Siren's Song (18 page)

She's used to pain?
The thought gives me pause—what sort of life has she been through that she could be familiar with such a thing?

Eogan catches me staring at him. I look away, but even so, the hint of compassion seeps up through my bones into my chest. Perhaps there's a reason Eogan used to love her beyond the fact it was the only emotion allowed him.

Sedric turns to his Captain of the Guard. “Have your men finished debriefing Lord Myles and the rest?”

“They have. The Lord Protectorate and others are now in the upper Northern Wing under guard, sire.”

“Good. Bring us the Cashlins.” Sedric looks at me.

I nod. “May I also request Rolf bring in Kenan's son, Kel, Your Highness? He's one of the airship captains and familiar with most of the passengers who came with us.”

Kenan looks over at me as Sedric nods to Rolf. “Agreed.”

When the War Chamber door shuts behind Rolf and his men, the room explodes in conversation. I listen and attempt to keep my suddenly drooping eyelids propped up.

Minutes later the chamber door opens again, and Rolf and his guard unit are ushering in the Cashlin guard and the two Luminescents along with Kel—all with hands tied beneath their backs.

“Kel.” I reach out a hand and the guards release him to me.

“Ah, the young captain, I presume,” Sedric says, and it's a credit to his years at High Court that his face shows not even a hint of shock at Kel's size or obvious age.

“One of them.” Kel peers over at his father and Eogan. His hand tightens around mine.

“Welcome, then. And would you mind sticking around here a bit to share what you know with us? I think you'd be most valuable.”

The little boy's face fills with pride and seriousness. “Would be my honor, sire.”

“Very good.” Sedric looks toward the Cashlin guard and two Luminescents.

“I am Mia and this is Mel.” The shorter of the two women steps forward. They point to the guard, Sir Doesn't Matter. “This is Gilford. We were sent on behalf of our people to be deeper eyes and ears for you. My only regret is we could not send more.”

“I'm grateful for whatever you can give us.”

Mel nods.

I smirk at the Cashlin.
Gilford, huh?

Eogan looks to the king, then to the other council members. “Your Highness, I believe if we can give Nym enough time and distract the rest of his army, she will be able to provide another advantage.”

I will? “How?”
I want to ask, but this is clearly not the time to instill doubt. Instead, I swallow and my hands curled against my sides begin to shake. I clench them until there's the slightest rumble of thunder in the distance that gives me away. The entire table turns toward me, but I just force a weak smile and say nothing as Kel nuzzles his shoulder against me. His eyelids are heavy too. Poor boy.

“She can bring forth the Uathúils—if there are any others hiding in Faelen,” Eogan says.

“
Are
there more?” Sedric runs a hand over his boyish chin, only half-hiding his look of alarm.

I wither Eogan a look. “Supposedly.”

“I see.” Sedric follows my gaze. “I assume you know where they're hiding out, Your Highness?”

“Your Majesty,” a councilman in the back says. “I must protest allowing this man to run around Faelen searching for Uathúils.”

“Allow me to ease your mind, then, that I have no intention of
going to find them. They've supposedly already been called forth.” Eogan nods toward me. “They will come when it's time. As for me, once we are through here tonight, my attentions need to be placed upon Bron.”

“You think Draewulf's forces in Bron will attack us from the southern border in airships?”

“Doubtful. However—”

“And what of your forces under siege in Bron?”

“I'll be honest.” Eogan peers at Sedric. “My commitment is to help Faelen win this war, because if it doesn't, the rest of the world will fall. However, I need to return home long enough to set events in motion that will assure the survival of my people as well.”

I veer my gaze to him. He's returning home?

“Of course, I will need Your Highness's permission to do such a thing.”

“Given,” Sedric says. “Although the quicker you return, the better. For all our sakes.”

“Agreed. I will leave as soon as we've finalized a plan.”

I don't even realize I'm shaking my head until Kel pokes me in the side. My chest is suddenly sinking, as if there's not enough blood and tissue and sinew to hold the bones in place. Like a birdcage breaking because we did
not
just go through every impossible thing the past few days to have Eogan head straight back to the heart of the plague and army and death.

“Then it's decided,” Sedric says. “Rolf, please take our Luminescent friends to begin their interview with Lady Isobel. The war generals and I will stay here. Tannin, when you've seen to the lady Nym's needs, please begin preparations for an Assembly here this evening—considering it's already morning—where we will make an announcement regarding what's been decided here.”

He raises his voice. “At that time, I will ask everyone to join
up with our efforts, especially those from the High Court, so Nym may use such as encouragement for the lower castes. We will reconvene later.”

A few of the councilmen begin shuffling out. Others remain. They begin talking, but I'm not listening. Because all I can see are Eogan's eyes swerving onto mine with a firm expression that says he needs me to understand.

I give a slight shake of my head, swallow, and look back to King Sedric so my gaze won't burn a chasm in his head.

Because I understand only all too well.

I understand that he's signing his own death sentence if the wraiths there figure out who he is before the final attack has even begun.

CHAPTER 19

T
AKE ME TO SEE HIM.”

“Miss, I don't—”

“Is he in the same room as last week?” I continue walking as Tannin hurries to keep up.

“Miss, I know you've spent time with Bron's king, but considering he's here in a rather different capacity than your trainer now, taking you to his chambers lies outside protocol and I can assure you King Sedric will not approve. Not to mention that area is under tight security.”

“Do I appear to care? Because I'm quite certain I don't. I need to speak with Eogan before he makes further plans, so you will please take me there
now
.”

He begins to steer off toward a set of stairs. “Perhaps a hot bath would be better at this time, and while you do so, I'd be happy to inquire for—”

I flip around and allow a spark of friction to fill the hallway's air. He swallows.

