Siren's Song (15 page)

I steady myself while I wait wait wait because he's taking too blasted long to decide and I am so very, very tired.

An eternity later . . .

“Fine, but one ship stays here along with half my men. And the other one that has Lady Isobel aboard”—he tilts his head—“flies behind us with some of my soldiers aboard as they check for bombs and weapons. It will stop exactly one terrameter from the High Court, and if it gets any closer, I will personally kill King Eogan. Is that clear?” he says louder.

“Quite,” Eogan replies so his own men can hear.

“Then unit one, get aboard, leaving your horses here,” Rolf says coldly. “The rest stay with the other. I'll send instructions when I've spoken with the king. And you four”—he beckons the Cashlin, Eogan, Kenan, and me—“you'll ride between my men with their swords aimed at your guts.”

Further orders are given, and the airship is loaded with familiar-faced Faelen soldiers while we take their steeds. It's not until I've mounted that it dawns on me I've not ridden in weeks—not since the Keep and Colin and Haven.

Haven.
My lungs cringe with a sudden need to see that warhorse. To smother my face in her mane and ride free from one side of Faelen to the other without a care in the world other than what to feed her massive meat-eating appetite.

“Head out!” Rolf calls a moment later, and the small company we're in starts for the Castle.

Even at our fastest pace, it's a good few hours' ride. As cautioned, the airship moves slowly behind us, keeping its distance while its droning hum through the night air probably disturbs any wildlife within two terrameters.

Beside me, the Cashlin guard gasps when we come over a ridge to see the city splayed out before us—its white stones glistening like a bone carcass beneath the full moon and black sky. Torchlights glimmer around it and along the High Court town streets that wind their way down from the hilltop it sits on to the base. Beyond that, utter darkness clothes the rest of the land that belongs to the Faelen peasantry, their homes and fields bathing in a cool wind and candle-less sleep.

I look past them to where Litchfell Forest lies and, above that, my home in the Fendres. Or what used to be my home. But even with the moon out, all I see is a mass of more black.

The closer we get to the High Court, with its pale stone streets and arches snaking up to the perfect Castle peaks atop its hill, the more homesickness invades me. Then Rolf's calling out orders for the airship to stop. “Have they found explosives?” he asks the nearest guard.

The soldier rides to the ship, and a shouting match ensues with the soldiers above, in which it's apparently determined the ship is out of weaponry aside from an assortment of swords and archery tools.

“Confiscate it all, then wait for my signal to move the ship into the Northern Wing's upper courtyard.”

“May I suggest you keep Lord Myles and Lady Isobel locked on board until we've spoken to the king?” Eogan says to Rolf.

“Lord Myles is with her?” The captain gives him a startled look.

“He's ingested a poison that will soon render him a threat,” I say.

Despite his skeptical air, the captain nods. “Fine. We'll address that with King Sedric as well. You five! Stay with the ship until it's secured. The rest continue on.”

I follow his gaze toward the massive gateway that the main road butts into, and a shiver goes up my spine as I think of another night on these streets, a hundred years ago, when Draewulf took life after life of men, women, and children.

And the 130-year-old beast is close to doing it again . . .

“Just focus on the task at hand,” Eogan murmurs, making me aware that my fists are clenched around my horse's reins and the sky above is growling. “And for hulls' sakes, if you unleash the rain and soak me after all I've been through . . .”

I smile at his attempt to soothe my mood. “You'll do what?” I whisper.

Through the dim he narrows the distance between us enough for me to catch the spark in his eye. He lets his humored gaze slide suggestively down my body. I hear his inhale before he clears his throat.

I grin, but abruptly a shadow has clouded his face and he looks away.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

He doesn't pull his steed away but doesn't speak either.

Until I glance over and catch him studying me again. I frown.

“Did I . . . did he . . .?”

I wait as the expression on his face hardens.

“Nym, I asked you what Draewulf did while in my body. But with you . . . did he . . .? Did he
hurt
you by using me?”

“Like sexually?”

