Siren's Fury (38 page)
“How did you separate from him?”
“Draewulf let go.”
“No, really.”
He gives that unfair lopsided grin, and the familiarity of it brings a solemn smile to my face as his fingers slip down my arm again. Pulling me in. “It’s the truth. Apparently he’d assessed for every scenario but the thing that makes you Nym and not a monster.”
“Which is . . .?”
“He didn’t count on your compassion.”
It’s my turn to raise a brow.
“When my block was warped by Isobel all those years ago,
she’d eliminated the ability for me to feel. Draewulf assumed that aspect was still in place, but the more you were moved toward compassion for him, he began to experience that through me. He didn’t know what to do with it, and he couldn’t help but pull away from the source of that emotion.
Me
. Every time you did the one thing you do so well, his grip lessened.”
He slips his bangs out of his eyes and then rubs his neck again, then stumbles.
“Eogan.” I reach for him but he just shakes his head.
“I’m fine, just . . . weaker than I’d wish.” He sounds annoyed at himself. “When I discovered his reaction to you, I quit expending my energy trying to surface through him and kept my head down. He believed I was weakening, when in fact it was him.”
Compassion? That’s what separated Draewulf from Eogan’s body?
I swallow and look out over the mist-covered rock hills we’re dipping toward as the soldiers around us shout out orders and seal up the hole in the airship’s balloon. Until my gaze drifts behind us to the dust and soot spirals floating up from the battle we’re running from. And the people still there.
Rasha’s and my conversation from a week ago on this same ship slips through my head again.
“Strength doesn’t lie in power. It lies in your ability for compassion.”
I peer back at Eogan. His handsome face crinkles with tenderness as I grapple with the dawning awareness that I could’ve just as easily saved him if I’d never taken on that power.
My hand clenches into a fist, but when I glance down, the fingers are curled in again along the knuckles. I frown.
It’s reverted to its gimpy state.
I let out a dry chuckle—because isn’t that the truth of it all right
there. That who we are is not our abilities. Not really. It’s more who we are
in spite
of them. Like Kel said, “Maybe it’s more the choice in how we use them. Not everything that seems weaker is.”
If anything, perhaps who we are
fuels
them, in which case maybe it’s compassion that fuels mine. I glance around for the large guard, Kenan. Because apparently, compassion changes things after all. Simply because it changes
people
.
Again I search out the mist and smoke behind us—covering the people we’re moving so swiftly away from in an effort to save—before glancing over at Eogan who is so alive and real and standing here as proof that every act, every touch, ripples out like the ocean tides, fueled by the single hunger even Draewulf was at one time desperate for . . .
Love.
Maybe
that
is the true power.
But could it be powerful enough to change an entire world?
I reach up and push my fingers into Eogan’s hair to pull his head closer again as he studies me. And my heart breaks in two for that world, but it also soars with hope for what goodness that same world can produce.
It takes less than two seconds for his mouth to become present against mine.
He presses in fiercer, deeper, as he nudges me against the dining wall. His lips searing, burning my bones, setting my soul to crash into his earthen heart like sea storms in winter. Promising that love can fix a multitude of worlds and souls and wounds.
“Hello! Anyone there who can cut me down?”
What?
I blush and try to pull away, peering around in embarrassment for whoever may have seen us.
“Helloooo!”
Oh litches. Lord Wellimton.
Eogan keeps his arm around my waist and raises a questioning brow at the bow of the ship.
“Lord Wellimton,” I say, smirking into his shoulder.
“Think we should cut him down?” Eogan murmurs so close to my ear it sends goose bumps down my skin.
“Probably. Just be prepared—he wants to kill you.”
He laughs and tips his head to one of the Bron guards. Then pulls me to the forward railing where we’re aiming straight over the mountains for Cashlin.
I resist turning back again to survey the sky and the land we’re leaving.
“We’ll save them,” Eogan whispers.
I shudder. “What happens if Draewulf reaches her before us?”
“He’ll take over her and the Luminescent ability.”
“And then what? He’ll come for Faelen’s King Sedric?”
Will his Dark Army?
“Then he’ll come for me—to kill me in order to completely own my Medien power.”
Wait. What?
“Your power has a name?”
“It does. And right now he has enough of me to use, but not enough to own Bron and rule.”
