Siren's Fury

by Mary Weber

  I begin to yank away but pause.

  There’s a quickening in my veins even as the shaking slows and the teeth chattering ceases. The rush is sick and nauseating and thrilling, and for the first time in days I feel a fleeting sense of normal.

  Because I feel physical.

  Powerful.

  Myles’s words are quick, stirring the atmosphere and confusing my vision as he conjures up the scene of the little redheaded girl at the auction stand. The one I accidentally killed trying to defend her from her new owner just before Adora purchased me.

  I start to pull back, to yell at him, but his voice is swift. “Don’t resist the power this time. Follow it. What is the ability wanting to do?”

  It wants to destroy the man all over again.

  “Do you feel it?”

  I nod.

  “Good. Now act on it.”

  I can’t.

  I won’t.

  I flatten my good palm against my curled fingers and hold them stiff.

  He lessens his grip on my owner circles. “What you’re seeing—the little girl, her owner—they’re not real, but in order to release this new energy, you have to act on what it wantsss. Act and watch what happensss.”

  I reach one hand toward the mirage of the man and, crumpling my gimpy fingers into a fist, allow the energy to increase. Instead of bringing down lightning on him, the energy in me is seeking to deplete his. I can’t curb it. It lets loose and I immediately see a darkening mass accumulating in his chest. I hear his heartpulse slow. It doesn’t stop though.

  Even when he slumps over and his skin has gone gray, it keeps thumping, but something tells me his ability to torment others has been drained from him forever. The bloodlust has faded, and the little girl is left. Unharmed.

  The vision dissipates until it’s just Myles and me standing in his room. Surprisingly, confusingly, the cold in my bones has lessened. I smile. Because as terrified as that scenario was, it also felt safe. And I haven’t felt safe since the last time Eogan held me.

  “Again,” I mutter.

  The air ripples like before and this time Draewulf’s standing before us in Eogan’s body. He reaches for me like he did yesterday on the airship, going for my throat, black eyes burning. His claws sink into my skin, but instead of evoking fear, it unleashes a vortex of hunger, a craving to draw out his power and destroy it. Destroy him. I lift a hand to his and feel the cold in my lungs start to surface.

  It erupts and fades in one clench of my fist as Draewulf clamps down on my owner circles. I tug away but he’s too strong. He keeps pressing down, until what felt so powerful a moment ago now settles limp and small in my veins.

  His ability is too great.

  I sag and the vision fades. Myles is standing there with his arms crossed and an eerily pleased smile.

  I cough and wheeze. I nod, and we run through the scene again.

  And again.

  The fourth time my shoulders and chest grow feeble as Draewulf leans in closer, smelling of wolf and metal and sundrop skies on Eogan’s skin. His gaze flickers and abruptly it is Eogan, his touch, his warmth, his hand on my neck that is taking over, accessing the ability in me and bringing it to the surface. I gasp. My chest cracks and crumbles until it’s disintegrating and falling, falling, falling into nothingness. A faint cry pushes up my throat, and I fear my aching heart might burst open to bleed all over this room.

  The vortex inside me begins tugging, lashing up from my chest and out through my arms and fingertips. I reach for him, pressing my palms against him as my lips spill forth mutterings that make no sense. The gaping black inside me grows wider as does the hunger, and suddenly my hands are drawing the breath and life and energy from Eogan’s body. His eyes flicker between wolf black and emerald green until all at once they’re gray. His entire face is gray and he’s slumping, falling, as his life energy becomes mine.

  I gasp and pull away.

  The air ripples and Myles is standing two feet away. His pale complexion has turned the color of ash, but he’s grinning.

  I slap at him. “What was that? What just happened?”

  His smile broadens and my skin tightens. “The images feed on fear.”

  A knock on the door interrupts. He steps back. “Enter.”

  It’s the Faelen guard from earlier. He’s hesitant, peering around the door before pushing it farther open. He exhales when he sees us, relief softening his features. “Pardon, miss, but . . .” He indicates the hall with his eyes. “I thought you might want to be informed the other delegates will emerge from their rooms shortly. In case you preferred to be there instead of . . .” His gaze flashes to Myles and the hint is clear.

