Siren's Song (22 page)

Now the cheering starts. Quiet at first but quickly building into a wave of hollers and shouts. Then bubbling over into a burst that sounds like fireworks.

I peer back at Sedric and find approval in his face.

Suddenly he's beside me again, holding up my arm like a symbol of victory, and the crowd's applause becomes a frenzy. Except my stomach is ill and all I can see is the desperation in their reaction, and all I can hear is my own heart whisper that just as I am a symbol of victory, I am also a symbol of death if we do not stop Draewulf. Because when he takes me, he will own all of us.

I swerve my gaze around for Eogan. And he is there. Ten feet away, watching me.

My heart's a sudden flare of aching to peel past that outer shell of kingly stiffness. To reach him. To tell him I'm sorry for my anger, but, good hulls, I'm still angry. To ask him why he seems frustrated too.

I swear there's a flicker of something—fear? nausea?—except the next moment it's gone and the look on his face says he's gone too. Restrained into his official mode that's meant to protect the world and me from himself.

I raise a brow and mouth,
Why?
Why hide yourself, Eogan?

He merely smiles, then turns to the people crowding around him.

CHAPTER 22

W
ITH THE SPEECHES DONE AND THE CHEERING
fading, the room quiets a moment before coming alive again with a different sort of energy. It's like an eclectic mix of fear and anticipation smoldering through the atmosphere and pouring off the guests in waves so thick I can almost crash into them.

Servants move around the balcony serving hot ale and soft fruits as voices rise and high-heeled shoes
clip clip clip
their way to where King Sedric and I are stepping off the platform, their owners jutting pointy chins and fascinated gazes at us.

“Your Highness, when will the Dark Army arrive?”

“What is Draewulf coming for? And how will we know it's him if he can shape-shift?”

“Better yet, how do we know Draewulf's not already here? And if he's not, then, Nym, how about sending a storm north to deal with him?”

“What if the peasants refuse to support the war efforts?”

Sedric holds up his hands for quiet even as I'm edging backward to avoid their pressing hands and words.
Litches, I can't breathe in this dress.
I look to slip away, but rather than allow me, Sedric passes off the first three questions to me—as if I could answer better.

Why? I eye him and can almost sense the answer in my head.
Because these are my people.

How well does he realize that? Whether he understands the history of Elementals, I don't know. He merely nods to indicate I should reply.

Fine.
“As King Sedric said in his speech, we believe the Dark Army will arrive in nine days,” I tell the first man wearing a poofed-up hat shaped like an oliphant. “It's why we're swiftly putting together as many tactical units as possible—to stay their hand until we can route an army to the coast.”

I turn to the second questioner—a woman dressed more decently to the situation in a black mourning gown with glitter around her eyes. “We have Luminescents with us who, together, with effort, can see inside a person if Draewulf has taken them host. And we know he's still in either Cashlin or Tulla because that's where I last saw him, very much alive and in his shape-shifter wolf form.”

“And what about attacking first with your storm abilities?”

I shake my head and shirk away from the gangly man's uncomfortable leer. “We'd risk destroying all of Cashlin and Tulla as well—or what's left of them. Plus, we've no guarantee my powers stretched that far would destroy Draewulf.”

“But your powers
can
destroy him, right? When it's time?” The man presses closer, his face and damp breath invading my space.

I'm tempted to show him my powers to get him out of my face. I reach a hand toward his cravat and let the air between us crackle. He steps back with a muttered curse.

“She can absolutely destroy the beast.” King Sedric jumps in with full confidence.

I give a caustic chuckle and drop my hand. And refrain from telling the poor man the method of defeating Draewulf may not be quite what he's imagining. Turning to run my eyes over the
room again in search of Eogan, I let Sedric take over while more courtiers flock our direction. All hungry for answers from their facial expressions. My rib cage feels thick again with not enough air . . .