I narrow my brow. “But he couldn’t kill you. He tried and it didn’t work.”
“He’ll be stronger next time. If we fail, he’ll not only have Terrene blood but Luminescent as well.”
“I don’t understand. You mean he’s going to try to absorb you again?” The thought makes my stomach curl. The image of King Mael’s skin being torn through . . .
Eogan nods.
I know it’s selfish of me. Probably wrong to even think it, but I can’t help it. “Why didn’t he just take Odion when he had the chance?”
“Because as with Queen Laiha, I was the eldest Uathúil of my people, and thus the rightful heir. The blood is bound to our position just as our bodies are bound to our land. The higher the lineage, the more powerful the ability.”
My hand flutters to find his. “I won’t let him,” I whisper. “We’ll hide you.”
His smile is soft as he shakes his head. “I’ve hidden for the past four years. The only way to defeat him now is to fight.”
“And if he kills you next time?”
He falls silent. Enough so that I look up at him. He nods. “He’ll come to Faelen,” he says quietly. “But not for King Sedric.”
I wait.
“The right to rule was given to five Uathúils—five monarchs. And the line of Faelen’s royal blood was always the strongest.”
I continue to wait.
“Sedric’s ancestors weren’t Uathúils, nor were they the original kings. The Elementals were. But even then . . .” He pauses and softens his gaze, reaching his words deep into my soul. “Even Elementals weren’t powerful enough to sustain the abilities contained in all five original Uathúil rulers. That’s why Draewulf needed you to absorb the vortex—so it’ll hold the powers and blood of all five without aging the host.”
He’s not making a lick of sense. “So why didn’t Draewulf just absorb the ability himself then?”
He studies me. “Because the woman who gave it to you was his wife.”
I stare.
Until it’s clear he’s not jesting.
“Draewulf’s wife was that witch?”
He nods.
Is he jesting?
“Why didn’t you
tell
me?”
“I confess to not being the most clear-minded with Draewulf in my head.”
“But she offered them to me. She gave me them.” My gut heaves in disgust. “Why didn’t Draewulf just get them from her himself then? And how could she even have those abilities if she is Isobel’s Mortisfaire mum?”
“Just as Draewulf enhanced himself, the witch found ways to enhance her ability too. The Mortisfaire are known for dabbling in magic. However, she stopped before it went as far as Draewulf’s, which is ultimately what destroyed their union. Those powers all lead to something, and while consuming them will eventually turn the host like Draewulf, not all of them are the same. The ability the witch offered you is one she kept from him and he couldn’t create on his own. Instead, she gave it to you.”
“But why? How does that help anything?”
“Because an Elemental will be his downfall, and you are Elemental. As were your ancestors.”
I shake my head. “My ancestors weren’t Elementals and neither were my parents. I was an anomaly.”
“An anomaly in that you were born female, yes. But not an anomaly in your genetic lineage.” His voice drops. “A lineage that belonged to the original rulers of Faelen.” He watches me as if willing me to grasp what he’s getting at.
The airship shudders and the sensation is answered by a matching shiver beneath my skin. In my veins. I blink and frown at him. And swallow as the witch’s voice rattles in my chest.
“And whatever you do, don’t let him take the final one.”
When I look down, my left hand is twisting even tighter into the crippled stump owner number fourteen made it. And as it squeezes, a tiny black line emerges through the vein beneath its skin. For a fleeting second the feeling of dark hunger edges my lungs.
Like the distinct imitation of a spider testing my sinew before beginning to reweave her web.
Eogan’s voice finally emerges again through the wind and sea salt and snowcapped air. “When he comes to Faelen, it’ll be for you. Because you’re last in line, Nym.”
I
F I’M HONEST WITH YOU ABOUT THIS TRILOGY, I’D tell you that writing book one was like this scary-wild celebration of friends, and fellowship, and love . . . whereas book two has been more a scraping of the soul. Ultimately a good thing, yes, but also rather terrifying. Ha! In fact, I may have spent much of this story feeling like I was wandering in the dark, suspecting the creation of book one was a fluke because good grief what in hulls was I thinking trying to write another?
Yet in that dark there were people slipping their hands out to hold mine, reminding me that this is a journey and some of the best parts come from the hardest parts (so quit whining and get back to work, and also, have some
Doctor Who
episodes). So here’s to you, my dear fellowship of hand-holders. For being the people I want to be like when I grow up.
