Siren's Fury (17 page)

“Merely making the roundsss, gentlemen.”

“Ah, very good, sir.”

Without another glance, they wave us through the alcove before returning to their discussion. Ducking around them, we step out into one of those wide streets that make up the spindle city.

I gasp.

It’s foggy and serene and cast in a dreamlike glow, lit with torches mounted in perfectly distanced rows along the walkways.

Myles’s cold fingers press over my cloaked arm, his chill creeping through my skin as he pushes me to the left walkway and begins hurrying from one street to the next through the organized maze of matching buildings.

It’s not until we’ve gone down four of the streets that I notice the quiet. A shiver runs across my shoulders, because even though we’re doing our best to hide in the shadows as we go, there seems no need
for it. The place is empty. Not just empty, it’s silent even inside the houses.

“Where is everyone?”

He glances down an alley. “It’s past curfew. Those who are not part of the banquet are asleep.”

I raise a brow. “And that’s not eerie at—”

A small movement catches my eye, bringing me up short. At the end of the alley ahead of us something’s huddled under a cloak.
A child? A man?
I crinkle my brow and step hesitantly toward it but stop after five paces. The smell. It’s gagging and vaguely familiar in a way that reminds me of that one section in Litchfell Forest with Colin. The bodies. Even the bolcranes had left them alone. It smells like the plague. “Something’s wrong,” I whisper.

“For bleeding’s sakesss, girl—do you ever stop talking? I can’t imagine even Eogan finding it endearing.” But he’s looking down the alley too as I glare ice picks up his thin nostrils.

“Probably someone whose lover threw them out for talking too much.” But he flips around and backtracks us up one of the side streets we just walked. I’m tempted to argue, to go see if they need help, but . . . that smell.

“So this woman we’re going to see—what kind of abilities will she give me?”

“That, my dear, is something to ask her.”

“But will they be like yours?”

“No one’s are like mine.” He gives a sniff.

“When did you get yours?”

“None of your businesss.”

I stop. “I’m walking with a man I trust less than half of my previous owners, on my way to consume powers in an act that for all I
know is illegal and dangerous. So I’ll thank you to answer my blasted question.”

“Sixteen,” he growls.

“By the woman we’re going to now?”

He nods.

Right.
“And how old are you?”

His tone falls as he slows. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering how you can know she’s still here.”

He steps in front of me and stops. And leans in. “There are no guarantees of anything except I’m risking my neck to help you. So if you’re interested in having second thoughtsss, please say so now and let’s be done with thisss rather than when we’re standing on her bleeding doorstep. Are you in or not?”

I chew my lip. Stare at him. “I’m in.” I tip my head. “But let me make one thing clear. You are helping me, so I thank you for that. However, I’m not doing this for you or to help you accomplish whatever alternative reason you have for assisting me. I’m doing this for Eogan. So perhaps the better question is, are
you
in or not?”

His reply is simply to smirk and turn down the street toward wherever it is we’re headed.

I hurry to catch up and try to shove down the sick feeling brought on by his smile as Eogan’s and Rasha’s voices fill my head with their invasive warnings not to trust Myles.

I’m not trusting him. I’m simply . . . doing what needs to be done.

For whatever reason though, I lower my voice. “What if Eogan’s block can work against these abilities too? Won’t Draewulf just use it to cut them out like my Elemental ones?”

“Not if he doesn’t know you have them until it’s too late.”

Good point.
But the nausea stays.

We’re nearing the outer edges of the city. I can tell not only
because of the general direction we’ve been moving in under the cloud-covered sky, but also because of the buildings. This is the older, more embellished area.
Curious.
Is this mystery woman one of their elders?

He points toward a house. It’s got an old wooden door and no windows, and it’s sandwiched between two larger, fancier buildings. How he remembered this was here, I can’t imagine, but my legs suddenly feel like the chewy bread we’ve been eating. “What’s she like?” I almost ask but don’t.

He raises his fist to the door, but just before knocking, he turns and looks me up and down. “You can still change your—”

I shove in front of him and bang on the door myself.

He grins and follows up by tapping five times in some kind of rhythmic signal.

