Siren's Song

by Mary Weber

  “Can you still stand?”

  “Are you asking honestly or figuratively? Because no to both.”

  He snickers. “Well, for the record, no one would’ve been able to tell—your speech tonight was smooth and your mingling with the crowd flawless.” His grin is gracious. “Thank you for being here tonight.”

  “Of course.” I look past him for Eogan.

  Sedric starts to speak, then stops, and when I glance over, his brow is furrowed as if he’s flustered. I wait.

  He turns to scan the room, and something in his gaze says more than I want to hear. I can sense it, and it cowers my spine.

  He says the words anyway. “It’s as if you were made for this. You were made for them.”

  An internal shiver rolls down to skewer my gut.

  I shake my head.

  “I’m aware it’s rightfully yours,” he continues. “My position. Faelen and our people. It belonged to your ancestors.”

  He’s wrong. I wasn’t made for this. I was made for them, maybe. But not in the way he’s thinking. I was never meant to survive. I study the fancy crowd in the fancy suffocating room and try not to snort. “Our people belong to themselves.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do, and I know what Queen Laiha’s letter apparently told you, but I don’t want it, Your Majesty. So you have nothing to worry about.”

  “I wasn’t worried; I was thinking. You’ve never had the option until now, but if we survive this war, you may find you feel quite differently.” His voice softens, then firms as if he’s making a decision. “I want you to know . . . I’d offer my support to assist you or join you in whatever way you need.”

  This time I do snort. “You’d give up your people so easily?”

  “Not give them up. I’d help them. I’d help you. You could lead them in a way I might never be able to.”

  “I would say the same about you—except more so. The people need you, Your Majesty. Not a girl who has no experience, not to mention any interest, in ruling a country. Or even in helping to rule it.”

  He nods but his expression stays unperturbed. “Just consider that I am open to it. I’m not one to stand in the way of lineage.” Then suddenly he’s all smiles and looking up as Eogan and Kenan are walking toward us. “Ah, Your Highness, you survived—and quite well, I might add, by the compliments I heard from my subjects.”

  Eogan keeps his gaze on Sedric, but I can feel his emotions radiating all over me. That fear from earlier. Desire. Frustration. What is he so nervous about?

  “I pray we have accomplished our purpose here this evening,” he says.

  Sedric steps toward Eogan and puts his arm out to show solidarity and gratitude and everything else politicians are so good at displaying. “Before you leave, I have a few more . . .”

  Kenan tugs my arm to pull me aside. “May I speak with you a moment? I was wondering if I might ask a favor.”

  I turn from Eogan to study the large guard who looks so much like Kel. “I’m assuming you’d like me to keep your son,” I say to relieve him of wasting his breath. When his eyes flicker surprise, I smile. “I can’t promise he’ll be completely safe with me.”

  “He’ll be safer than with Eogan or me—and safer than if left here at the Castle.”

  Good point. I glance around, and as if in rebellion, my eyes land back on Eogan who’s still speaking with Sedric. “Of course he can stay with me.”

  Kenan tips his head. “I’ll speak with the boy tonight, then, and send him to you first thing on the morrow.” He hesitates, then places a fist over his heart. “My thanks.”

  I nod as he steps away to go put a word in Eogan’s ear, and a moment later it’s apparent Eogan agrees with whatever Kenan’s said without stopping his conversation with Sedric.

  “You’re collecting quite a band of misfits.” Tannin’s voice resonates behind me. He grins. “How will you control them while on the road?”

  “Like this.” I quickly touch two fingers to his sleeve, allowing a small shock of static from the air to jolt him.

  He yanks his arm away. “Teeth of a—”

  I let out a real laugh, and Eogan glances over at the sound. It hits me that I can’t recall the last time I heard such warmth coming from my mouth. Probably at some point with Kel. But before that . . .

  I allow the enjoyment of it to settle over me and let it loosen my muscles around my bones and lungs and heart. To ease the ache and frustration of the past two days.

  When I look again, Eogan still has his head tipped my way, watching me, his expression amused and curious, until King Sedric says something and he’s pulled back to their conversation.

  “I may not approve of you going to his rooms”—Tannin casually waves a hand in Eogan’s direction—“but I can see you might be good for each other.”

  My amusement catches in my mouth.

  “My wife says opposites keep the attraction alive and the behaviors in balance. And in your case . . .”

  “In my case?”

  He shakes his head and smiles kindly.

  If I’d begun frowning at him before, I’m quite certain I’m flat out scowling now. “Are you sure you’re not Luminescent?”

  Except . . . everything in me wishes he was. I look around for Mel or Mia. Would it be awful to ask them to read Eogan for me—to tell me what he’s thinking and what his future might hold? And why he keeps distancing himself?

  Tannin’s grin splits his face, prompting heat like a blasted lightning bolt to ignite beneath my skin and burn through my cheekbones until I’m sure he’s got more answer than he bargained for. He merely chuckles again, and I excuse myself to gain composure before strolling back over to Eogan, who’s thankfully focused on Sedric.