  “Thank you.” Flexing my gimpy hand, I slide off the desk and head for the hallway, looking back at Myles. “Let’s resume later.”

  His response is a nod, but I barely catch it because just as I reach the hall, I notice the chill shored up inside me is no longer consuming me.

  And my spine has stopped shaking.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE BRON AND FAELEN SOLDIERS ARE STILL IN THE hall, stones gone. They eye me as I walk by the row of them. One, three, five of them purse their lips and I’m acutely aware of something rippling beneath all their stiffness. I peer closer. One of the Faelen guards shifts his gaze toward Myles’s door.

  I frown. “Is Princess Rasha in her room?”

  “She and Lord Wellimton are already in the Negotiation Hall. The rest of you will be taken there momentarily,” a Bron guard says as, simultaneously, Lord Percival’s and Myles’s doors open.

  “Good morning,” the lord protectorate oaf says a bit too loud and cheery for this time of day. He shoots me a broad, suggestive grin that is clearly meant to entertain the guards.

  I pull my cloak tighter around my warming face and mentally stab him to a thousand deaths. I’m just begging Lady Gwen to hurry up, when a moment later she steps out to join us.

  The Faelen and Bron guards, including the angry-looking large one who wanted to rip my head off last night, proceed to escort us to the Hall. I refuse to look at Myles as we walk, but he sidles up to me anyway.

  “What did you tell them?” I growl, indicating the soldiers. My face is still hot.

  “Funny thing there . . .” He tilts his mouth so only I can hear. “The truth is you dropped out cold once we returned to the base level of the Castle last night. I had to carry you back, which was not an easy accomplishment while trying to fool the nightwatch, if you know what I mean.” He rubs his arms as if they’re sore. “Ssso when we reached your room, well . . .” He chuckles. “I dumped you outside your room to a host of ogling bodyguardsss. I should warn you, they were absolutely taken aback at your recklessss behavior.” He sniffs. “They thanked me quite profusely for rescuing you and promptly dropped you in bed. At least I assume they did.”

  I go back to refusing to look at him and feel the chill itch at my insides again. “What’d you tell them I’d been doing?”

  “Merely that you’d managed to slip out and find a batch of unseemly friendsss and Bron ale. By the time I came across the poor Elemental girl, she was drunker than a common-house owner.” He shakes his head. “Ssso unbecoming of a delegate.”

  “So you didn’t lead them to believe you and I were . . .” I clear my throat. It’s so repulsive I can’t even bring myself to say it.

  “Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he purrs. “Although, believe me, I was tempted to hint at it, if only to see how infuriated you’d be.”

  He’s saved from having his tongue sliced out by the fact that we’ve stopped in front of the doors leading into the same hall we were in last night. The only difference this time is that it’s already full of people when we walk in. Some of the faces I recognize from the banquet. Others are part of the general blur. I sift through them for Kel’s, although just as before, I know he won’t be there.

  “Have you heard how the young boy’s doing? The one from last night?” I whisper to Myles.

  He shak
es his head as my gaze homes in on the room’s center, to the blood spatters I expect there, but all traces of violence—and food—have been washed away and the space is back to looking sterile and foreboding with its war maps.

  “I heard he would be all right. Apparently they have decent healers here.” Lady Gwen points to Rasha, who’s over at the same table we sat at during the banquet. Beside her, Lord Wellimton beckons us to join them as they stand talking with two of the men who were seated with Draewulf last night. The rest, including the shape-shifter, are noticeably absent.

  “Good morning,” Rasha says in a tight voice when we reach her. She swipes a look at me with red, puffy eyes and narrows in on my dress. “I see you’re wearing my nightgown.”

  “I assumed it was your knitting clothes,” I admit.

  “So of course you chose to wear it.” She attempts a smirk but it doesn’t match the panic and exhaustion in her expression.