It's not until I rise on my tiptoes to peer above the sea of heads that I finally locate Eogan centered among another group who appear to be just as rabid as ours. Until abruptly the people in mine are growing louder, pushing for clarification from Sedric and me. Clarification about what, I don't know, because I've stopped listening. I'm watching Eogan's gaze flash around the faces in front of him and then over them to snag on mine.

My heart trips.

He smiles as if he, too, is bored as hulls. I stick out my tongue and his quirk of a smile turns into a full, gorgeous laugh. And for less than a second his gaze is open with a look so familiar and beautiful.

So . . . sacrificial.

I pause.

It's the same look he gave before he let me go that day at the Keep.

I frown as my caged chest squeezes my lungs that are crammed in there too small, too tight, and suddenly his expression is replaced with a flash of hunger—of wildness—and I instantly recognize that too. It's the desire to escape this place and these people and to inhale the open air, perhaps back at Adora's where there was more space and less obligation.

My mouth sours with how badly I want it, too, right now, and my desire must show because for a moment his gaze is all mine, sparking with suggestions and rebellion as that half smile he owns and works so well curves the full of his lips.

Bleeding oaf.
My chuckle is loud enough that someone nearby
slips an arm out as if to steady me—and effectively breaks the magic.

Eogan glances at him, then turns back to his conversation with the mob surrounding him.

For one hour.

Two hours.

Two hours and ten minutes go by and I am as dead on my feet as Sedric and Eogan look to be.

Sedric has spent the whole of the time ushering me from the balcony to the floor level and back again as we meet and greet and reassure the High Court members that yes, we believe this is our best course, and no, there are no other options, and yes, we're convinced we'll come out victorious.

And through it all I've watched Eogan.

Until Sedric finally seems satisfied with the work we've done and waves Rolf over to replace us. “If you don't mind,” he says to the courtiers we've been speaking to, “I believe Rolf can answer the last of your queries. I need to speak with Nym.”

I perk up at that.
Why?

He beckons me to the side at the top of the balcony staircase where we're fully exposed to prying eyes, yet the space is open enough to speak privately.

“Can you still stand?”

“Are you asking honestly or figuratively? Because no to both.”

He snickers. “Well, for the record, no one would've been able to tell—your speech tonight was smooth and your mingling with the crowd flawless.” His grin is gracious. “Thank you for being here tonight.”

“Of course.” I look past him for Eogan.

Sedric starts to speak, then stops, and when I glance over, his brow is furrowed as if he's flustered. I wait.

He turns to scan the room, and something in his gaze says more than I want to hear. I can sense it, and it cowers my spine.

He says the words anyway. “It's as if you were made for this. You were made for
them
.”

An internal shiver rolls down to skewer my gut.

I shake my head.

“I'm aware it's rightfully yours,” he continues. “My position. Faelen and our people. It belonged to your ancestors.”

He's wrong. I wasn't made for this. I was made for
them
, maybe. But not in the way he's thinking.
I was never meant to survive.
I study the fancy crowd in the fancy suffocating room and try not to snort. “Our people belong to themselves.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do, and I know what Queen Laiha's letter apparently told you, but I don't want it, Your Majesty. So you have nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn't worried; I was thinking. You've never had the option until now, but if we survive this war, you may find you feel quite differently.” His voice softens, then firms as if he's making a decision. “I want you to know . . . I'd offer my support to assist you or join you in whatever way you need.”

This time I do snort. “You'd give up your people so easily?”

“Not give them up. I'd help them. I'd help
you
. You could lead them in a way I might never be able to.”

“I would say the same about you—except more so. The people need you, Your Majesty. Not a girl who has no experience, not to mention any interest, in ruling a country. Or even in
helping
to rule it.”

He nods but his expression stays unperturbed. “Just consider that I am open to it. I'm not one to stand in the way of lineage.” Then suddenly he's all smiles and looking up as Eogan and Kenan are walking
toward us. “Ah, Your Highness, you survived—and quite well, I might add, by the compliments I heard from my subjects.”

