Siren's Song (14 page)

“Leave the prisoners in place and double their guards,” I say to Kenan. “Then bring two of the soldiers from below as well as these two here and follow me. We'll have to run.”

He nods and beckons the larger group of soldiers. “You heard the lady. Assist His Majesty by watching the ship. We won't be long. You two—with me.”

I trail the men and stretcher down, and as soon as we reach the grassy space, we begin to jog quickly toward the hill that is the only thing standing between us and the Valley of Origin. What in blazes we're supposed to find here I have no idea, but something in me says to head for the lake. For the hundredth time today I curse Queen Laiha and her daft elusiveness.

“Hurry,” I snap at the men, even though it's unnecessary.

We head uphill and pass along linden bushes similar to those Eogan and I tramped through so recently on a hillside a terrameter or two from here. I try not to think about where we've been since that day last month. Or how we stood together in the rainbow mist with his lips so close to mine . . .

I clear my throat and push us toward the right, on a trail that should lead us through the forest line and down to the lake. The soldiers and Kenan aren't speaking, but I can feel their gazes on me. As if they're wondering it too—where we're going and how walking to some lake is supposed to help anything.

“I don't know,” I almost tell them, but I move faster along the path.
Bleeding hulls, I don't know.

Until the weight of silence becomes too much. “How is he?”

“Alive,” is the response.

I nod just as we crest the hilltop and begin our descent. I'm already sweating at the pace we're going combined with the warm Bron coat I'm wearing.

A flicker through the trees shows the lake. Placid. Gray. Glittering as I remember it beneath the storm-soaked sky and deflating evening sun. For a moment I swear my blood ignites. Fiery. Alive. Calling to the ache in my chest and the song I once heard here in my soul. I move even quicker, aware that the spaces between the trees are thinning, allowing more glimpses through the trees and colorful branches to say we're getting closer.

“Miss,” Kenan murmurs.

When I look over, he simply indicates Eogan.

I nod.
Litches.
And break us into a full run so that within minutes I'm not the only one coughing and gasping. Suddenly we're erupting from the tree line onto a grassy bank that shelves straight
into the lake, and it is glorious, and beautiful, and just as magical as I remember it.

The scent of pine and age is unbelievable.

“Bring him here and set him down.” I stumble to the water's edge.

They do and then look at me. As if somehow I should know what to do. I truly have no idea. “Bleeding vague Luminescents.” I swear again.

I grab Eogan's hand to place it gently in the water because it's the only thing I can think of—it's the only element I feel in control of—and close my eyes and inhale, and hope to hulls the things I've experienced here before—and the things Eogan's experienced in this space even without me—will work again.

The feeling in my veins picks up immediately, that strumming and calling, and just as quickly, the poison in my wrist reacts. Scratching beneath my skin as if trying to get out. I open my eyes and utter a cry, but it just keeps burning, fighting, and for a moment I can hear the spider screaming.

Then that song from so long ago—that sensation that the melody of the ancients is here and moving—creeps over my skin. And it feels like home.

I breathe deep and will it upon Eogan.

Please, Creator of the Hidden Lands, if you exist, let this work.

The smooth surface of the lake ripples and sloughs. I inhale deeper, clenching my fist as the water begins lapping the shoreline. Then it's not just lapping, but moving in time to the melody within my soul. But something's stopping it from coming forth. From building into more. The burning in my arm begins itching, and I glance down at it to find the black in my veins vibrating.

The power I consumed is resisting the power here.

Abruptly the rippling turns to waves, rolling up from the center
and heading our direction to break just before they reach us. The foam of the gray lake water sprinkles up into the air and now the atmosphere is full of it.

And I still have no idea what I'm supposed to do.

“Hold it all lightly, Nym.”
Queen Laiha's words slip into my mind.

I loosen my fists and do the same thing I've done here before. I shut my eyes tighter, place my hand on Eogan, and let forth my whisper. Another prayer to the Creator that if he truly does exist to let my Elemental blood rise and bring the crystal shield with it. That armor that is diamond and light and powerful enough to hold even Draewulf off for a few moments.