His jaw clenches and he gives a brief nod, his gaze burning through the night to search my eyes as if to gauge if I will lie to him.

I shake my head. “He only hurt me like he hurts everyone else. By stealing what we love and scarring our bodies.”

One . . . two . . . three . . .
I swear I can hear the pulses of Eogan's heartbeat as he assesses this answer. The next second his relief is tangible and he's releasing his breath and his shoulders ease. “Good,” is all he says before kicking his heels into his horse's side to ride on a bit ahead.

The captain yells out again—for us to hurry this time—and the ship's hum begins to lessen as we gain distance and our horses' hooves hit the cobblestone streets.

We climb the winding road as, ahead of us, men are running through the courtyards with torches. Word has already reached here apparently.

Thirty palace guards stand waiting for us when we arrive at the final archway and emerge through the Castle's main gate.

“I'll escort the Elemental and King Eogan to His Highness,” Rolf says to his men. “Detain the other two with whatever force necessary.”

We dismount and step into the mass of soldiers watching us. I'm met by their polite nods and shining eyes as we pass through one of the four doors leading from the courtyard into the stone Castle, and as soon as we enter I find I'm inhaling. Because for all its uncomfortable luxuriousness, it is home. And the air inside, just like the weather outside, is filled with the scents of Faelen life and dirt and heart.

No one stops us. They just stare as Rolf leads the way down three lengthy hallways and a maze of stairs and corridors to the king's quarters. We enter what appears to be a set of private sitting rooms—they're filled with the smell of roasted meat and wine, and my stomach is instantly grumbling.

“Wait here,” the captain says.

Food
, I mouth to Eogan, who sends me a wink as Rolf goes to fetch the king.

“I dare you to steal some,” he whispers.

I grab a roll and toss him one as well, and we've only finished them before the nineteen-year-old boy-king himself is standing in front of us, looking tired and disheveled and clearly having been awaiting us. His face is a mixture of concern and shock, even though his eyes have a better spark in them than I've seen at any point in the last three months of knowing him. I suspect it's due to the fact that the past week of sworn peace and Draewulf presumably dead has made for the most rest he's had in years. Even the lines under his eyes are hardly shadows.

I swallow a twinge of guilt that we're about to ruin it for him.

“Your Highness,” he says, attempting to control his strained tone as he eyes Eogan. “Nym.”

I drop into a deep curtsy and Eogan tips his head. “King Sedric.”

Sedric frowns, as if my bowing is ridiculous. “Please. Don't. Just tell me the news. King Eogan, I've heard strange rumors this week . . .”

“Draewulf is alive,” I say with enough thunderous effect that he'll think twice before doubting me. “He stole Eogan's airships and made war on Tulla. We've barely escaped with our lives. As it is . . .” I look over at Rolf, who's reentered the room. “Not everyone made it back with us.”

King Sedric looks ready to laugh at the absurdity or kill something. I wouldn't blame him for either.

“I have a letter.” I pull it out.

“I certainly hope it offers more explanation than the last letter you left for me, which merely attempted to excuse you sneaking off to Bron.” He narrows his gaze at me.

Warmth attacks my cheeks. “My apologies, Your Highness.” I shove it toward him. “This one is from the Cashlin queen, Laiha, Princess Rasha's mother.”

“The Cashlin? Was she in Bron too?”

“Your Majesty,” Eogan interrupts. “May I suggest a strong drink before we continue? I know I could go for a swig.”

The king comes to life. “Yes, yes, of course.” He snaps at Rolf to step into the shadows before leading us across the room to a set of very proper, very firm, blue tapestry chairs that match the wall hangings and carpet. He strides to a side table and pours our drinks and hands them out himself. Water for me. Ale for him and Eogan.

Then sits in one of the chairs.

Eogan and I follow suit as Sedric takes a long sip and eyes the letter in his hand. As if he knows his week of rest will be over the moment he opens it.

Eogan drinks and watches.

I wait and rub the itching black veins in my hand.

When King Sedric's glass is empty, he breaks the letter's seal and begins to read.