Eogan keeps his gaze on Sedric, but I can feel his emotions radiating all over me. That fear from earlier. Desire. Frustration. What is he so nervous about?

“I pray we have accomplished our purpose here this evening,” he says.

Sedric steps toward Eogan and puts his arm out to show solidarity and gratitude and everything else politicians are so good at displaying. “Before you leave, I have a few more . . .”

Kenan tugs my arm to pull me aside. “May I speak with you a moment? I was wondering if I might ask a favor.”

I turn from Eogan to study the large guard who looks so much like Kel. “I'm assuming you'd like me to keep your son,” I say to relieve him of wasting his breath. When his eyes flicker surprise, I smile. “I can't promise he'll be completely safe with me.”

“He'll be safer than with Eogan or me—and safer than if left here at the Castle.”

Good point.
I glance around, and as if in rebellion, my eyes land back on Eogan who's still speaking with Sedric. “Of course he can stay with me.”

Kenan tips his head. “I'll speak with the boy tonight, then, and send him to you first thing on the morrow.” He hesitates, then places a fist over his heart. “My thanks.”

I nod as he steps away to go put a word in Eogan's ear, and a moment later it's apparent Eogan agrees with whatever Kenan's said without stopping his conversation with Sedric.

“You're collecting quite a band of misfits.” Tannin's voice resonates behind me. He grins. “How will you control them while on the road?”

“Like this.” I quickly touch two fingers to his sleeve, allowing a small shock of static from the air to jolt him.

He yanks his arm away. “Teeth of a—”

I let out a real laugh, and Eogan glances over at the sound. It hits me that I can't recall the last time I heard such warmth coming from my mouth. Probably at some point with Kel. But before that . . .

I allow the enjoyment of it to settle over me and let it loosen my muscles around my bones and lungs and heart. To ease the ache and frustration of the past two days.

When I look again, Eogan still has his head tipped my way, watching me, his expression amused and curious, until King Sedric says something and he's pulled back to their conversation.

“I may not approve of you going to his rooms”—Tannin casually waves a hand in Eogan's direction—“but I can see you might be good for each other.”

My amusement catches in my mouth.

“My wife says opposites keep the attraction alive and the behaviors in balance. And in your case . . .”

“In my case?”

He shakes his head and smiles kindly.

If I'd begun frowning at him before, I'm quite certain I'm flat out scowling now. “Are you sure you're not Luminescent?”

Except . . . everything in me wishes he was. I look around for Mel or Mia. Would it be awful to ask them to read Eogan for me—to tell me what he's thinking and what his future might hold? And why he keeps distancing himself?

Tannin's grin splits his face, prompting heat like a blasted lightning bolt to ignite beneath my skin and burn through my cheekbones until I'm sure he's got more answer than he bargained for. He merely chuckles again, and I excuse myself to gain
composure before strolling back over to Eogan, who's thankfully focused on Sedric.

“Should be no more than six days at the most,” Eogan says. “Although I'm hoping for less if the wind currents hold.”

“Our prayers will go with you.” Sedric places his hand on Eogan's shoulder and tips his head in respect. In return Eogan thumps a fist over his own heart in the Bron offering of kinship.

Then they release each other and turn my way.

“Ah, Nym. I have a final few people I'd appreciate you speaking with if you don't mind.” Sedric twitches a hand toward a group of old geezers I recognize from the War Room.

“In that case.” Eogan nods politely to both of us. “Your Highness. Nym. I fear I must retire in order to get an early start tomorrow. So I will bid good night and good-bye to you both at this time.” He turns to move off.

Pardon?
“Your Majesty, I, too, must beg off for the evening. I fear I'm overly tired and won't be much help in carrying functional conversation.” Without awaiting his permission, I stride after the beautiful green-eyed man who is a daft oaf. “Eogan, wait.”

He stops. Turns. “Did I forget something?”