Siren's Song (32 page)

With that he gives me a smile. “In the meantime I suspect you'll want to see Princess Rasha.”

CHAPTER 30

OH HULLS. THE PEOPLE ARE DYING. FALLING IN MASSES AT THE CLAWS AND swords of the wraiths. And my powers aren't broad enough or fast enough or even focused enough despite Eogan's help—meaning I'm going to end up doing as much damage as Draewulf's army.

I look at Sedric. “I can't stop the army.”

“But can you stop
him
?” Sedric nods toward Draewulf who has suddenly appeared in wolf form—from where, I don't know.

And bleeding litches. He's stalking Eogan.

I don't answer. I just break into a run for the beast who's got a lather worked up around his teeth as he lunges for the man I'm in love with. “Eogan!” I scream, just as he rolls out of the way and, as he does, brings his sword up beneath the monster's arm.

Draewulf roars in anger, then slashes a claw down so fast, Eogan doesn't have time to move again before his face is sliced open and blood pours.

No!

I bring down bolt after bolt of lightning, but they're absorbed by the black wisps emanating from Draewulf, protecting him just like they did at the Keep.

Flicking my wrist, I ram three, four, five ice blades through them.

Draewulf yelps just before he trips Eogan, who's rising to meet
another of the beast's blows. This time the claws slash down farther, reaching Eogan's neck and shredding pieces from it even as the marks on his face have begun closing up.

I frown.
What in—?

The next second Myles is standing behind the monster, raising a blade of his own against Eogan, and when the beast slashes back at him, Eogan lands a clean jab that impales Draewulf's side. Then I'm there and telling Eogan to focus on Myles because the Lord Protectorate is no longer safe or sane or anything remotely human as I'm allowing the anger and energy in my blood to build into a force that will destroy the animal once and for all.

Except before it can explode from me, within me, Draewulf's jaw opens and lunges for Eogan.

Eogan's green eyes flash up as his sword jabs into Myles's gut.

I hear the sounds of battle around me—of my people dying. I see the flash of horror on my own face in Draewulf's black-eyed reflection.

His mouth comes down. I step in front of him.

I lurch awake with my face pressed flat against the cool window-pane I fell asleep against last night after meeting with Sedric and Eogan. I glance around for Draewulf at the same time I'm grabbing for my throat. Where is he?

It takes one, two, three seconds for it to hit me that it was just a dream. Or rather a nightmare, but unreal nonetheless.

I open the window and inhale the fresh Faelen morning air in hopes it'll clear my head. Then wince. If I thought the presence of Draewulf was tangible at Litchfell, the presence of fear is flat out suffocating here. At the moment, I'm not sure which is worse.

“Just enjoy it.”

I twist around to find Rasha sitting at my feet, leaning her head against my leg. My squeal could wake a ferret-cat, it's so loud. It
brings her to laugh and climb up on the seat beside me where I wrap my arms around her fragile frame. “How are you?” I search her face.

“Better.” And she sounds stronger than yesterday.

“I came in here last night, but you were sleeping so soundly I didn't want to wake you.”

“So you fell asleep on my window seat.” She giggles. “Well, I'm glad you did. You were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes this morning.”

“I missed you.”

She pats my arm and winks. “Of course you did.” Then she looks around the courtyard below us as if it's barren of life. “Honestly, what have you even done for the past week without me? Boring as all get-out, I bet.”

I chuckle. “All except for Lord Myles. He's been the life of the party.”

“Lord Myles is the life of every party. As long as insanity is a requirement.” Her laugh is airy and musical and oh-so-home-like, even with its faint hint of weariness. I rest my head on her shoulder and take it in. I swear I could sit like this forever.

“So have you seen him, then?” I ask.

“Oh yes. And he's a piece of work.”

I sit up and study her. “Good work or bad?”

She shrugs. “He's humbler, so that's something, I guess.”

“Did they tell you he left us in order to rescue you?”

“I may have heard something about that.” She sniffs. “Doesn't mean I like him more.”