Five minutes. Eight minutes. Ten minutes pass while we sit in silence.

Until I can't take it anymore and shift in my seat. When I look over at Eogan, he's eyeing my water with a smirk.

“What?”

“Scared?” he murmurs in a tone referring to our conversation with Colin a few weeks ago.

I look away. And then smile even as the ache for Colin's loss flares fresh and alive. Within seconds Eogan's hand has slipped over mine. He gives a light squeeze and looks back to King Sedric.

“Your Majesty, I should tell you there are three individuals aboard the airship at this moment whom you'll be interested to see.”

The king nods. “Lord Myles and Lady Isobel. She speaks of them in her letter. Of both their betrayals and Myles's added ability, and the loss of Isobel's.”

“There is also the matter of Lord Wellimton,” Eogan broaches. “He may believe I am trying to assert myself and wage war on Tulla and the Hidden Lands on behalf of Bron. Using Draewulf and Lady Isobel's Dark Army.”

The king stares at both of us and chews his lip. “The queen's report here addresses the matter of Draewulf inhabiting your body for a time. Although”—he glances down at the paper seriously—“she assures me now you are completely yourself.”

Eogan doesn't answer.

“Do you believe her?” I ask softly.

He looks at me. “I'm not sure I have a choice, considering the options in front of us. Although, will you also give
your
word, Nym, that Eogan is now in his proper mind and is in no way a threat?”

“I swear it.”

He turns to Eogan. “May I ask you to confirm, then, how long Draewulf was in control of you?”

“Since the battle at the Keep, Your Highness.”

“So the treaty I signed . . .”

“Was with him. Although I can assure you my commitment to peace with Faelen is far and above anything Draewulf agreed to on
my behalf. As it is toward the entire Hidden Lands. Which is why I am here now.”

“And yet you'll forgive me if I'm a bit leery.”

“I would think less of you were you not.”

Sedric nods and swirls his cup in his hand. “Nym, I'd like to hear a bit more about all this from you. Alone.”

Eogan promptly rises and tips his head to us both and, before I can say anything, is escorted out by Rolf.

It's only after the door shuts that Sedric looks straight at me. “Was your sneaking aboard that airship due to your knowledge that Draewulf was in King Eogan's body?”

“It was.”

“And you chose not to inform me.”

I was prepared for his anger at this, but not for the look of disappointment that accompanies it. “Forgive me, sire, but I'd just found out. I knew telling you could endanger the entire Hidden Lands.”

His brow goes up. “And not telling me didn't?”

“You would've been forced to execute him here on Faelen soil, which not only would've restarted our war with Bron, but with Lady Isobel and her wraith army as well. And it wouldn't have worked anyway. Draewulf cannot be killed by anything you or your men can do.”

The brow stays up. “I assume you can back up that claim?”

“We've tried to kill him, yes. In the process, we've also found a supposed solution.”

“I could have you jailed for treason—for allowing our greatest enemy to go free.”

I decide against mentioning that my ability could get me out of any jail he put me in. “I defeated him once, Your Majesty. I was prepared to defeat him again. But without sacrificing you or the rest of the Faelen people.”

He purses his mouth.

“And I assume the ‘supposed solution'
can
destroy him?”

I stare him straight in the eye. Fierce and firm.

He nods. “I see.”

He rubs his chin and looks up at the door Eogan was escorted through. “I think your romantic interest resulted in you delaying longer than I or anyone else would've deemed wise.” He looks back at me. “However . . . ‘the heart leads where even devils fear to tread.' Isn't that the saying?”

“I did try, Your Highness,” I whisper.

The stalling of whatever he was going to say is an indication he gets the depth of what I'm trying to explain. That even if I know how to kill the shape-shifter, it's not a sure thing. “Now Draewulf is attempting to get at the Cashlin queen. After that, he'll be coming for Eogan and me.”

“Due to the prophecy.” He taps the letter.

I nod. “I believe we need to rescue Rasha if possible. As it stands now, if Draewulf consumes both her and her mum . . .”

He stands. “His powers will be near unstoppable.”