  “Should be no more than six days at the most,” Eogan says. “Although I’m hoping for less if the wind currents hold.”

  “Our prayers will go with you.” Sedric places his hand on Eogan’s shoulder and tips his head in respect. In return Eogan thumps a fist over his own heart in the Bron offering of kinship.

  Then they release each other and turn my way.

  “Ah, Nym. I have a final few people I’d appreciate you speaking with if you don’t mind.” Sedric twitches a hand toward a group of old geezers I recognize from the War Room.

  “In that case.” Eogan nods politely to both of us. “Your Highness. Nym. I fear I must retire in order to get an early start tomorrow. So I will bid good night and good-bye to you both at this time.” He turns to move off.

  Pardon? “Your Majesty, I, too, must beg off for the evening. I fear I’m overly tired and won’t be much help in carrying functional conversation.” Without awaiting his permission, I stride after the beautiful green-eyed man who is a daft oaf. “Eogan, wait.”

  He stops. Turns. “Did I forget something?”

  Like hulls you did. You forgot about a hundred things. Not the least of which is a decent good-bye. “I was just hoping to connect with you before you disappear.”

  He peers around. “I have a few minutes, but then I must make final preparations for the ships.” He touches his fingers to my arm and leads us to a shallow alcove along the wall where it’s a bit less noisy and a lot more private. “What did you have in mind?”

  Hit you. Kiss you. Yell at you. Tell you I’m mad and confused and terrified you’re flying to your death and this time I won’t be there to save you.

  “Nym?”

  I shut my mouth and clear my throat. “I just . . . I wanted to know how you thought this evening went.”

  “I be
lieve it went exactly as King Sedric hoped. Now we move on to carry it out and pray we all survive.” He stares straight at me.

  “And how did . . . I do—with my speech?” Good grief, that’s the best you can do? Do not blush do not blush do not blush at such a stupid thing to ask.

  He rubs a hand over the back of his neck while eyeing me. “Frankly, you performed perfectly. Not to mention you . . .” He stalls and chews his lip before eyeing my dress.

  “Look ready to help lead us into war?”

  “Something like that.”

  I frown. “What does that mean?”

  He runs his eyes back up to my bodice, my neck, my mouth. “It means you appear ready for war in more ways than one.” He glances around and smirks. “Between that dress and your speech, I’ll wager you just declared war on half the men’s hearts in this room.”

  I shrug like nervous butterflies are kicking at my chest bones. “King Sedric picked it out.”

  “I can see why.”

  I grimace. “He’s not in love with me, if that’s what your tone’s implying.”

  “I know.”

  My stomach feels uneasy. Then why is Eogan acting odd?

  “Sedric mentioned my rightful place as heir to Faelen’s throne,” I say after an elongated pause. “I told him I don’t want the job.”

  “Don’t you?”

  I glare. “You know me better than that.”

  “I’m not saying you’re begging for it. I’m simply saying that seeing as it is your heritage, perhaps it’s meant to be, that’s all.”

  I stare at him.

  “You could do a lot for your people,” he says quietly.

  I stall and try to inhale the air that just left my lungs. What is wrong with him? I study his eyes in hopes he’ll start making one lick of sense.

  He merely gives that stupid, gorgeous, polite smile.

  I scoff and look away.

  He leans in. So close I can feel the heat from his body and the sweet clarity of his breath across my heavily exposed skin as he drifts his gaze over mine before it slides to my lips. And I’m suddenly back in his room with him, trying not to imagine him with his exposed broad chest and wearing only that blasted bath towel.

  He opens his mouth. “Sometimes we give up what we want for the greater good.”

  I’m going to slap him. Creator, help me. I’m going to slam the flat of my hand across his jaw because he is a bleeding bolcrane. I bend in until the space between us is a mere breath. “Are you talking about for me or for you? Because I doubt I need to remind you I’ve given up everything for these people’s good.”

  And I may give up more before this is all over.

  I blink but don’t drop my glare.

  “And yet you’re so anxious to run off and give up more. A bit ironic, don’t you think, considering your anger at me for going to ensure your sacrifice for my people hasn’t been for nothing?”

  My stomach tightens. “What do you mean—anxious to give up more?”

  He lifts a hand to a lock of my hair and turns it in the light, staring at it. “Going after Princess Rasha, of course.”

  I narrow my gaze. How’d he know?

  He utters a dry chuckle. “Because as I said before, I know you. And I know you can’t leave well enough alone. It’s not enough you’re helping put together Faelen’s defense. You have to rescue your friends in the midst of it.” He drops my hair strand and stares straight at me. “And I’m asking you not to.”

  I refuse to dignify that with a reply.

  He twists his lips and nods. “Exactly.” Then glances away again. “You should know I’ve given Tannin a map to the village where I last saw the two Uathúils living in the northern part of Litchfell Forest. If you happen up that way in your rounding up of armed forces, convince them this is a worthy fight.”

  I raise a brow. I recall him saying something about them amid all the noisy conversation in the War Room yesterday. “What kind of Uathúils?”