I grin.

“What? Stop grinning. Why are you grinning?”

I twist my lips and look away.

“Seriously. Just stop. It's creepy.”

“Or romantic,” I say in a singsong voice.

She hits me flat across the face with the window seat's giant pillow and keeps hitting until I throw up my hands. “Okay, okay, I was just jesting.”

“Humph. You better have been. But speaking of Myles . . . I was asked to go check on him again, but I wanted to see you first.” She plants a kiss on my cheek. “And now that I've seen you, I must go deal with the blasted oaf.”

I kiss her hand in the way that people kiss royalty. “See you in a bit.” Then I wave and wait until the door shuts before going back to staring out the window. It's a good twenty minutes before I finally rouse again to find my way to my own room where hopefully breakfast is waiting.

When I arrive, Kel is practicing his throwing knives against the door.

They make a cracking sound every time they hit the veneer.
Good.

“These are heavier than the ones we use in Bron.” Kel balances one of the blades I asked Tannin to bring the boy—to keep him busy because it won't do for him to lose his edge. “I think they stick harder.”

I nod and browse the food tray he's nearly decimated with his ravenous boy-appetite. And continue watching the maze of High Court streets beyond the Castle courtyards and walls. Waiting for any sign of new people, new travellers, peasants and villagers who've responded to our request.

So far nothing.

The sounds of horses being shoed and armor being moved echo off the white stone walls, as do the voices of the children and nursemaids who're slowly being moved up to find quarters inside the Castle gates. Carts of vegetables and cured meats follow them up
while wagons full of ale make their way down toward the collections to be taken to the battlefield.

Priorities.
I snort and scan the sky for airships—Draewulf's or Kenan's. But it's as empty as the roads leading to the Castle.

I wonder if Eogan's awake yet.

“What's wrong with that crabby one—Lord Myles?” Kel asks after a particularly fierce throw.

“You've seen him. He's suffering from a form of magic. Why do you ask?”

“'Cuz I heard him having another of those visions last night. It was . . . eerie. They had to summon Princess Rasha to calm him down.”

Rasha?

Except the tone Kel's just said it in, I know he, in fact, believes it fascinating. I smirk.

“Could he always do that?”

“Since he was younger and his abilities began to show, I believe. But not as strong.” I turn to look at the boy. “He enhanced them a number of years ago, and then recently enhanced them more, as you saw.”

“But how'd he do it? The first time he enhanced them?”

“Don't even think about it—it doesn't work on non-Uathúils.”

He juts his chin out, but the look in his eye proves my warning was well warranted. “You don't have to tell me not to do anything dangerous. I was just wondering, that's all. Like where did he get them from—how'd you and him absorb it?”

“A witch.” I'm pleased when his eyes show a hint of startled fear.
Good.
“Draewulf's old wife. Not a very lovely person, if you must know.”

He shivers and scuffs his feet over the carpeted floor. “You think he'll die soon?”

“What is with you and people dying?” I start to chuckle but stop when my throat softens and my gaze strays beyond him, as if I could see his thoughts drifting to his father.

“He'll be back soon,” I say softly. “And he'll be safe.”

The boy nods but continues to look worried. “But what about Lord Myles?”

Why does he—? Oh. He must've seen Myles suffering in his room. “You should really stop eavesdropping, you know.”

At which he grins and sets down the knives he's retrieved from the door. “If I did, I wouldn't be able to tell you that Lady Isobel's powers might be coming back.”

I stare.
Wait, what?

And after a moment stand and stride over to put a hand on his chin. “What did you just say?”

He pulls away and widens his proud smile. “Just that Lady Isobel's powers might be reemerging.”

“That's impossible.”

He nods. “That's what the guards think too. But I heard her muttering about it, and when she didn't know I was watching, I saw her try to use it against a rat in her cell.”

I freeze. “Did it work?”

“Couldn't tell. It might've. Or it might've just gotten scared to death by her personality. Either way, it squeaked loud-like, then dragged its body off like it was hurt bad.”

