Siren's Fury Page 8

  “I’m serious, Nym. What Myles is—what he does . . . I don’t want to see him do that to you. I’m just telling you so you’ll believe me and steer clear of whatever he’s selling you.”

  “Oh, I believe you. I just have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  A strange expression slips across her face. She narrows her gaze and seems about to say something but stops. “I apologize for the confusion, but I’d rather caution you against an idea than introduce you to it. And it won’t matter as long as you decide now not to consider it. You are enough as you are. You’ll figure this crisis out without his help.”

  An uncomfortable ache edges against my spine. I look ahead toward the door the Bron guard’s holding open to the noisy dinner room.

  Rasha’s voice softens. “Promise me you won’t follow him because while some of his desire is to actually help you, his other motives are not.”

  “What are his other motives—aside from the world-rulership obsession, obviously?”

  “To use you.”

  I snort. Nothing new there.

  “Fine.” I pat her hand and pretend it really is fine. “I wouldn’t trust Myles with a ferret-cat, let alone with whatever it is you’re worried about.”

  Her sigh is loud and relieved. The next moment she’s grinning and flourishing a hand at the waiting guards. “In that case, onward with the torture, gentlemen.”

  “Torture is the accurate word,” I mutter, when we step through the door to find that, not only are all the delegates seated around the dining table, but so is Eogan.

  I choke on the unbidden lump in my throat as everything within me begs to slip over and touch him, to connect with his calm, his closeness, to forget for one moment the monster beneath his skin. The next second I’m rocked by the look of absolute vileness on his face and have to fight the urge to locate the nearest knife to shove in Draewulf’s gut in payment for what he’s done.

  Rasha gives my arm a quick squeeze of caution, and after a moment of glaring at him, I force my legs to move and make my way over to a chair at the end of the table near the windows. I sit and study the beast while Rasha takes her seat and my Faelen bodyguards hover nearby.

  Lady Gwen is leaning over her plate. “So what did you say in response?”

  Draewulf curls his lips. “I didn’t say anything. I simply waited until she fell asleep and then sewed her mouth shut.”

  The three Faelen delegates burst out laughing, and for a moment their noise drowns out the airship’s drone permeating the walls as Draewulf’s disgusting comment slips effortlessly from Eogan.

  I stare at them. How can they laugh at that?

  He turns me a sly gaze and tucks a strand of jagged hair behind his ear. I narrow my eyes and debate revealing his horrific identity.

  “Aren’t you hungry, girl?” Lord Wellimton calls.

  “I thought slave girls didn’t get hungry,” Draewulf says. “After all, the good ones are only useful for one thing.”

  The group howls with renewed laughter, and a shiver shreds my spine as he continues to leer.

  The words the vent boy, Kel, said about his old king despising compassion float into mind. If that was the case, what will he think of this new king? Will Bron applaud this disgusting Draewulf version?

  Rasha stands, about to voice a defense from the look of it—but I stand as well and drain my face of all emotion. “It’s fine. I was just leaving anyway.”

  On my way toward the door leading to the deck, I stop long enough to brush up against Draewulf and curl my fingers into a fist, as if my powers have returned. I lean into his ear. “Tell me, how does it feel to know you haven’t quite won?”

  Without waiting for a response, I straighten my shoulders and proceed to the small deck.

  A Bron guard is positioned outside the door. “You have thirty minutes until we—” he says, as my Faelen bodyguards join him.

  I nod, straining to hear him above the engine noise. Then stall because whatever he’s mouthing suddenly doesn’t matter when I look up.

  The enormity of the airship is beyond comprehension. Overhead spans a white, larva-shaped balloon easily a quarter the length of King Sedric’s castle. It billows slightly at the curved ridges and along the one tip I can see. Whatever’s powering the ship is burning and creating heat ripples in the air around a giant metal chimney chute. Steam flows from it into a hole in the base of the balloon that is attached to the airship by metal ropes similar to the ones Eogan used to control our man-eating warhorses.

