Siren's Song (17 page)

“Gentlemen,” I murmur even as my lungs give a slight squeeze and I glance around for Eogan.

He and Kenan are standing near King Sedric and four councilmen looking down at the war table taking up the room's center. I note the three guards hovering between Sedric and Eogan—as if to say Sedric may be moving ahead on his instincts to trust us, but that doesn't mean he's a fool.
Huh. Good for him.

I also note the number of servants dotting the room, holding trays of steaming mead and bread, and if the councilmen's expressions toward me are of reverence, these slaves have a look of hunger. Of desperation.

They're not just hopeful I'll save us all. They need to believe it.

I glance away.

“I agree, Your Highness,” Eogan's rich voice rumbles. “But a strong offense
will
be our best chance.”

“But do we have the resources to provide such an offense?” Sedric peers at Rolf and the head councilman.

They begin muttering between themselves over the lumpy, clay-molded table. It appears to be a miniature representation of the entire Hidden Lands, in realistic proportions.

I raise a brow and step closer, and can't help but gawk at the magnificent detail. Even the kingdom of Tulla is crafted very near exact, with small, movable pawns painted black while others are red, to represent what I presume by their positions are Bron's airships and Draewulf's army. The only kingdom not well developed is Draewulf's land of Drust. Which more than anything says how eerily little we know of it.

Eogan glances up and gives me his beautiful half smile. I smile back, raising a brow at his hair that is sticking up with roguish abandon. Then discreetly ensure my own is in place as he goes to show Sedric what parts of Bron have been saturated by wraiths and whereabouts he suspects they'll be positioned soon in Cashlin.

Murmurs of the councilmen sink in around me, low conversations—whispers regarding Draewulf and the Dark Army. Whispers regarding me. My mouth stays shut and my stomach burns with old resentment for these men and their opulence paired with an utter lack of care for the farmers and soldiers they sent to the front lines while staying safely seated inside this room. Until
something twitches to mix in with the resentment, as if forcibly budding inside me while I stand sifting through their words.
Hope
. For what they know and what they understand about war and strategy. Because without more Uathúils to fight, these men and their knowledge of war are sadly our main defense.

Oh hulls. These men, myself, and Eogan are our only hope.

A caustic laugh slips out. What a depressing thought.

Eogan lifts his gaze to meet mine again, his brow forming a question.

I shake my head and nod to King Sedric, who's straightened to look at me too.

“You're here.” He smiles.

“As requested.”

“I've already brought the men up to speed and they've argued the utter”—he glances at Eogan—“
strangeness
of this entire situation to their hearts' content. Now we can proceed.” Sedric turns to Rolf, who promptly calls the room to order, while from my peripheral I catch the guards tighten around Eogan.

As soon as the place falls silent, Sedric pulls out the letter from Queen Laiha. “As we have all agreed to believe this information presented to us, we must act immediately to defend against this threat.”

“Your Majesty, I am not intending disrespect to any parties present,” a councilman pipes up. “But can't the Elemental do her trick again and save us the time and deaths?”

Eogan's watching me. I can feel his eyes on my face.

“Why didn't she and King Eogan simply kill Draewulf when they had the chance?” another councilman asks.

It's almost amusing how comfortable they are talking about Eogan and me as if we're not in the room. I snort. Such is the arrogance of these men. Everyone is a tool, a weapon, a pawn on their clay map. I peer around at their expectant faces and let a grumble
of thunder roll over the Castle. “Is it not enough Eogan and I saved you once?” I say loud enough to cut off their voices. “Do you want to live or not? If so, we will proceed as King Sedric says. If not, then by all means continue wasting our time.”

“Yes, but what good is a weapon if you're not going to use it?” someone mutters.

“She's not a weapon.” Eogan's voice cuts through the room. “She's a woman who might be willing to help the people who enslaved her if they'd ask respectfully. And she'll not be able to kill him anyway—at least not without help.”

