Siren's Song

by Mary Weber

  “He is.”

  Impossible. He’s using his abilities from that distance and for this long a period?

  “It’s coming from there.” I point after a second. “I’m afraid Lord Myles has ingested a poison that is enhancing his ability—and this is a result of it.”

  “He’s doing this intentionally?” King Sedric asks.

  “That I don’t know.”

  “From that far?” Rolf turns his disbelief toward the king.

  “His ability is strong.” Sedric’s tone isn’t as surprised as I’d expect. Neither is his gaze, which is watching the wraiths as they appear to be jumping from the airship. “They certainly look real.”

  “And from what I understand, his ability will become even stronger over the next few days.”

  He drops his gaze to me. “How do we stop it?”

  “If I’m right about Eogan’s ability, he should be able to slow Myles’s. Although, in truth, my method would simply be to slap him.”

  Despite the chaos swirling around us, Sedric grins, then tips his head toward the airship in the distant sky. “That is the ship you came in on and that he is still being held hostage in, I presume.”

  “I told them to hold outside the High Court, Your Highness,” Rolf says. “The second ship is by the large lake valley with another unit of men.”

  Sedric purses his lips and looks around at the Faelen soldiers still pouring into the courtyard—half of whom now look confused while the recent additions are attacking the visions with more fervor. “Captain, I don’t envy you having to convince them their eyes are deceiving them, but have them stop before they accidentally kill each other. Do you know if we’ve lost any men in this?”

  Without waiting I ignite the sky directly above us with three lightning flares set off in succession. Powerful enough to illuminate the courtyard and mirage in a wall of bright light for a moment and hopefully to override what the men think they’re seeing.

  The mirage in front of us flickers twice, then disappears.

  When the thunder from the flares has died down, the space falls silent and empty except for confused tones and hushed questions. Rolf and Sedric turn their eyes on me.

  I shrug. “Almost as good as slapping him.”

  Rolf tips his head and says, “Thank you,” before calling to his men. “It was an illusion brought on by magic, nothing more! The beings you saw weren’t real. You are hereby ordered to sheath your swords and stand guard, but do not engage anything further that appears unless my command is given.”

  The men obey as Rolf puts away his own blade. “Your Highness, what would you have me do with that airship and the Lord Protectorate?”

  King Sedric frowns. “I assume you’ve searched it?”

  “We have.”

  Sedric runs a hand along his youthful chin. “In that case, bring the ship in, lock Lady Isobel in the dungeon, and bring my cousin to me. And, Rolf, double your guard around the High Court.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. But in regard to Lady Isobel—”

  “According to the Cashlin queen, Lady Isobel’s powers are gone for the time being.” Sedric looks at me for confirmation and, when I give it, adds, “I’ll be in the War Room. We’ll convene in three hours.” He nods to me. “My apologies for the shortness of time, especially as it appears you’ve had very little sleep. But still . . . I’ll ask you to be there.”

  Tannin has hardly shut the door to my room before I drop onto the bed, fully clothed and wholly uncaring. Two seconds later I’ve drifted into a black sleep.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE FORESTED SWAMP AIR ATTACKS MY THROAT, FOLLOWED BY THE smell of something frightening. I gag and cough and suddenly my tiny body is shaking. I don’t like this place. I want to go back to the woman who held me. The woman I came from.

  But the animal galloping and jostling beneath us doesn’t stop. He continues carrying us farther as the voice of the man holding me whispers, “Shh. They’ll come for us if you cry.” His tone prickles my skin, telling me he no longer means the bad men from the camp he took me from.

  There is a new danger here.

  I blink as the shadows descend too deep for me to see farther than my tiny hands that are reaching up to grab at his face just as a roar sounds in the distance.

  “Litch,” he mutters, and his rough arms squeeze me too close, too tight, until I cry.

  “Almost there, child.”

  The animal carrying us jerks and swerves when the roar comes again. What is the noise coming from? Make it stop. But the roaring grows louder as my cries fill my ears until suddenly there’s a break in the air, and the humidity and shadows fade to be replaced by cold.

  We’re going up.

  A whinny, and then the jostling animal beneath us slows, then comes to a stop in front of another man. A large man. With a pockmarked face and a mess of curled hair and a kind smile.

  He begins speaking, but I can’t understand what’s said.

  There’s a flash of silver, and suddenly the kind man turns dangerous as he raises a sword and launches it toward us.

  Not toward us, past us. The one holding me turns around just as a roar emerges and then is cut short by the sword.

  A giant black, greasy beast with a sharp-toothed mouth falls to the ground with a whump.

  “We’ll take care of her, Nathan.” The kind man strides forward to take me. He unfolds the swath of blankets and holds me lightly against his chest. Then grunts. “She’s Elemental,” he murmurs after a pause.

  “Aye. Shouldn’t even exist, let alone survive,” the other man says. “But I figured that wouldn’t matter much to your wife.”

  I squirm and whimper. My skin’s getting cold and I’m hungry for my mum’s milk.

  “You thought right. And thank you.”

  There’s an exchange of more words and then the man remounts his animal and rides away.