  The ship bumps five times in a row, as if it’s a farm cart riding over tills of soil. The vibrations beneath my feet are jarring compared to standing on the floor inside. I edge to the railing and glance down over the bulk of the ship to what I presume is the lower level. A few windows dot here and there, but for the most part, it’s a hull of shiny, glistening metal big enough to hold servants, guards, food storage, and probably whatever fuel they use for burning.

  Above it sits the level we’re on, which appears to simply be the dining and bed quarters. And on top of that sits a smaller section—made up of what, I can’t tell. I peer high at the single row of windows. Is that where Eogan’s been hiding?

  “A bit freezing out here, don’t you think?”

  Flipping around, I discover Myles ten feet away. A superior smile is playing around his pale mouth as he leans over the metal railing, arms spread like a bird with the wind and rain ruffling his black hair.

  I frown and walk over to him to find the raindrops are being thrown full force beneath the balloon here as the ship rushes along on the air currents. The water pricks my skin, making it feel alive and nervous as Rasha’s warning flares in my head. “Where are my knives?”

  “Not hungry, eh?” he says, ignoring my question.

  I scowl at him, at his thin face which is pale, but no longer green. “Couldn’t stomach the company.”

  “Ah yes. Whereas me? I couldn’t ssstomach the food.” He glances out at the ocean. “Impressive though, isn’t it?” He stays watching a minute longer before turning back to smooth his hair and tip his head at the dining area. “About that nauseating company . . . Care to speculate what his plansss are?”

  “The man who makes it his business to know everything, doesn’t know?”

  “Ah, but Rasha would’ve already told you I don’t.”

  “How about a guess? I hear you’re good at it.”

  “I suspect in thisss case, your estimation is as good as mine, my dear.”

  “Then I’m afraid neither of us is going to get far.”

  He turns back to staring at the ocean.

  I step closer, my tone cautious. “How long do you think before he does something with all of us?”

  “I think the better question is, how long do we have before Eogan loses his battle inside his own body? That, I suspect, will be the defining point for the rest of usss.”

  I make a snide face. Clearly he doesn’t seem too traumatized by the prospect.

  Except . . .

  My chest tightens. I narrow my gaze and study every crease and twitch of his aristocratic profile. “Do you think Draewulf can be separated from Eogan’s body without killing him?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Like I said, you make it your business.”

  “Alasss, that is not an area I’ve ever cared to look into. Although . . .” He eyes me. “If anyone could have helped separate them, it would’ve been an Elemental. Too bad you don’t have the ability any longer to find out.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It wasn’t intended to be.”

  “If my abilities could’ve freed him, I would’ve done so the other night.”

  “If you’d been trained correctly, yes. Especially considering Elementals have always been the most powerful Uathúilsss. But, as I said, how would I know?”

  “You’re suggesting you could’ve trained me to separate them?”

  His gaze moves from my eyes, to my hands, to a quick, aloof sweep
down my body. “I may know someone who could’ve advised me.”

  He has my attention as well as my suspicion. “Who? Are they still around?”

  “Ah.” He taps the side of his head. “That, my dear, is, for the time being, my business to know, not yoursss. However . . . it wouldn’t make much difference, would it, now that your abilities are gone. Unless . . .”

  I clear my throat. “Unless?”

  “Unless you got new onesss.”

  I exhale. “That’s not possible. Everyone knows you can’t give a Uathúil abilities. You have to be born with them.” I turn from him and his vapid game and glare out at the water. If the idea of training me was his offer, it’s nothing new. And Rasha had nothing to worry about. She and I can laugh about it later.

  “My dear girl, is that what Eogan told you?”

  I go still.

  He smiles. “How do you think I have powersss?” Abruptly the ship bumps and tilts beneath us and Myles’s expression goes the slightest bit nauseous.