The door is opened to reveal a well-lit interior behind an unbelievably old woman nearly as short as Allen the tallish dwarf. Gray hair, gray robes, everything about her looks aged and clean and impeccably neat and, more than that, especially beautiful. A whoosh of incense puffs past her into our faces—it smells of embalming powder and fish.

My lungs gag up my throat.

“You are here for my services?”

CHAPTER 19

I
PEER AT MYLES.

As if reading my mind, the old woman says, “No one wanders the streets past curfew unless they’re looking for a fight or a cure. I assume you’ll want the latter.”

For as aged as she looks, her voice is impeccably smooth. Like an evening tide sifting onto a sandy shore. She waves us in and clicks the door behind us. “It’ll be 650 denalla.”

Payment.
How much is a denalla, and how does she know what we’re paying
for
?

Myles pulls out a leather purse and places it in her hands. “Eight hundred for your discretion.”

Despite my lack of fond feelings, I shoot him a grateful, “Thanks,” as she grabs it and licks her lips.

“I’m always discreet, but suit yourself.” She bestows a full grin on him beneath glittery eyes that look like ghoulishly beautiful pits. She peers closer and, quick as a blink, stretches a hand out to grab his chin. “I remember you. The half-breed.”

A half-breed?
My eyes widen.
Of what?

He sneers at me a clear warning—if I open my mouth or breathe a word of what I’ve just heard, he will likely kill me and Eogan himself.

Releasing his face, the old woman beckons us into a low-ceilinged room cluttered with too many shelves arranged haphazardly against the walls. Bottles and dried weeds appear shoved at random along them, crowding every inch of their spaces. In fact, every surface in the room is covered besides the table standing in the center. On that sits a short stack of books and a single elegant bowl.

I sniff and suddenly Myles and I are both shrinking back.

I scan the room for dead bodies—bolcranes, ferret-cats—anything to explain that embalming scent. I’ve been around it enough times, with enough owners, to know what it’s used for. The Faelen poor don’t share the frivolous mindset of having stewards prepare their family members for burial. Their slaves do it.

Rasha may be right about this being a bad idea.

Come on, Nym. Just get your abilities and go.

The woman crosses her arms and stands in front of the table. Waiting. I firm up my shoulders and step forward as Myles shuffles behind me. I clear my throat. “I’m looking to regain abilities. Are you able to do so?”

“Depends on what you want them for.”

“I need to help someone.”

“She’s specifically looking to use them on another’s powers,” Myles adds.

The woman appears more interested. “Anyone I know?”

“Doubtful.” My scalp tightens.

“We’d prefer to keep it anonymous,” Myles says.

She shrugs and presses her wide face closer so her gray hair is brushing my cheek. I stiffen and try not to pull back from her black
eyes. For a split second something about her looks familiar. I look at Myles before staring back at her.

But no, I’ve never seen this woman before.

“How is it done? How do you give them?”

“Oh, I don’t give them, child. I simply . . .”—she flourishes an arm around the room—“enhance what you already have.”

“Which might be a problem seeing as mine are gone.” I glance at Myles. Did he lead me here for nothing? My nerves are crawling through my skin.

“Are they, now? Interesting.” She walks around the table to a teacup set on the mantel. She picks it up and takes a loud slurp. “Well, no matter. The Uathúil blood within you still exists. What I can give you will attach and turn it into a . . . better variation.” She turns to leer at me, and everything in me swears she meant to say “darker variation.”

I point at Myles. “Did he already have Uathúil blood when he came to you?”

“Only a slight trace—otherwise it wouldn’t have worked. No use trying to enhance what you don’t got. It’d bind to your blood and simply kill you.”

This time I can’t help the quake down my spine. “Will what I get be similar to my Elemental abilities?”

Her eyes flash so sharp I stumble beneath her intensity. With three steps and a slosh of her tea, she grabs the hood of my cloak and pulls it back. She’s faster than she looks for her age.

“A female Elemental. They let you live?”

I pull away. “Just answer the question.”

“They’ll be better,” she says slowly. “Interesting . . .” She turns to Myles. “Do you know why they let her live?”

