Page 20 of From the Mouths of Sirens

“Are these rooms always given to the Mer tributes?” Saoirse inquired, surveying the intricate murals that were etched into the mahogany.

“Yes,” Cresta answered. “These chambers were designed centuries ago, before the War of the Age. They were once used for visiting members of your court, in fact. When the Mer frequently visited our great city, these rooms housed them for long periods of time. Now, they are only used during the Tournament season every decade. Here is yours, Captain Kresten,” the ambassador informed Sune matter-a-factly. She fitted a massive silver key into the keyhole, clicking it open. Curves of flowers and delicate animals were carved into the wood, creating a woodland scene on the door. At the center of the mural, a woman stood with an arrow notched against her bow. Saoirse identified her as the Tellusun huntress Vasia, one of the founders of Revelore.

“Your attendants will be with you shortly,” Cresta continued. “Your belongings have already arrived for you.”

Sune nodded, pushing inside the room. “See you in a few hours,” he mumbled. Without another word he shut himself in his room.

“Someone is anxious to be rid of us,” Aurelia whispered with feigned incredulity as Cresta led them to the next door a few paces away. Saoirse smothered a laugh.

“And yours, Captain Eleni,” Cresta said, unlocking the next door. Another exquisite scene was etched into the door, this time depicting the Mer Queen Basilia. The fearsome ruler was mounted on the back of a kelpie, her sword raised to the heavens as the ocean rallied behind her.

“I’ll see you soon.” Aurelia gave Saoirse a reaffirming nod before stepping into her chamber and vanishing behind the door.

Finally, Cresta led Saoirse to the last chamber at the end of the hallway. Saoirse paused at her door and traced a finger along the faded mural. An array of clouds floated across the wood, creating a view of the sky. At the center of the mural, the Auran king Aris was depicted drawing his dagger from its scabbard. Saoirse frowned disappointedly. Out of all the chambers, she had to stay in the room with one of Aurandel’s greatest legends splayed proudly across the door. She had no doubt Cresta had deliberately chosen this one, subtly undermining her in any way she could.

Cresta pushed open the door, bowing slightly as Saoirse stepped into the chamber. Sconces of undying flames lit the room in a familiar glow. The reassuring blue light undulated across the stone walls as the flames flickered against the shadows, reminding her of home.

“If you need anything, simply ring this bell and someone will come to your rooms,” Cresta paused, gesturing to a mechanism on the wall. A silver bell was attached to a series of intricate levers and pulleys, vanishing into the stone ceiling and connecting somewhere above. “Your attendants will arrive shortly. Rest while you can, Princess. The banquet will begin soon.” Without another word, Cresta stepped out of the room and shut the door.

For the first time in days, Saoirse was finally alone. She gulped in the cool air of her chambers, her lungs still adjusting. She realized that her titansblood elixir was wearing off, her breathing becoming more laborious by the minute. She hastily retrieved the vial from her satchel and quickly uncorked it. She braced herself for the foul burn of mangrove and willowherb, downing it quickly.

After a few agonizing moments, the potion finally settled. She walked slowly through her chamber and drank in all the stunning details. Elaborate tapestries hung on the walls, weaving stories out of fabric that were born from myth and legend. Gilded pots housed plants of all shapes and sizes, delicately arranged through the room. Thick, ornate rugs of purple and gold covered the floor and cushioned her steps.

As Saoirse explored her room, she heard the sound of water trickling faintly behind the wall. Spying another door, she strode over and gently pushed it open. Inside, she was met with a small bathing chamber. She grinned when she smelled the familiar scent of briny salt water. Crisp towels were folded neatly on a shelf that was cut into the stone wall. Countless glass jars containing scented soaps and fine salts glittered on the lower shelves. And at the center of the chamber, a giant pool sank into the floor. The dark waters of the bath rippled softly, inviting her in.

Unable to deny the call of the water, she unhooked the pouch at her waist and cast it to the side. The dull clink of Selussa’s vial within made her hesitate for a moment. She slowly pulled the obsidian flask out, staring at the shining vial containing the witch’s dark blood.