A muttered exclamation sounds behind me, and I open my eyes.

The waves have turned to spirals and are churning from the lake in giant pillars. Like hands reaching for the sky in twirls and snakes and columns ten times our height. Kenan and the four soldiers back up, uttering curses, as I feel Eogan's heartbeat beneath my fingertips.

I look down to see my crystalline shield stretch over Eogan, coating his skin like water, turning it to midnight skies covered in a million stars.

Oh, thank hulls.

Except . . .

I peer closer.

It's not doing anything else.

One, two, three, I count, willing his heartpulses to strengthen, to respond, as around us the air is sparkling with water droplets filling the atmosphere in rainbow hues of red and blue and orange. Set against the green backdrop of the forest and hills and mountains with white peaks. “Come on,” I mutter.
C'mon.

The atmosphere stirs round me—a hurricane blinding me—and
next thing I know it's yanking at the very veins inside me, as if pulling at my marrow and blood. There's a break in the tone—a prodding that's forcing me back from Eogan, forcing me to release him, as if the block or whatever his ability is within him is pressing me away. I gasp and the shield covering him is shivering, then cracking and dissolving off of him into the air, and then the world suddenly slips away.

Litches.

I can't see, can't feel, can't hear anything but that melody in my chest.

I shut my eyes. And wait.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes go by before I open my eyelids, but when I do, it's to find the lake has emptied half of itself out to touch the sky in millions of water drops, floating in the air, on my breath, on my skin. They sparkle and twist and bump each other in a dance that is both colorful and clear.

I blink and the watery fog begins to fade—enough so I can see again, and Eogan is somehow awake and seated in front of me, watching the beauty of it too. “Well, that's not something one sees every day,” he murmurs.

I laugh, but it comes out a sob.
Is he all right?
“Are you—do you—?” But I don't even have to ask because I can feel it just as clearly as I see it. His color is returning, stronger, richer than before, and that wound on his neck is now just a scar and the bruising surrounding it has faded. And his face and eyes and hair . . .

His hair is standing straight up from all the static.

He catches my glance and I snicker.

“Yes, well, if mine's a mess, imagine what yours looks like right now.” His lips twitch as I shove my hands to my white tresses—which
are in fact also standing straight on end. “Seriously, I almost feel mortified for you,” he continues with a wink.

I laugh a third time, and it carries louder and farther than intended across the waters. As if on cue, the dewdrops collect and condense and begin to collapse back into the lake's center, creating waves that crash around our ankles. Until my relief turns to another sob, and I slip my hand into his just to make sure he really is real this time. And that he really is fine.

“Remind me not to ever make you angry in a place like this,” he whispers. “Because I don't mind admitting this is hands down the bleeding strangest thing I've been through.” He tightens his large fingers around my shaking ones. His hand is warm.

“Better now?” I ask because I don't know what to say.

“You have no idea.” He draws close and lingers his gaze on mine. “Although”—he clears his throat—“don't you need something here too?”

“The queen wasn't exactly clear on that point.”

“Got it.” He looks around at the still-rippling water. “Well, perhaps I should throw you in? Maybe you're supposed to become one with your element or something.”

He starts to pick me up, but I'm already screeching and batting him away. “I'll figure it out on my own, thankyouverymuch.” I turn to look at the guards, who're no longer there. They've backed up behind the tree line, looking scared or in awe.
Whatever.
I slip off my boots and allow the cool foam to continue its surge around me.

Nothing.

I wade in farther, until I'm up to my waist, followed by my chest and shoulders.

“Watch out for piranhas,” Eogan calls.

I shoot him a very uncouth gesture before diving the hulls in. When I come up, I use my fists to bring up the water in more
columns. And just like with Eogan, it's as if the Valley loses her breath and regains it all at once, and it's full of life and silence and more beauty than my head can comprehend.

But that's it.