  “Are you all right?” I whisper.

  Without replying, she turns her back to me and faces Lord Wellimton and the other delegates. “Lord Wellimton and I have just been discussing the discovery of three of Nym’s Faelen bodyguards murdered last night.”

  I freeze. What?

  “Oh my!” Lady Gwen says.

  “When? How?” Lord Percival asks.

  “While we were at the banquet,” Lord Wellimton says. “Which is why Princess Rasha was called away.”

  “Some Bron soldiers stumbled across them.” Rasha’s voice shudders in spite of her stiff stance. “One of my Cashlin guards insisted they come get me.”

  Bile rises into my mouth. “Why didn’t they come get me?”

  “Perhaps because by the time my men spoke with me and I’d sent them looking for you, they couldn’t find you,” she says coolly.

  My gut turns.

  “Where were they found?” Lord Percival asks. “Are you certain they were only Nym’s guards?”

  “Yes, and they were found in a private section of the palace. We’re not sure how they got there other than it appears they were dragged part of the way.”

  That cold is seeping around my bones again. “How?” I ask. Sir Gowon’s warning from last night slips through my mind. “There’s a black-market price on your girl’s head worth more than Faelen.”

  What have I done?

  “Their throats were slit and their bodies . . . torn.”

  “In pieces?” Lady Gwen squeaks.

  Lord Wellimton nods.

  “Who did it?” Myles is staring hard at Rasha but tips his head toward Eogan’s empty seat.

  The disgust for him in her expression is as clear as the slight shake of her head, no. “We’re not sure. But . . .” She pauses and shifts to glance around the room in clear indication that it’s why she came here early today. To study the faces of people as they walked in.

  I peek back at the host of guards. There are more of them than yesterday.

  “We’ve been assured, though, that the Bron military are doing everything in their power to look into it,” Rasha says.

  Something in her tone doesn’t ring right. I grab her arm and turn her toward me, lowering my voice. “Rasha, what—?”

  She winces and pulls away. “Nym, your fingers are ice!”

  “Sorry.” I step back before reclaiming my hands to the warmth of my cloak. “I just . . . what can I do to help?”

  She rubs her wrist. “I think you’ve already done enough.”

  Lord Wellimton’s voice grows loud. “Lord Myles, in light of these circumstances, I’d appreciate you allowing me to do most of the negotiating. Since I’m certain we can agree it’s for the best. I know you’re the king’s cousin, but as a senior member of Faelen’s High Council, I must insist that I’m better prepared for this discussion. In whatever direction it takes us.”

  Myles gives a soft snort, but Wellimton simply nods at the two Bron generals and takes a seat before they move off to the king’s table. Rasha slips in next to him, in the same order we were last night. The set of double doors we’re facing down the long aisle abruptly opens and the other three Bron members who ate at Draewulf’s table last night file in. Following them is Sir Gowon.

  My mouth goes stale. I wonder if he’s thought any more about the Elegy, or the Draewulf accusation I made last night. If he’s even considered it.

  Before I can think on it further, Draewulf’s Mortisfaire daughter, Lady Isobel, enters, head high, black hair swept behind her, wearing a skin-suit with porcupine quills woven to feather out over her chest and shoulders. I may not be into fashion, but even I would wear a suit like that. She looks compelling. Powerful.

  Potent.

  The already noisy room grows even louder as Assembly members talk over each other and some stand to get a better view of her.

  Eogan-who-is-Draewulf strides in last and the whole group proceeds down the aisle in what feels like an awkward parade because half the crowd is frowning and arguing and the other half is nodding and yelling support. Draewulf looks amused.

  He stops in front of the table we’re sitting at, and I’m tempted to try out my new ability right here, right now. To punish him. To try to release Eogan while there’s still time. “What is the blood of kings, Draewulf?” I want to whisper.

  But I don’t. I don’t even move. Because something tells me this new ability’s not ready, and if Draewulf finds out too soon . . .