He shrugs. “A female Elemental’s never been possible. I presume by the time they realized what she was, they were afraid she’d
curse them if they harmed her.” He glances at me. “Our people are . . . suspicious.”

“Do
you
know how I was born Elemental?” I ask the old woman, studying her expression.

“The blood of Uathúils is passed down from either the males or females of their type. In your case, it’s always passed through the men.”

“My father wasn’t one.”

She nods and bends close again, breathing on my skin, my neck, assessing me. A moment longer and she smiles odd and understanding-like. “I see.”

“See what?”

“Nature decided it was time. You need him and he needs you.” She leans back as if this is of great amusement to her. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to watch that take place.”

“
What
take place? Who needs me?”

“Draewulf, of course.”

What?
I open my mouth but my words are lost. I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to separate him from someone’s body—will these powers enable that?”

“Perhaps. Depends on which of you breaks first.”

Good hulls, this woman’s not making a lick of sense. “Depends on
who
breaks first? And
what
does Draewulf need me for?”

Her curious gaze is steady on me. “To achieve it, of course. I’ve been wondering how long until he figured it out.”

I might, in fact, bash my head against her face. Slowly, patiently, I ask, “To achieve what? What. Does. He need me for? He already took my powers.”

“Oh, you may not have your powers, dear, but
he
hasn’t taken them. He has to absorb into a person to do that. As I said, Uathúil
powers are tied to their blood. And as for what he needs you for, I can’t be telling you. I will give you a bit of advice though. Interrupt the blood of kings before it’s too late. And whatever you do, don’t let him take the final one.”

Is she jesting? Is that honestly supposed to mean something? The blood of kings? “You must—”

“That’s all I can offer,” she snaps.

“But—”

“Ask me more and I’ll throw you out. Now, did you know how to control your Elemental abilities before they were taken?”

I calm my voice. “I was getting better at it.”

“Then these should be a dose of candy. Although, if you ever . . .” Her voice fades along with her cautioning gaze. She doesn’t finish.

I look at Myles. He shrugs. “If I ever what?”

“If ever nothing. Come. Sit.” She pokes me into a wood chair beside the table in the dim, smelly room and places my hands on the armrests. “Hold still.” The old lady smiles that eerie smile and walks over to a row of dusty wooden chests covering the wall of shelves. They look warped. As if at one time something damp leaked through and bent them.

She picks three of the chests up and sets them on the table. Their hinges look rusty but they open smoothly. From the first one she takes a pair of thin metal ropes and brings them over to my wrists.

Oh litches
. I rise. “This isn’t—”

“It’s for your safety,” Myles soothes.

“It’s for
all
our safety,” the woman says.

I don’t care what it’s for. My flesh is crawling like an oliphant’s nest. “Do it without them or I’m leaving.”

“Suit yourself and leave.” She shrugs. “Just know that the young
man’s blood you hope to save, as well as his kingdom, will be on your head.”

My gaze flares at her. I sit back into the chair and glare at Myles, but he lifts his palms as if to swear it wasn’t him who fed her everything she seems to know.

“No, no. Don’t blame your friend for a witch’s second sight.”

A witch?

Of course she’s a witch.

I grit my teeth. How much else can she see with that “second sight”?

It’s a half minute before I acquiesce to her tying me with those cold ropes, and only then on the condition she leaves my ankles bound loosely. I want to be able to pull my feet through and shove my knees up so my hand can grab my knives if necessary.

She merely nods and begins lashing my wrists to the armrests. The metal bites into my skin, starting up an internal shiver.

I conjure up images of Eogan. Of the bloodied man tonight. Of the flash of fear in that young boy’s face, and the hope on the faces in Faelen a few days ago. I focus on Isobel and Eogan and on what Draewulf will do if no one can stop him. The metal keeps biting in harder.

Then the old witch is pulling out a pot from the second chest and placing it on the coals in the fireplace. Back and forth she walks, from the fire to the table, adding powdery-looking things from collections of jars and bottles and weeds crammed into more chests. She tugs a stool closer to the hearth and sits. And stirs. And hums an unearthly tune that sounds like it’s from the time of ancients.