Especially my husband, Peter, who more than anyone has walked beside me, forging his own awesome path amidst steadying mine. You are the very best person I know and I rabidly love you.
Same with my three muses, Rilian, Avalon, and Korbin, who remind me daily that the key to believing is to pause, breathe, and look for the magic. (Also, shopping.)
My parents and sister, to whom this story is dedicated—for the hours of your time and the honor of your love. And to my siblings, their spouses, and the Weber clan. For believing, and for showing up to every
Storm Siren
bookish event ever just in case no one else did.
Lori Barrow, Jeanette Morris, Danielle Smith—WHERE would I be without you ladies? The Barrows, Morrells, Sara Steffey, and so many other precious friends—for the laughter and sanity and feasting. To Robert Perez, without whom so much would fall apart. And to my Father’s House family, my incredible RISE teens and tweens, and my team. As always, you guys have my heart. Thank you for being my home.
To my Thomas Nelson publishing family, who spoil me beyond coherent reason. Thank you for being so much of the heartbeat that moves my world. Daisy Hutton (hugs you), Amanda Bostic (hands you tea), Katie Bond (raves about your style), Keri Potts (laughs wickedly), Jodi Hughes (fangirls), Kristen Ingebretson (those book covers!), Ansley Boatman (mind reader), Becky Philpott (superstar!), Karli Jackson (that smile!), Elizabeth Hudson (fooood), and my editor Becky Monds (aka The PRECIOUS), and everyone else. Y’all are the best pub team + friends a girl could have, and I could not adore you more.
Allen Arnold, whose chats always bring life to my spirit at the right times and remind me to look up for manna. Thank you for this journey, dear friend.
Jay Asher, for your brilliant humor, friendship, advice, and amazing support. And for being normal.
Julee Schwarzburg, for editing me into coherency. Lee Hough—I
know you’re grinning! Sarah Kathleen and Garth Janzten, for creating awesome with your souls. And to so many author friends who’ve extended time and kindness—I still can’t fathom why you do it, but YOU ARE THE NICEST: Marissa Meyer, Nancy Rue, Chuck Sambuchino, CJ Redwine, Josie Angelini, Shannon Messenger, Lindsay Cummings, Tonya Kuper, Heather Marie, Ronie Kendig, Colleen Coble, Katherine Reay, Kristy Cambron, Sara Ella, and Mary Pearson.
To my local Barnes & Noble family who work so hard to make your authors and readers feel
so very
loved. I treasure you all.
A fanatical fangirl mention to my early reviewers Lauren @Love Is Not a Triangle, Anya @On Starships & Dragonwings, the FFBC, Laura @Crafty Booksheeps, Nick @Nick’s Book Blog, Mandy @ Forever YA, Maci & Zoe (ALA!), Jill @Radiant Lit, The Book Bratz, Rissi @Dreaming under the Same Moon, Jen @Jenuine Cupcakes, Alyssa Faith, Sarah @Smitten over Books, Rel @Relz Reviews, Ashley @Wandering the Pages, and sooo many others. Just THANK YOU.
And to all of
you
, sweet readers!!! You rocked my world by picking up
Storm Siren
and talking about it, recommending it, and writing to me regarding it. Thank you for reading this silly girl’s writing. You burst my heart at the seams. *squishes*
Jesus. Because you are all this heart exists for.
1. In
chapter 9
, Rasha tells Nym her strength doesn’t lie in her powers but in her ability to be compassionate. Nym responds (internally) that compassion without the power to effect change is useless. However, later on Nym decides that compassion will always change things because it changes
people
. Do you think that’s true in our real world? Can compassion alone
always
make a difference? What about power, money, or influence? Are there times when compassion and the means to effect change go hand in hand?
2. For the most part, Myles is quite honest with Nym about what he wants from her in their relationship—and about the fact that he is using her to accomplish his own plans. Nym is just as blunt about how she’s using Myles to get what she wants as well. In the end, however, their selfserving relationship not only breaks down but also hurts them both. But was that okay? How might they have done things differently? Have you ever had a friend who
wanted to use you for his or her own gain? What advice would
you
give to Nym or Myles in this situation?