  “One’s a Mortisfaire, actually. Like Lady Isobel, though far less powerful. The other is a Terrene.”

  “Will they listen to me?”

  “They will if you show them what you can do. Whether they opt to join after that, I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.” His gaze falls to my lips again, and a second later he leans away and straightens. “And I’d strongly request you leave Princess Rasha until I return if—”

  “If you thought I’d listen.”

  He snorts and looks away. When he peers back over at me, it’s with his official kingly expression I’m just now deciding I officially hate. “Be safe while I’m gone, Nymia.” Then dips his head and starts to walk away.

  “Why is it safer, Eogan?”

  He stalls.

  “Earlier in your room. You said going to Bron was safer. What did you mean?”

  The muscles in the back of his neck and shoulders tighten.

  One second, ten seconds, twenty seconds . . .

  He turns and his eyes are shadowed. Flecked with doubt.

  “I was simply drawing a conclusion. That’s all.”

  “About what?”

  He swallows and his jaw clenches, mimicking the uneasiness behind his gaze. Then sighs. “About the fact that Draewulf was in my body. He left it, but that doesn’t mean a part of him isn’t still there.”

  He thinks a part of Draewulf could still be in him—could still have some control over him?

  “It would make sense that if Draewulf now owns some of my blood, I, too, now own some of his.”

  “You’re not Draewulf.”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean I might not have a few of his tendencies.”

  “Do you?” I swear I feel my expression turn horrified.

  “Not as far as I know, but . . .” He splays his hands. “I’m unwilling to inflict that on you or anyone else here. Good-bye for now, Nym.” And for what seems like the hundredth time he turns his back to stride away.

  My mouth drops open. That’s it? The urge to grab his smoothly shaven cheek that smells like pine and honey and earth surges. Instead, I grab his arm and, without thinking, lean up and press my open lips to his. Allowing him to feel the frustration and refusal to believe what he just said burn through my own heated skin.

  He stiffens beneath my fingers, beneath the caress of my lips, enough that I release him half an inch. And whisper against his mouth, “You told me once that if I was unsafe, you would come back from the grave and haunt me, Eogan. Well, I’m going to do the same. I know I don’t own you, nor do I have any claim upon your life. But I do know you could never be Draewulf. And if you so much as get yourself injured while you’re gone, I will come there and make you wish he’d killed you.”

  I slide my hand up to his neck, feeling over the top of Draewulf’s scar there—over the wound that’s healed and yet still so fresh in my soul. And touch my lips to his again in a final good-bye. His stiffness softens and his mouth opens as he puts his hands on my waist—and in that moment I can feel it.

  His desire. His aching. His need for love and touch that hasn’t faded in the least.

  It’s promptly followed by a different feeling—one just as familiar but no less aggravating.

  I feel him willing me his calm. As if he could tame me—tame this moment—in which he is suddenly pulling away from me.

  I blink. “If you don’t want to kiss me, that’s fine,” I growl. “But don’t you dare use your ability to try to steal my emotions.”

  His gaze cracks for one millionth of a
second. But in that emerald crevice is the same hunger in him that is filleting the inside of me. Then his black lashes come down like a curtain, and before I can ask, he turns. “I didn’t intend to anger you.”

  And suddenly Tannin is there, tugging on my arm, and Eogan is striding away.

  CHAPTER 23

  DAWN STRETCHES HER FINGERS THROUGH THE curtains to warm my chilly skin and the pillow my cheek is plastered to. I blink against the glare but promptly become aware of the droning noise overhead. The sound elicits a sensation of my body floating in the sky.

  I frown and sit up. Am I . . .?

  No. My room is all stone and tapestry and wood—no metal or heated balloon. And the airship’s humming is distant. In fact, there are two of them, if I’m not mistaken.

  Litches.

  Jumping from my quilts, I nearly tumble Kel from where he’s sleeping on the bed’s end again. He must’ve slipped in a few hours ago. I rush to peer out the window in time to see the expanded cocoon-shaped balloons of both airships bobbing up from the Northern Courtyard.

  I grab my night cover and hurry to yank open the door—and run into the maid.

  “Miss, I was just—”

  “Have they loaded?”

  “Yes, miss. That’s why I’m here. I—”

  I’m already stepping past her.

  “I know you asked to be woken sooner, but the Bron king said—”

  I don’t catch the rest of her words as I race barefoot round the corner hallway to a flight of stairs and on through the two corridors that have become far too familiar the past two days. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I mutter when I reach the door leading out to the courtyard, then shove past the stationed guards who’re promptly pushing it open for me.

  I’m just in time to see one ship in the air and the second ascending in front of me.

  No.

  My throat goes dry. I move to the courtyard’s center and look up, hoping for a glimpse of Eogan, or Kenan, or anyone other than the soldiers going about their duties of prepping the ship for higher altitude. The few men who are peering over the side to ensure they’re staying clear of the Castle see me, because one salutes with a fist to his chest while the other eyes me warily.