  I swerve to stare at him. My breath is suddenly clobbering my throat. Maybe I should go inside now. Except I want to hear what he has to say. Besides, Rasha said that if he offers anything, he’ll do so in Bron. I count to thirty before I give in. “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How’s it possible? How do you have them, and how would I?”

  “If I told you, that’d take the fun out of it.”

  “So in other words you don’t know, and even if you did, you’d never willingly help Eogan.”

  He smirks.

  Exactly. “Why don’t you go back to your water closet?”

  “I’d never willingly help unless I’ve set my sssights on bigger things than Sedric’s throne.” His gaze slides down my arm, as if bigger things could have anything to do with me. My responding glare could rip his eyes out.

  He licks his lips. “I assure you that while you are in fact one of the more fascinating women I’ve ever met, I wasn’t only referencing you. Believe it or not, I may have a mind to save the world when all isss said and done.”

  “By taking it over? How heroic.”

  “Oh sssweetheart, we both know I’m not heroic. I’m nearly heartless and completely brilliant and a wonderfully attentive suitor when feeling up to it. But no, no, this has little to do with heroicsss.” He leans close and swipes a long, cold finger down the sleeve covering my left arm. “Let’s just call it . . . a sssoft spot I have for power, which will benefit all five kingdomsss, and you, if you’ll allow me to help.”

  A sick feeling emerges, like ill-placed hope blossoming at the base of my mind. I shake it off. “It can’t be done.”

  “The new abilities or the separating? Because I promise the first can.”

  I stare at him.

  Coils of twisted hunger slip down my spine and touch my heart.

  This is his offer.

  New abilities that could save Eogan.

  His finger swirls over the bandage beneath my sleeve. “Such a shame to see your powers so quickly discarded. Especially when they sssimply needed a more effective trainer . . .”

  I shake him off. “Even Rasha doesn’t believe separating them can be done.” But my voice is weaker this time. How could she not have told me? How could she have acted so casual if she really knew what he would offer? If she really knew what this could mean. To me.

  Especially when she admitted there are no other options for saving the one person I care for.

  “She may be right, on that I won’t lie to you. But when you go to sssleep tonight, ask yourself which one of us would be willing to risk and find out—a passive Luminescent or the second most powerful Uathúil you know trained by Eogan himself?”

  His words snag at that slithering hope and without my permission billow it out with what we both know to be true—if anyone could know how to do this, it would be him. Suddenly I’m jittering all over. “I can’t,” I whisper, as behind us a door opens and then closes. “Don’t bring it up again.”

  He looks up and lowers his voice to a mumble. “Your choice. But if you truly want to help him? Ask yourself if Eogan is worth your risk.” With that, he pushes off the railing and strides past me.

  A few seconds later I hear the door to the dining room shut, and I am left with an armful of questions and horror and a desperately inflating hope that’s burning more questions into my mind than answers.

  Could Myles help me get my power back? Would I actually be able to free Eogan in a way he could survive?

  Could I free him in time?

  I stare at the span of clouds and the sunset peeking between sky and water on the horizon and try to make some sort of sense out of the possibilities. Because while something tells me Rasha’s right—that Myles’s idea feels more slimy and more sinister than he let on—the very thought that I could free Eogan, that I could set this right, is enough to make my angry, hateful soul feel like breathing again.

  CHAPTER 12

  I’VE STOOD THERE A GOOD FIVE MINUTES BEFORE THE new presence emerges in my consciousness. I feel him before I see him. Standing there watching me.

  For the split second after I turn to face him, Eogan looks normal, with the clouded sun rays and rain misting on his broad cloaked shoulders and face. My heart surges. The next moment his expression has morphed into a mixture of annoyance and suspicion and he’s demanding information with his eyes. As if Draewulf’s come to ensure his job of removing my ability has remained intact.

  I shove aside my newfound hope and nausea and firm my fists. Get the answers from him, Nym.

  He’s walking toward me. I peer past him toward the dining area, but the door’s windows are too small to see through. Where’s Rasha?

