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The word hangs in the air, ripe for the plucking, and I almost reach for it, allowing the heaviness to drag me back to the stone as well. But if there is anything I can do to break the curse, I can’t lie back and wait for it to come to me. I need to go searching for it. Turn over every rock in the palace until I find something to lift that monstrosity off their feathered shoulders. Ephegos once hinted that they can’t fully shift into a human form. That must be part of the curse. But there is more, I’m sure, or they wouldn’t bleed when bringing it up. That alone is a curse in itself.
Whatever gods cursed them must be cruel beyond comprehension.
Then there remains the other question: Why?
Why did the gods punish the Crows? What did Myron’s ancestors do in order to deserve a fate like this?
As determination builds beneath the plain training tunic right where my heart hammers between my ribs, I brave a smile and scramble to my knees so I can take a better look at the Crow King.
“Tell me about Sariell,” I murmur, my hand wrapping around his as I try not to dwell on the tightness in my stomach at the thought of a female Myron found pretty.
“She is dead.” It’s all he needs to say to shut me up before I even get started on the questions. But at least, we navigated around a topic that was killing him. Was killing both of us.
The air in the room is heavy, as is Royad’s gaze of gratitude when he settles back on his haunches, a quiet sigh moving his chest.
“We’ll talk about the water another day.” He rubs his claws over his face, the gesture speaking of the exhaustion of centuries rather than of the past dangerous moments.
“We will,” Myron agrees as if Royad was talking to him when the Crow’s eyes were very clearly communicating that he was addressing me only.
“We will,” I echo, but deep down, I decide that I won’t involve either of them in my search, for any question I raise might kill them—and me. And I’ve only started valuing life enough again to care about how that affects me, too.
* * *
The room is bigger when I’m alone than with Myron’s company, I notice as I stare at the scorch marks on the wood panel by the door where the fire tried to eat up the library. I’ve been staring at that same spot for days while Myron and Royad dealt with court politics and rebellious Crows, wondering if the lake would save me again should fire burst in through the doors once more. So far, I haven’t found an answer.
I’ve pulled and tugged on the warded door to the sacred chamber, begging it to open so I could throw my life on the line in an attempt at figuring out whether or not I have the abilities Myron and Royad suggested.
Nothing. Not even a creak of the wood. The lake doesn’t want to see me—perhaps because I have too many uncomfortable questions.
Is the water truly a collection of former brides’ tears? Is it sentient? Are the gods watching in that small room more than anywhere else in Eherea? And most of all: Why did it open for me when it had remained closed for over a century?
I’ve shouted those questions and more at the wood to no avail. All that got me was a raised feathered brow from one of the guards by the door when Myron picked me up from his room a few hours later. I don’t have more than bored gazes for the guards now. None of them came to my aid when I was trapped by fire, so I assume they don’t particularly care if I live or die—not that any of them have tried to kill me since the incident in the forest.
I haven’t seen the two assailants from my flight attempt since Myron saved me from their midst either.
And most of all, I have been living under a looming death threat for so long it has lost its imminency.
A glance at the ornate clock on the mantle of the fireplace tells me Myron will be arriving shortly to take me to train as every day. I flex my bad hand, savoring the new strength there despite the stiffness. I’ve used the hours of combat practice to work on the flexibility of my wrist and fingers and gained a few degrees more freedom with my movements. They don’t hurt as badly either, now that I’m finally able to properly hold a dagger. I’m nowhere close to being able to run someone through with that hand in a fight, but at least, I have more accuracy when I aim for the heart.
Myron arrives like clockwork, waiting on the threshold for me to join him, a smile on his face that I hadn’t believed possible mere weeks ago, but it’s there and directed at me. He’s been awfully quiet the past three weeks since the incident in the training room. Naturally, he continues to keep his talon-tipped hand on the small of my back in demonstration of propriety the way only a fairy male can when we walk through the hallways. “It’s what keeps the other Crows motivated to stay away from you,” he tells me when I ask him if he isn’t getting tired of pretending, right as we turn the corner into the private corridor leading up to the secluded training area.
“I don’t think any of the Crows still intend to lay a hand on me.” It’s true. None of them have even looked at me wrong since the fire. However, I’m not sure if it is because of the way Myron sticks to my side whenever we walk the palace together or because word has gotten around that I wielded water to save the king’s private bedchamber from burning to the ground.
“There, you see how well it works.” I don’t imagine the smirk on his lips. It’s actually more pronounced than I’ve ever seen on his gorgeous face. I try not to dwell on the fact that this remains a ruse. Yes, there is undeniable chemistry between the Crow King and me, and yes, I have caught myself fantasizing about the moments when he’d run those hands along my skin, when his mouth had devoured mine in what I can only describe as an all-consuming need. But that’s about it.
When it comes to Myron, the Valiant, I can’t have feelings, because if I do…
My chest tightens at the thought of the last man I loved. Theonlyman I’ve loved.
I don’t even know what they did with Ludelle’s body at the prison. If they burned it or buried it or fed it to the wild animals roaming the prison island.
He would have wanted to be dumped in the ocean rather than in the ground.
I bite my lip, and Myron’s gaze snaps to the place my teeth cut into the sensitive skin. “Ten more months,” he reminds me.
Ten more months until I’m free. I can’t believe it’s been over two months since Royad took me from Fort Perenis.
“King Erina won’t be pleased though if he finds out I let this year’s tribute go.” He cocks one dark brow, studying how all color drains my face.