“You may stay to ensure I return with you,” I say, recalling last week when I promised something similar only to slip onto the ship and leave for Bron. “But I
will
speak to him immediately.”

His face goes tight, but after a moment he nods. “I will stand
directly
outside the door.”

“And I'll be grateful for it.” My tone softens. “Thank you, Tannin.”

He sniffs and shakes his head, then proceeds to turn us down two different corridors until we reach the same hallway I stood in last week that leads to Eogan's room. I falter a second as the air drains from my chest at the recollection of what he was in that room. At what he almost became.

The past ten days have been a bleeding nightmare.

I bite back the bile itching up my throat and stare stiff-like at Eogan's guards. “I'd like to speak with the king.”

“He's not seeing anyone—”

A crash of thunder explodes so loud above the Castle even I jump. I lean in. “I don't care what he's
not
doing—let me in there.”

“She's obtained a special request,” Tannin says, not looking at me.

I file away a reminder that I owe him and his family something grand for such a smooth lie. Perhaps a bucket-case of dolls.

The larger guard hesitates. “We were not informed of such a request.”

“Where is Kenan?” I demand, looking around. “Perhaps we should rouse him from—”

The guard knocks on the door, murmuring something about this being a wholly inappropriate time. I don't wait for a reply from within. I merely lean forward and pound on the door myself, then push it open and enter. “Eogan, I . . .”

Oh.

He's standing beside a water basin, pulling a drying cloth around himself.

His eyes widen a second before sparking with amused interest as he ties the cloth around his waist and legs. “May I help you?”

Behind me the door slowly swings shut. Did I push it or did one of the guards pull it? I don't know. I—

He lifts a brow and runs a hand over the back of his neck while his chest stares back at me. “I'm waiting to hear about the fire.”

I frown.

“I assume that is why you've interrupted my bath, yes? The Castle's burning down? Although”—he waves a hand toward me—“you don't look much in a hurry.”

I clear my throat and try to gather together the collapsing air in my lungs and force it into a coherent sentence. Or even a thought.
Yes, think a thought, Nym. And for bleeding's sake look away.

“My face is up here.”

I flick my gaze up to find a hint of entertainment in his. I scowl as his brow goes up and a funny look emerges in his eyes even as his jaw clenches.

I peel my gaze away and drop it to the floor, firming it once I remember why I'm standing in a half-naked man's room. “I came to ask why in bracken you're so willing to toss your life to hulls.”

“Pardon?”

“You're going back to Bron.”

“If I don't, my people will die either from plague or by the magic creating those wraiths. I have to give them the truth and a chance.”

“And that justifies you going back? If you do you're as good as dead, either from your own people or from the wraiths when they discover you're no longer Draewulf.”

“So you'd ask me to sacrifice my own people?” His voice has a touch of exasperation. Enough so that I glance up at his face.

“On the roof Myles and I heard Draewulf and Isobel say they are the ones whose magic can turn people to wraiths. I don't believe it can be done without them. Besides, he's coming for us now, not your people.”

His expression flashes disgust. “I'm quite aware he created more
last week in Bron—while using my body, thank you. But if anything, him not being there gives my people a fighting chance right now. And whether they're directly in harm's way at this moment or not, my people still need to be given the truth and courage to fight back against the beasts that have surrounded them.”

“Blast it all, Eogan, can't you simply wait? At least until this war is fought? Because for all you know we
won't
win—and then it won't matter what in hulls you fix in Bron!”

He scoffs and pushes a hand through his wet hair. “So that's why you're barging into my private rooms right now? To ask me to be a coward to my own people, Nym?” He frowns. “What would you do if you were me?”

I snort. “Perhaps I see the benefit to barging in on you like this! Maybe it's the only way I feel you'll actually listen to me.”

Any earlier hint of humor falls away, leaving the set look of arrogance. “Oh, I'm listening to you. I just don't happen to agree with you on this one. Now, if you don't mind—”

I let out a laugh. “You don't listen to anyone. And you're not the only one at stake here—or have you forgotten that Draewulf is coming to our borders, not Bron's? He's already been to your kingdom and guess what? He left them alive! Which is more than I can say he's going to do here with my people or with Cashlin, not to mention Rasha right now.” My cheeks burn and I look down to mutter, “And could you put some clothes on, please?”

He gives a sharp snort. “I thought you wanted me at my most vulnerable. Or is this how you imagine—?”

“No, I don't imagine.”
I refuse to imagine. Stop imagining, Nym.
“Just put some bleeding clothes on.” I toss him a tunic and pants that've been laid out across the bed in obvious preparation. Then turn around and tap my foot and keep my thoughts on how very nice the stone tiles in his room look. They have lovely, raw hand-cut
patterns that look nothing like the cut of Eogan's chest with or without a shirt on.

“And hurry up,” I grumble after a moment. “I'm not done discussing this.”

I swear he utters what sounds like a curse word under his breath. “Is that what you call it? I thought you were yelling and lecturing.”

“I wouldn't have to if you had any half-litched sense of self-preservation.” I listen to him pull on his clothing behind the screen in the corner.

“Done.”

When I turn around, he's standing closer than I expected, his broad shoulders taking up the majority of the space in front of me as he repeatedly pushes a hand through his still-damp hair, sending my skin flushing hot all over again. Blast him. “And if you want to talk about danger,” he murmurs, “how about we talk about you? Perhaps you should tell me about the scouting excursions you're planning to take while you're rousing support for the war.”

What?
I frown.

He gives that hard laugh again. “Because I know you, Nym. I'm not a bleeding idiot.” He strides over to one of two chairs near the window and rests his hand on it while staring out over the black landscape beyond.

I follow. And stop when I see what he's looking at. His two lit-up airships crawling with men preparing them.

“You'll do what you think is best and I'll do what I believe in. Whether either of us agrees with the other or not.”