After climbing from the water, I dry off over the grass. The Bron soldiers are staring at me as if I may be possessed, and I hear Eogan over there assuring them that yes, I am.

I grin and look toward the trees farther down, as if expecting Uathúils will emerge. But there's not a branch moving or a bird chirping that sounds out of place through the early evening dim.

What was I expecting? That my power would somehow call a horde of fighters down to help us? If they were hiding somewhere, they surely would've shown themselves by now. What had the queen said? That this was
one
possible solution, but if it didn't work . . .

Eogan looks over and peers square into my face. As if to assure me. “We
will
win the war, Nym. It's not all on you.”

I blink and glance down because I'm pretty certain it is, in fact, up to me.

But before I can head toward him, the sound of a horn blasts through the entire Valley.

“Blasted litch,” Eogan says.

CHAPTER 15

W
E'RE RUNNING THROUGH THE TREES, TRIPPING
over bracken and bushes in the dim when the horn blows again.

I clench my fist. If this is to be the beginning of the fight, might as well make it a good one. “Draewulf?” I toss out in Eogan's direction while rumbling the sky.

He glances up at the evening lights and shakes his head. “I haven't heard a third airship.”

How he could tell one droning sound from another is beyond me—maybe it's the lack of bombs going off, but I don't ask. I just keep my blood peaked and continue running beside him as that horn blows a third time, until suddenly we're erupting from the brush and forest into the meadow.

We stall.

Our airship is surrounded by Faelen soldiers and horses.

“You'll halt if you value your men,” a familiar voice rings out.

I slow and squint through the torch-lit dim.
Rolf?

King Sedric's Captain of the Guard is sitting atop his steed, pointing a sword toward the Cashlin guard's throat.

“Rolf!” A crack of thunder rumbles overhead—partially in relief and partially to let him know it's me. I step forward with my hands up.

His fierce expression flickers. “M'lady?” He keeps the blade in place but peers closer. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to see King Sedric. There's war in Tulla and Cashlin, and it's headed this way.”

“Reports from the waterway claim Tulla is under attack from Bron airships.” He glances behind me up to where Eogan's standing. “Are the delegates with you as well?”

“A few. But Lady Gwen and Lord Percival stayed.” I don't know how else to explain the fact that they're being held as hostages by Draewulf's wraith army.
If they haven't been turned into wraiths themselves.

He furrows his brow and lowers his voice, glancing at Eogan. “The Bron king's airships were seen heading for Tulla three days ago, and there's been dust and smoke visible to the watchmen on our warboats. Do you know of this?”

“I do, and we've only barely escaped from there. Which is why we need to speak with King Sedric immediately.” I tip my head toward the Cashlin guard. “That man and two Luminescents are with us as well. We brought them to assist in the fight.”

Rolf's eyes cloud. He frowns at Eogan but his words are for me. “Fight against whom, miss?”

Litches.

I look around at his men. They don't know about Draewulf.

I start forward, but one of the Faelen guards steps beside me, as if to caution me to stop where I am, even as his gaze stays friendly. I peer insistently at the captain. “The Dark Army and Draewulf.”

Rolf's expression shutters in confusion. “Draewulf? You'll forgive me, miss, but he is dead. You and I both saw it.” But his sword sags away from the Cashlin guard before he extends it toward the soldier blocking me. He waves it to allow me through.

I stride up to the horse. “To explain right now would take more
time than we have. I must see the king. I have a letter from Cashlin's Queen Laiha for him.” I pull the correspondence from my tunic and hold it up. “And, Rolf,” I add before he can argue. “We have Lady Isobel as prisoner aboard this ship.”

His brow rises.

My lungs beat. My head beats. My legs and muscles ache, weary with the reality that I've hardly slept in two days and we barely made it in time for Eogan to survive. Yet somehow he did—
again
—and I've not even had time to process my relief or awe or whatever in litches I'm feeling about that. And now I'm trying to convince the king's Captain of the Guard that we're not the threat that's coming. Much like we tried to convince Queen Laiha.