  “Not supposed to exist, eh?” The big man pats my head. “Well, you do. So now we’ll see if we can help you survive.”

  I blink and feel my chest settle as his rich, soothing voice coos a bit longer, then transitions to ripple forth in a lullaby song.

  “Miss, they’re ready for you.”

  I moan and roll over and refuse to release my dream. My memory.

  My other father.

  Whatever the Inters jogged open in me, it’s a space I didn’t even know existed. And now it’s like an aching, leaking place that’s terrifying and I want to curse them for it.

  “We’ll see if we can help you survive.”

  “Miss.” Tannin’s voice enters my head again as his hand on my shoulder shakes me.

  I bat it away.

  “Miss, please.”

  “Quit playing with your life, Tannin.”

  “Something I’m loath to do, I assure you—except the Council is assembled in the War Chamber. The king is waiting.”

  I peer out between protesting eyelids to find his brown hair is, as usual, sticking up like a thatched roof. “He said three hours.”

  “And that it’s been, miss.” His idolizing expression eases to pity. “I’d be happy to have them bring you a cup of tea to the Chamber if that would help.”

  I pull my sore body up and shift my scowl to the lush blankets. “Stop making me like you, Tannin. But yes, it would, thank you.” After dragging my legs off the bed, I lean over the water bowl and splash my face. Then dab my skin dry before I attempt to pat my hair into some measure of decency until the kind guard reenters.

  “I’ve summoned the maid to sen
d tea.”

  I flick a hand at the door. “Then I’m yours to lead.”

  We reach the first bend in the hall. “How’s your daughter, by the way?”

  “Excellent. And it’s kind of you to remember.” He grins. “Although she keeps begging her mum to stain her hair white.”

  “I seem to recall wanting mine stained brown.” I give him a rueful smile.

  “She’s also been attempting to re-create your battle at the Keep with her dolls. It’s resulted in half the yard being drenched in water from the pump and her mum’s stove having a permanent case of wet wood.”

  I snort.

  He chuckles and opens a door to another passageway. “It’s good for her to have a heroine. And I think it’s mostly harmless.” He shakes his head. “Although I may have told her that she’s not getting any more dolls if she keeps ruining the garden.”

  I grin and look away as the memories brought back by the Inters of my own father surface—of his teasing smile and handmade swords and voice that used to sing full and throaty with mine. It’s a moment of reprieve I’m grateful to Tannin for.

  When we reach the chamber door, Tannin reaches down and, quick as lightning, squeezes my hand. “We’re behind you, m’lady.” Then he leads us both into the cherrywood-paneled room lined with bookshelves and two maps—no curtains or windows.

  It’s crowded with puffy-eyed counts and lords whose rumpled hair and clothing suggest no one dressed the old geezers upon bustling them from their beds. Most are wearing half-tucked tunics and wrinkled pants, and one appears to have simply pulled a cloak on over his nightshirt.

  I bite back a grin. He and the others are familiar faces from Adora’s parties—the men I spied on and sidled up to with Colin when gathering information on how he and I could best serve in the war. And now Adora is imprisoned somewhere beneath us for her traitorous acts, and they’re eyeing me with a foreign look of reverence—the same that’s been etched on everyone’s face since the Keep—as I stride past.

  “Gentlemen,” I murmur even as my lungs give a slight squeeze and I glance around for Eogan.

  He and Kenan are standing near King Sedric and four councilmen looking down at the war table taking up the room’s center. I note the three guards hovering between Sedric and Eogan—as if to say Sedric may be moving ahead on his instincts to trust us, but that doesn’t mean he’s a fool. Huh. Good for him.

  I also note the number of servants dotting the room, holding trays of steaming mead and bread, and if the councilmen’s expressions toward me are of reverence, these slaves have a look of hunger. Of desperation.

  They’re not just hopeful I’ll save us all. They need to believe it.

  I glance away.

  “I agree, Your Highness,” Eogan’s rich voice rumbles. “But a strong offense will be our best chance.”

  “But do we have the resources to provide such an offense?” Sedric peers at Rolf and the head councilman.

  They begin muttering between themselves over the lumpy, clay-molded table. It appears to be a miniature representation of the entire Hidden Lands, in realistic proportions.

  I raise a brow and step closer, and can’t help but gawk at the magnificent detail. Even the kingdom of Tulla is crafted very near exact, with small, movable pawns painted black while others are red, to represent what I presume by their positions are Bron’s airships and Draewulf’s army. The only kingdom not well developed is Draewulf’s land of Drust. Which more than anything says how eerily little we know of it.

  Eogan glances up and gives me his beautiful half smile. I smile back, raising a brow at his hair that is sticking up with roguish abandon. Then discreetly ensure my own is in place as he goes to show Sedric what parts of Bron have been saturated by wraiths and whereabouts he suspects they’ll be positioned soon in Cashlin.