This was why she was here. The bargain.

Blood is more valuable than gold. It can unlock doors and seal promises. It can bring great fortune and favor, but it can be spilled so easily. Selussa’s words echoed through her head as she stared at the vial. She hastily tucked it back into the pouch, unwilling to face the memory of Selussa. She didn’t need to worry about her deal with the witch just yet. The time of reckoning would come later. Now she simply needed to rest and mentally prepare for what was to come at the banquet.

She stripped off her Torqen armor and the tunic underneath, peeling off her seaweed-woven trousers as quickly as her aching hands allowed. She hadn’t realized how dry her skin had become in the wind and high altitude until the cool water slipped over her toes. She lowered herself into the pool, following the stone steps that descended into the water. As soon as the saltwater met her scales, she felt instant relief. With each step lower, her body became loose and relaxed, the tension of the day dissolving into foam. Water lapped at her shoulders as she sank lower, and a smile flitted across her face. The familiar touch of brackish water was like the hand of an old friend, pulling her into an embrace. She sunk deeper, letting the water rise above her head and enclose her. She breathed in blissfully and closed her eyes. Under the water, she could almost pretend that she was still in the Maeral Sea.

She never wanted to leave.

* * *

Hours later, Saoirse could make out muffled voices beyond the water. She slowly rose, only just enough to see above the pool. Beyond the bathing chamber, she could hear soft conversation and furniture being moved around in the sitting room. Someone knocked at the door.

Saoirse cursed under the water. She could’ve stayed submerged for several more hours. But she was grateful for the measure of comfort and privacy she had been granted, even if it hadn’t been long enough. She found the steps at the bottom of the pool, forcing herself to rise up and out of the water.

“Come in,” she called out, wrapping herself in one of the towels she’d plucked from the shelf. The door swung open gently, the light from the sitting room spilling into the bathing chamber. Her attendant Isme, stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“It is time to prepare you for the banquet, Your Highness,” Isme told her apologetically. “I know you’ve only just arrived, but we’ve much to do.”

“It’s good to see you, Isme. Thank you for being here.” She grabbed Isme’s hands, looking into her familiar eyes. Isme had watched her grow up, serving her faithfully for almost seventeen years. After her mother had died, Isme was as close to a maternal figure as she had.

“It is an honor.” Isme gave her hands a squeeze. “I’ve waited for this day just as long as you have. Shall we begin?”

Saoirse nodded, her blood began to race. Her stylists and attendants were opening her travel trunks, spreading out the clothing and decorative jewelry they had packed for her. A sting of regret burned in her chest when her eyes found the fine jewels that her father had given to her just before she left.

Make us proud, he had said when he sent her off from the palace. Wear these family heirlooms with pride. She longed for him to be here. She was painfully reminded that this was not how she wanted her first time in Aurandel to be. She wanted her father to be at her side, his eyes bright with pride. But this dream had come at a steep cost, and now all she could do was make the best of it.

“We will do your hair first,” Isme told her, helping Saoirse sit in a cushioned chair at the center of the room.

The attendants swarmed around her in a frenzy, hovering like moths to flame. Her attendants had planned out her banquet attire the minute they had found out she’d be competing in the Tournament, working tirelessly to create a wardrobe befitting of the Princess of Elorshin. Each person in the room had been chosen for a specific purpose, many of them training their whole lives for a moment like this. The tribute’s banquet was an event that, like the Tournament itself, only took place every ten years. The banquet provided her stylists the rare opportunity to showcase the unique fashions of Elorshin.

Appolon, one of her favorite stylists, braided her dark curls. He wrapped the intricate twists over the crown of her head. The lower half of her hair fell across her shoulders, loose curls spilling down her back. He tucked flowers into her hair, somehow immaculately preserved throughout their entire journey. The native blue flowers of the sea seemed to glow in the light, their petals slightly translucent. Finally, he pinned tiny white pearls and smooth seashells throughout her hair, weaving them into the braids and curls seamlessly.

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