“What does the monster want, anyway?”

I seek out Eogan's gaze. “It's my understanding that by using the abilities within the five original bloodlines, he can achieve immortality. And once he does, he'll have enough power both from the blood and from the land to rule unhindered.” I clear my throat. “After that, the suspicion is he'll turn those subjects less than loyal to him into wraiths.”

The councilman snorts. “Yes, we heard the prophecy from the queen's letter. But forgive me if I think the whole thing of bloodlines—”

“Is very specific,” Eogan growls.

The councilman frowns. “Right. And according to the prophecy, the shape-shifter needs the queen's body and blood, has to finish you off, and then has to consume King Sedric to achieve immortality?”

“Not King Sedric.”

Sedric raises his gaze to peer at Eogan. But Eogan's looking at me.

I swallow.

“I believe it's Nym he needs,” Sedric says softly.

I turn to the confused councilman. “He may need Lord Myles now as well. The dark essence he consumed is needed for the recipient to control all five Uathúil abilities within one body.”

“He won't need Myles, actually.” Eogan glances down at my curled hand. “Not since you still retain some of it.”

“No offense intended to Your Majesties or Nym here,” interrupts a thoughtful-looking gentleman standing near Tannin. “But wouldn't a simple solution be to . . .
eliminate
those with the abilities Draewulf needs?”

The man doesn't spell the rest out and he doesn't have to. His implication is clear even as he looks wholly guilty of broaching it.

Eogan nods. “It's a possibility I believe we've all considered,” he adds without looking at me. “However, you'll need our abilities in order to defeat Draewulf.”

“Ah.” The man steps back. “So it's the water-and-bucket scenario. You need one to get the other. Unfortunately, on both sides in this case.”

Eogan nods again. “And in that regard, I'm not certain it matters
what
the prophecy says or what we believe.” He leans over the map. “As it is now, Faelen is the final kingdom standing. So no matter what Draewulf's ultimate goal is, we
must
prepare for war.”

“How long do you believe we have before he moves on us?” a guard asks.

“Ten days,” I say. “Roughly.”

“King Sedric,” Rolf interrupts. “Might I propose we at least start assembling scouting units?”

“Agreed. See that it's done by dawn. I believe it's safe to assume Draewulf will launch his first, if not main, attack on the northern waterway.” He turns to Eogan. “And what of your warboats in the channel?”

He waves a hand over the map. “If we can use Your Highness's warboats and the two airships at my disposal, we might reclaim them fairly simply. And on that note, I believe it wise to continue the discussion about what type of offense Faelen is planning.”

“Do you have something specific in mind?” King Sedric asks.

A number of low coughs go round the room, and Eogan meets them with a confidence grown from a man who knows what evil is capable of. What
he
was once capable of. Eogan points to a section of the map along Faelen's northern border. “Raiding parties. Scouting parties along the coast. And assembling encampments here in Faelen, particularly along Litchfell Forest.”

He runs a finger from the northern waterway across the green that's edging Faelen's western border. “It's the ideal spot for Draewulf to accumulate and hide his wraiths, seeing as even the bolcranes will leave them alone.”

The slightest hint of a chill enters the room. Either at the reality that we'll be fighting the dead—or at the fact that they're so horrific even the beasts they're partly made from will shirk them.

King Sedric rubs his chin and nods.

“But, sire, if I may—” The councilman nearest Sedric juts a hand out over the map. “I think the bigger concern is that we simply do not have the men needed, and the people we
do
have are weary of war.”

“Can we impose a draft like before?” someone asks from the back. “Force the people to at least give us their slaves to bulk up the ranks?”

I nearly choke on my tongue, and, as if in unison, the servants in the room freeze.

“Are you jesting?” the count says. “Their slaves won't fight for Faelen. If anything they're likely to fight against us.”

“And rightly so,” I mutter.

Every gaze in the room turns. “And what do you suggest?” the councilman asks.