  Murmurs of the councilmen sink in around me, low conversations—whispers regarding Draewulf and the Dark Army. Whispers regarding me. My mouth stays shut and my stomach burns with old resentment for these men and their opulence paired with an utter lack of care for the farmers and soldiers they sent to the front lines while staying safely seated inside this room. Until something twitches to mix in with the resentment, as if forcibly budding inside me while I stand sifting through their words. Hope. For what they know and what they understand about war and strategy. Because without more Uathúils to fight, these men and their knowledge of war are sadly our main defense.

  Oh hulls. These men, myself, and Eogan are our only hope.

  A caustic laugh slips out. What a depressing thought.

  Eogan lifts his gaze to meet mine again, his brow forming a question.

  I shake my head and nod to King Sedric, who’s straightened to look at me too.

  “You’re here.” He smiles.

  “As requested.”

  “I’ve already brought the men up to speed and they’ve argued the utter”—he glances at Eogan—“strangeness of this entire situation to their hearts’ content. Now we can proceed.” Sedric turns to Rolf, who promptly calls the room to order, while from my peripheral I catch the guards tighten around Eogan.

  As soon as the place falls silent, Sedric pulls out the letter from Queen Laiha. “As we have all agreed to believe this information presented to us, we must act immediately to defend against this threat.”

  “Your Majesty, I am not intending disrespect to any parties present,” a councilman pipes up. “But can’t the Elemental do her trick again and save us the time and deaths?”

  Eogan’s watching me. I can feel his eyes on my face.

  “Why didn’t she and King Eogan simply kill Draewulf when they had the chance?” another councilman asks.

  It’s almost amusing how comfortable they are talking about Eogan and me as if we’re not in the room. I snort. Such is the arrogance of these men. Everyone is a tool, a weapon, a pawn on their clay map. I peer around at their expectant faces and let a grumble of thunder roll over the Castle. “Is it not enough Eogan and I saved you once?” I say loud enough to cut off their voices. “Do you want to live or not? If so, we will proceed as King Sedric says. If not, then by all means continue wasting our time.”

  “Yes, but what good is a weapon if you’re not going to use it?” someone mutters.

  “She’s not a weapon.” Eogan’s voice cuts through the room. “She’s a woman who might be willing to help the people who enslaved her if they’d ask respectfully. And she’ll not be able to kill him anyway—at least not without help.”

  “What does the monster want, anyway?”

  I seek out Eogan’s gaze. “It’s my understanding that by using the abilities within the five original bloodlines, he can achieve immortality. And once he does, he’ll have enough power both from the blood and from the land to rule unhindered.” I clear my throat. “After that, the suspicion is he’ll turn those subjects less than loyal to him into wraiths.”

  The councilman snorts. “Yes, we heard the prophecy from the queen’s letter. But forgive me if I think the whole thing of bloodlines—”

  “Is very specific,” Eogan growls.

  The councilman frowns. “Right. And according to the prophecy, the shape-shifter needs the queen’s body and blood, has to finish you off, and then has to consume King Sedric to achieve immortality?”

  “Not King Sedric.”

  Sedric raises his gaze to peer at Eogan. But Eogan’s looking at me.

  I swallow.

  “I believe it’s Nym he needs,” Sedric says softly.

  I turn to the confused councilman. “He may need Lord Myles now as well. The dark essence he consumed is needed for the recipient to contr
ol all five Uathúil abilities within one body.”

  “He won’t need Myles, actually.” Eogan glances down at my curled hand. “Not since you still retain some of it.”

  “No offense intended to Your Majesties or Nym here,” interrupts a thoughtful-looking gentleman standing near Tannin. “But wouldn’t a simple solution be to . . . eliminate those with the abilities Draewulf needs?”

  The man doesn’t spell the rest out and he doesn’t have to. His implication is clear even as he looks wholly guilty of broaching it.

  Eogan nods. “It’s a possibility I believe we’ve all considered,” he adds without looking at me. “However, you’ll need our abilities in order to defeat Draewulf.”

  “Ah.” The man steps back. “So it’s the water-and-bucket scenario. You need one to get the other. Unfortunately, on both sides in this case.”

  Eogan nods again. “And in that regard, I’m not certain it matters what the prophecy says or what we believe.” He leans over the map. “As it is now, Faelen is the final kingdom standing. So no matter what Draewulf’s ultimate goal is, we must prepare for war.”

  “How long do you believe we have before he moves on us?” a guard asks.

  “Ten days,” I say. “Roughly.”

  “King Sedric,” Rolf interrupts. “Might I propose we at least start assembling scouting units?”

  “Agreed. See that it’s done by dawn. I believe it’s safe to assume Draewulf will launch his first, if not main, attack on the northern waterway.” He turns to Eogan. “And what of your warboats in the channel?”

  He waves a hand over the map. “If we can use Your Highness’s warboats and the two airships at my disposal, we might reclaim them fairly simply. And on that note, I believe it wise to continue the discussion about what type of offense Faelen is planning.”

  “Do you have something specific in mind?” King Sedric asks.

  A number of low coughs go round the room, and Eogan meets them with a confidence grown from a man who knows what evil is capable of. What he was once capable of. Eogan points to a section of the map along Faelen’s northern border. “Raiding parties. Scouting parties along the coast. And assembling encampments here in Faelen, particularly along Litchfell Forest.”