  He’s two feet away and lifting his hand. He murmurs some type of foreign word as he casts a glance at the noisy Assembly. Abruptly they fall silent.

  He drops his hand and walks up to the king’s table to take his chair.

  That’s what will happen.

  I look around, but if anyone other than Rasha at our table notices, I can’t tell. Perhaps they thought the Assembly simply obeyed his raised hand for silence. Except those in the crowd look confused.

  Sir Gowon shuffles behind and waits until Draewulf is settled in the king’s center chair before leaning down to place a set of documents in front of him.

  Draewulf twitches an idle hand to cue Gowon to get on with it, and in a loud voice the old man introduces each guest at our table to the larger Assembly.

  “Cashlin’s esteemed princess, Her Royal Highness Rasha. Faelen’s Lord Myles, who is both lord protectorate and King Sedric’s cousin. Faelen’s Lord Wellimton, Lord Percival, Lady Gwen, and the delegate Nymia. Bron officially recognizes and welcomes each of you to our kingdom and our Assembly. We pray these upcoming negotiations will find favor and benefit the entire Hidden Lands realm.”

  I’m watching the room as he’s speaking, and it’s a small relief to realize not everyone here seems as put off by us as it appeared last night. Out of the hundred or so faces, I count a good twenty that are smiling in what might be approval.

  “Well, that’s something,” Gwen whispers.

  I nod my agreement and catch the snarls of some of the boys who are dressed sharp in black suits with silver material sewn around the neck to look like sea-dragon teeth. Something about it is unnerving and I go back to listening as the elderly Sir Gowon opens the floor for negotiations.

  “First issue on the agenda,” he states, “is the treaty that King Eogan signed with Faelen’s King Sedric on behalf of Bron. You all were presented with a written copy upon leaving this Hall last evening.”

  He nods to Eogan who looks over the room and displays the slightest hint of teeth, which, if I didn’t know better, I’d say was a show. Because his underlying expression is humored, as if something is a jest and he’s merely biding his time. “Begin,” he says.

  A general at his table stands. The stitched color rank on the shoulder of his black suit suggests one of the highest positions. He looks Eogan’s age of twenty-two years but with a long nose and hair dyed silver. “Forgive me, but I can’t help pointing out that according to our statutes, the entire treaty should be considered void since the Assembly was not part of its signing in Faelen.”

  A much older, more wrinkled counterpart beside him n
ods. “How can we negotiate under the terms of something we had no part of—let alone trust the country King Eogan signed it with?”

  “A better question is how we can negotiate while Faelen’s Elemental weapon is sitting in the same room as us?” A gentleman from the Assembly stands and waves a hand my direction. “Why is she here? To insult us? Are we to discuss a treaty when the cause of Bron’s loss hovers in our very midst?”

  The Assembly members turn their gazes on me.

  I keep my head up and stare back at them. And ignore the shiver in my blood as the vortex and ice push further into my bones, boring into me. Even as I tell myself I did what I had to for Faelen.

  I will always do what I have to.

  “Lord Myles, King Sedric’s cousin, brought her as an act of goodwill,” Lord Wellimton says, even as he flicks me a dramatic glance of suspicious disapproval.

  “Or perhaps to force us into accepting the treaty as valid,” another Assembly member argues. “Because she’s certainly not here to be used as a weapon on our behalf—especially as I noticed no mention in the treaty for the recompense of funds by Faelen to Bron. Most of which, I’ll remind us, was lost due to her.”

  There are uncomfortable seat adjustments among the Faelen delegates as Lady Gwen and Lord Percival seem to distance themselves from my chair.

  “Recompense of funds?” Wellimton sputters and his face turns red. “Your Majesty, may I ask for a more thorough explanation of such an accus—?”

  “I think the greater question is whether we can even trust His Majesty to have signed such a treaty,” the silver-haired general interrupts. “King Ezeoha, you left us four years ago in the hands of your brother. Then you allowed your own people to believe you dead until you appeared and killed Odion on Faelen’s behalf.”