Litches.

I swallow and run a hand over my memorial tattoos. Feeling the familiar bumps and lines fanning down my left arm.

“You think the witch enhanced them for her too?”

I frown. The witch? Then shake my head. “No. Her mother doesn't live around here and wouldn't have access to her anyway.”

“I know. I meant when she was back in Bron with us.”

Oh. “No. I think it's more likely the power that stole her abilities before entering Myles perhaps didn't actually steal them. Maybe it just blocked them like Draewulf did to my own. I don't know—maybe it even absorbed some of what Draewulf did to me and then mimicked it.” I inhale and shut my eyes. Then open them. “It doesn't matter. I need to see for myself.”

I stride for the door. “Stay here—”

“No way. I want to see this.”

“Kel—”

“You're supposed to be watching me, right? Well, what if while you're gone I decide to . . . you know . . . get myself in trouble?”

“You little—”

“You owe me for not letting me see the bolcranes.”

I swear I can't help my grin when he winks at me.

“Since when did I turn into someone who's bossed around by little boys?” I mutter as he follows me from the room.

“Since you met me, that's when.”

I turn on him, but the blasted child slips his hand into mine and looks up so innocent-like I can only sigh and squeeze his small fingers. “Fine, come on.”

Tannin is nowhere to be seen and neither is Rolf or Eogan, so I let Kel drag me to wherever they're keeping Lady Isobel.

The outer rooms aren't fancy but are still nicer than those the peasantry own. However, they're apparently for the guards' comfort since, when I look past them and through the inner doorway, the setting is more what I'd expect for a criminal. The room holds a large metal-bar cage with a stone floor and small slits for windows high in the wall. Although no one could say King Sedric is one to mistreat a lady. He's allowed her a velvet couch, a cot, and a cherry-wood washbasin.

Two guards step in front of us to block the doorway. The elder
eyes Kel. “Back again, I see. Well, young master, like we told you the last time, you're not permitted near these rooms.”

“And like I told you last time, I just want a peek.”

The guard snorts, then nods at me in respect. “Can I help you, m'lady?”

“I wish to speak with the prisoner.”

“Forgive me, miss, but while you are allowed in, the boy needs a letter of permission with the king's seal.”

“He'll wait out here.” I tip a smile to Kel.

The boy gripes but after a second slinks to the floor. “Fine.”

“It's not as if you won't be able to hear us,” I whisper.

I stride past the guards and straight to the center of the adjoining room, within a hand's reach of the metal cage. And thump on it with my fist.

Lady Isobel turns from her spot on the cot and sits up. And smiles a look I'm not prepared for.

“I was wondering when you'd get around to it.” She flits a hand and stands. “Seems I've seen everyone else who's anybody in this place. I'd begun to think you didn't care.”

“I was gone.”

“And now you're here.”

I hold out a hand. “Show me.”

She giggles. “What, may I ask, are you wanting to see?”

“What you did to Eogan when he was younger. How you turned his heart to stone and yet kept him alive.”

Her mirth reaches her eyes as she moves toward me until the bars are the only separation between us. “I'd love to, trust me. But I'm not quite certain how that would make a hulls of difference to you or him, or anyone else about to die.”

“I want to know what he felt for you,” I whisper, as if it's really true. But then, perhaps a part of it is.

She jerks toward the bars. “You want to know what he felt? Lust. Love. Hunger. All the things you only hope he feels for you. Except without being diminished by extended feelings for others.”

I refuse to flinch at her words. I've no doubt they're true.

“If that's the case, then how is it you lost him? What'd you do that caused him to reject you so fiercely?”

She scowls and pulls away. And says nothing.

“The way he told it, he grew tired of your control,” I say gently. “It's not quite love if you have to manipulate a man to keep him, now, is it?”

Her mouth tightens. “What is it you want?”

I reach a hand through the bars. “Tell me what made him so special. What is it exactly his ability can do? What did
you
want him for?”