“They'll follow Nym,” Eogan says quietly.

I glance at him and frown. I don't want to be the one to send them to their deaths.

His eyes soften at the corners.
A shield maiden for your people . . .
“Ask her to speak to them.”

“Actually, sire, it could work,” Rolf whispers to Sedric.

I glare at Eogan before turning to nod at Rolf and Sedric. “If you set up a track of speaking places for me, I could take a few soldiers and spread the word. If they respond to it, they'll come. If not . . .” I refuse to look at the servants in the room.

“Then we've lost nothing but a bit of time,” Eogan says.

One by one the men begin uttering agreement.

“They do worship her,” Rolf says.

“If she can't convince them, then we never could,” the count adds.

“However.” I lift my voice so it's loud and firm, not taking my eyes off Sedric as I feel my bones shore up within me. “I'll not be convincing them to join a draft. Because let's face it—it won't matter. They'll be dead. But at least they'll be dead right alongside you.”

I peer around at every face as I swear the slightest gasp is uttered. Holding them just long enough to make them drop their gazes. “Because that will be my promise to them. That when they show up to fight this war they never asked for, you'll be fighting right there with them—not holed up in some room making choices with their lives. You'll be on the field too.”

I look back to Sedric. “And when I ask the poor and enslaved to join you on that field, I'll also be promising them their freedom. Whether they choose to fight or not.”

CHAPTER 18

I
SWEAR IT'S LIKE A BLASTED BREEZE JUST WAFTED
through with how loud and numerous the murmurs just became.

“She can't do that, can she?”

“Set the slaves free?”

“She'll crash our economy!”

“Your Highness—”

The reactions grow louder, taking over the atmosphere and my voice.

I stop talking and allow my skin to tingle with the weather as their words and tones roll off my back, much the way they used to at slave auctions when old men would haggle prices. The chattering builds quickly into an argument—except this time I can't tell who's on which side.

Until a hard chuckle echoes off the walls, causing the men to stall and turn.

“She's offering you a plan that will avoid a civil war and is the only chance you have of saving your nation, let alone your economy.” Eogan scoffs. “Do you think the best weapon you have is not capable of being a voice of wisdom?”

“But to free them?” a councilman yells. “We'll have their peasant owners in an uprising and
they'll
refuse to fight! Better we call a draft.”

A rush of tension ripples down my arms as the outside air crackles loud enough for them to hear it, just like I can feel it. “King Sedric,” I say quietly. “Might I remind you of your word given to Colin and me at the Keep?” I can feel the heat in my face. In my blood. Daring him.

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. And, after a moment, tips his head to say that yes, he remembers.

“I'm assuming you still plan to honor that promise.”

“Is she threatening the king?” someone whispers.

“Silence.” Sedric's voice rings across the space, squelching the rising mutterings going on around us.

Eogan is watching me. I can feel his eyes as Sedric nods my way. “I do.” Then looks up and around at the gathering. “We will go with Nym's suggestion. And I will hear no more about it.”

He lifts a hand before the arguments can begin. “Now.” He turns back to me, and I drop my gaze to help him save face from the gawking expressions that claim insult against the woman who just put the king in his place. “Do you have an opinion on how to bring unity among the peasants and their slaves in this plan of yours?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “But I'll have one by the time I get to the first township.”

Sedric nods and taps on the map to draw attention where it's due. “Then let us commence with discussing Draewulf's next move.”

“It might help to know exactly
how
to defeat him,” Kenan suggests.

Rolf moves a pawn on the map. “I thought that's what we're discussing.”

“I believe he means we need to speak with Lady Isobel,” King Sedric says.

“Use the Luminescents to ask her,” I say.

“Or we could torture her,” one of the councilman growls.

“She's used to pain. It would take too long.” Eogan's tone is
matter-of-fact, but for whatever reason something in it snags at me. At the space in me that resents her and loathes her capabilities.