mere stares while Royad’s wingbeats disappear to the entrance hall where he dives out of sight.
Fuck that Myron doesn’t want me to leave the room alone. Fuck that I am scared to death of the beaked, armed creatures tracking my every movement. Fuck that I might as well run into death’s arms as I cross the threshold and bolt down the hallway to the stairs leading to the ground floor. No one attacks me as I rush past, my breathing labored from lack of exercise by the time I make it to the vast space defining the welcome area of the palace—not that anyone would ever want to visit here—so I keep going. Keep running past tall, feathered, muscled males with beaks and all-black eyes, vicious hisses following me at every turn. Ahead, the dark stone floor is lit up by a beam of sunshine, and when I follow the direction it’s coming from, I notice the front door is cracked open.
Had it not been already racing, my heart would start at the glimpse of freedom.
It doesn’t matter how many times Royad and Myron have warned me. When I taste the fresh air, the floral taste of summer, I turn right and bolt for the door. None of the guards try to stop me as I veer from my original path to follow Royad and approach the door. Perhaps pretending I spent a steamy night with their king was enough to hammer into their heads that I’m untouchable, but the gleaming darkness in their eyes tells me they might never be convinced.
Royad is wrong about Myron the Valiant, about me having everything to gain. But he is right about one thing. I’m a lost cause, and I have nothing to lose. So, I make a mad dash for the gap promising air and freedom.
My shoulder hits the door as one of the guards slams it shut a moment too late to stop me. My shoulder throbs, and I gasp for air as I run blindly, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the glistening sun. But I’m out. My boots pound the pale gravel beneath my feet, and my lungs pump the mild air, songbirds chirp their melody to my escape, and with every step I take, clinging onto hope becomes a tiny bit easier.
It’s a good hundred feet to the edge of the forest, and by the time I make it to the first trees, my lungs are burning. My legs are shaking, and my bad hand is clutching my shoulder with all the strength it has, which isn’t much, but it’s better than letting it dangle freely as I weave between trees and bushes. Each step is torture, the weight of my arm pulling on the joint where it must be dislocated as I jostle it while dodging branches.
Still, I keep going, keep pushing myself to my limits. Without a weapon, and my good hand useless, I have no way to defend myself if they chase me. Bringing as much space as possible between myself and the Crow palace is the only way to save myself. Biting back winces and gasps, I move through the forest as fast as I dare without making too much noise. At least, there aren’t layers of fallen leaves covering the ground the way I remember Tavrasian forests. Here, my steps are cushioned by moss and ferns, which at least helps me disguise my heavy, human footfalls.
I have no idea where I’m running or what I’ll find on the other end of the forest, but it can’t be worse than the prison I was taken from or the palace full of monsters I am running from, so I keep going, each heartbeat painful as I push my limits. Above me, the treetops cover the golden sun, providing cover as I thread through the underbrush.
As I swerve from the bushes into a small clearing, my foot slips on something hard, and I tumble to the ground with a curse and a gasp. My shoulder shrieks with pain, and so does my bad hand when I catch myself on it, only to come face to face with a withered skull—a witheredhumanskull.
I scramble back on my haunches, half expecting for the remains of a person to attack me, but they lie silent and forgotten, and I rush on along the edge of the clearing, praying to the Guardians that I won’t end up like the last human who crossed this path. I don’t even dare imagine how they found their end. If this skull once belonged to a bride.
Bile mixes with the taste of iron in my mouth as I strain against exhaustion, but I don’t-stop-don’t-stop-don’t stop, trees becoming a blur of green and brown around me as tears force their way to my eyes.