  And where are my Faelen guards?

  “You may think you’re smart sneaking on board this ship, but tell me you didn’t truly believe it was luck that no one caught you,” Draewulf says when he reaches me. “Or did you think me such a fool? You’re playing a bloody game here.”

  “Where are my guards?”

  He snorts. “I asked them to give us a moment of privacy.”

  “And they obeyed?”

  “I didn’t really give them a choice.” He holds out his hand.

  When I don’t move, he glares down that attractive nose and grabs my arm. And presses into it hard enough that I can feel the pulsing of my own blood in my veins. I jerk away, but he’s already releasing it, seemingly satisfied that I have no power, although how he could tell is beyond me. Perhaps because I didn’t erupt and send a lightning bolt through his face.

  He tucks a strand of bangs behind his ear and bends low enough that the wind whips my hair against his. “Make no mistake that I will kill every delegate here the next time you pull a stunt like that.”

  He glares at me for one, two, three seconds longer. Then, without another word, he turns to stalk away.

  “You’ll kill them but not me?”

  He stops.

  My arm begins throbbing where the cut is, and the grief and hatred abruptly blend in with the idea that he honestly believes he can take everything that’s mine. I narrow my gaze. “Why not? You could just finish me now. Or is it that you need me for something?”

  He snarls. Flips around.

  “Or perhaps it’s Eogan inside preventing you.” I step forward until I’m near enough to see the disgusting wolfish black of his eyes rimmed by Eogan’s green. “Tell me how it feels to know he’s still in there fighting you. To know he could still destroy you.”

  Before I can dodge, his hand reaches behind me and yanks my head back, exposing my neck. He shoves me against the railing and about breaks my bones with the impact. He raises a fist, his body rippling in rage as he brings it toward my face.

  I don’t even flinch. I smile.

  I have found his weak spot.

  His arm is an inch from my cheek when it stops.

  Suddenly the rage shaking his body is growing stronger, more violent, and an odd look erupts in his eyes.

  I f
rown and watch the black recede from the pupil and the green become brighter as his face flickers with confusion. As if waking from a dream and unsure of what’s real.

  He looks around us, at the ship, at the sky, at his own body and me. He drops his hand. “Nymia?”

  My heart stops.

  My blood stops.

  Everything stops.

  Because it’s him. It’s those green eyes that are pure and brave and slightly arrogant in their own right. The kind of arrogance earned from a once-unfeeling heart that’s tasted brokenness.

  “Nym.” His voice is husky. “Oh kracken—are you all right?” He tips my chin and searches my eyes before sweeping his gaze down as if inspecting every spare inch of me. His tone lowers to anger. “Did he hurt you?”

  I have no words. It’s all I can do to breathe while my insides become an instant roar of joy and hope crashing against the broken spaces as his hands slip into my hair. I shake my head because, no, he didn’t, then nod because yes, he has, and I don’t know. I don’t care. The question is—“Did he hurt you?” I push back to look in his handsome face as his expression clouds and run my fingers up his onyx cheeks. I press his jagged bangs from his eyes. “Are you okay? Is he actually gone? What did you—?”

  He shakes his head and leans into my fingertips as his body keeps doing that shivering thing. I watch his eyes close. Suddenly he’s pulling me into him, holding me against the warm beating of his chest even as he’s trembling in a way I’ve never seen.

  “Nym, you have to kill me before—”

  I choke loudly and pull back. What?

  “He’ll destroy you and then everyone else. My people. Your people.”

  “How do you know? Can you see him? Can you see how to stop him?”

  He shudders. “He’s still here. I’m blocking him, but it won’t last long. And I can sense enough to know whatever he’s plotting will end in bloodshed for all of us. I keep trying to do it myself but he’s too strong. If you destroy my body before it’s too late . . .”

  I’d rather cut out my own veins. “You don’t know for sure it’ll end badly.”

  His green eyes find mine. Yes, he does.