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A crack runs through my skull as I hit the trunk of an ancient oak between a cluster of pines, and the impact takes my breath away. The screaming pain in my shoulder is nothing compared to the fire burning at the back of my head as I slither down the side of the tree, hair being yanked from its roots in places. I don’t know if the cry of agony lodged in my throat escapes or if I’m beyond making any sound, but when I slump over roots and ferns, blood on my tongue and death in my veins, I can’t bring myself to care. All I can think of is to keep breathing, keep moving.
My whole body is an aching mess as I twist onto my stomach, pulling my legs and arms under me as I begin to crawl forward.
The sky is dark with circling birds, and I don’t mean the singing kind. Their shadows block out the summer sun, painting the forest ground in twilight. For a moment, I wonder if Myron has sent his entire people to hunt me down, if he has ordered them to bring me back, dead or alive.
Then, they are diving. One after the other, they fall through the treetops like winged coals, Crows in their bird form. Their wings stir the air in a wind strong enough to lift the few fallen leaves off the ground, and their caws turn to hisses as, one by one, they shift into tall male forms.
This is it. This is how I die.
I scramble a few feet farther toward the thicket to my right, but there is no way I’ll make it. No way in Eroth’s realm or that of any other god.
Just as I’m ready to resign myself to my fate, another roar echoes through the forest, and all I can do is flatten myself to the ground and cover my ears as I wait for it to be over.
Wings boom, and heavy boots hit the ground hard enough to break the roots they are landing on. Silver buckles glimmer on polished, black leather as the Crows shift back into their bird forms and the shadows disperse above the trees. The ground is shaking as he steps forward into the single beam of light filtering through the gap the Crows tore into the canopy of leaves, or maybe it’s that I’m shaking so hard I can no longer tell the difference, and it doesn’t matter. Each breath hurts; each heartbeat is like a whip lashing through my body. The moisture in my eyes might be tears … or blood dripping from the cut on my forehead. Whatever it is, I blink it away as I lift my chin an inch to look death in the eye. And they are deep and dark and solid black as they stare back at me from Myron’s chiseled face, engulfing me in eons of ire.
Seventeen
Blind panic graspsme in an iron hold, and all feeling leaves my body as he stares me down from a few feet away, shiny black feathers framing his bare, muscled torso, and I force one breath after the other down my throat before I black out.
He cocks his head, gaze darting along my form, and he presses his mouth into a thin line so hard the usually rosy skin turns white. The Crows fled from him like a herd of deer from a predator, like a swarm of tuna races from a shark. And now, this predator with his powerful frame and dangerous magic is towering over me, closing in for the kill.
I’ve been on the ground by my captors before at the prison when I was held down while I had to watch Ludelle’s blood spill at their hands. I’ve seen ranks and hierarchies and work from the moment I was big enough to march into my father’s office. I observed guards bending to commands for a year at Fort Perenis, watched them bow their heads at the orders of their general and fulfill their duties. But I, sure as Eroth will pull me beyond his veil once Myron gets his fingers on me, have never seen an entire people flee at the arrival of their king. The thought alone is enough to make my entire self go still, my heart to skip a beat, my breath to lodge in my throat.
What power does he hold that makes them fall in line? This isn’t about royalty alone. This is something more.
Before I can make up my mind if I’m scared to death or impressed or both, Myron’s features smooth into a blankness that is even more terrifying than the fury I found earlier.
I need to get to my feet to get out of this vulnerable position where he can smother me with a boot on my shoulder or break my arm by twisting it. I need a tree behind my back so I don’t fall over if I manage to stand at all. I need?—
Before I can figure out what I need, Myron crosses the distance between us, a blur of black feathers and contained power, and I forget to be afraid as he crouches down beside me, gaze locked on mine as he keeps holding in that rage I glimpsed earlier.
“I’m not going to ask you if you’re hurt because it’s obvious that you are.” A black talon scrapes over my bicep where blood is trickling from my shoulder. I guess it’s more than just dislocated. “The question is where does it hurt most?”
Everywhere,I want to respond, but my lips won’t move. Nothing moves under the focus of the beast who now kneels beside me, hands hovering in front of him as if he’s debating how to best roll me over to check the rest of my body for injuries.
His anger hasn’t evaporated, oh no. On the contrary, I can sense it simmering below the surface like an ocean of embers. But it isn’t directed at me, I realize as his power sweeps along my back, up my neck, a cool breeze that doesn’t belong in summer.
“Can you stand up?”
I can’t even shake my head.
“Who did this to you?” His words slip through gritted teeth, and the way the ground rumbles beneath me is enough to drive a fresh surge of fear through my system.
Swallowing it down, I force myself to fake strength when all I feel is weak, force steel into my spine when I’m no longer sure I have one. “How should I know? You all look the same in your bird form.” My voice is thin, one articulated breath after the other, nothing more, and Myron growls as he watches me push my palm against the ground, cringing as I wince.
“Enough.” It’s a command, even though I have no idea if he’s telling me to stop talking or stop moving—or both. “What were you thinking?” The steel has left his voice, but the ground keeps rumbling, and this time, I’m definitely certain it isn’t my shaking.
I press my palms against the moss and roots once more, biting the inside of my cheek as agony almost pushes a scream out through my gritted teeth. But my shoulder isn’t stable enough, and my bad hand—I don’t even want to begin to feel the multitude of familiar pain as I put weight on my crippled wrist.
Somehow, I manage to roll to the side, and an entirely new universe of agony welcomes me with needle-like clutches.
Shutting my eyes for a moment, I groan, waiting for it to pass.
It doesn’t.
“Wolayna.” Myron’s voice is insistent even when he does nothing to urge me to move.
I don’t. I can’t.
