Page 28 of From the Mouths of Sirens

“What happened?” Rook asked raggedly, his eyes cracking open.

“You went over the bridge,” Saoirse answered. “You almost drowned.”

Rook leveled an unsteady gaze on her, confusion on his face. “You saved me? Why?”

“I would’ve lost my ability to compete in the Tournament if I had let the heir of Aurandel drown,” she quickly replied. “In fact, I most likely would’ve been sentenced to death.” Though that was partly true, she was just as puzzled as he was by her actions.

“You chose to come after me,” Rook said, half to her and half to himself. He sat up with a groan, placing a hand on his head. “And for that I thank you.”

“I should’ve never let it go that far,” Saoirse argued. “That was so reckless of me.”

“We’ll call it even,” Rook said with a pained grin. “Let’s call it a truce and forget it ever happened.”

Saoirse fumbled with the dagger that was strapped to her thigh, her hands trembling after so much exertion. “Here,” she offered, handing the blade to Rook. “Take it. You deserve to win the bet.”

But Rook only shook his head wearily. “It was never about the dagger,” he said softly. He leaned back in the water, looking up at her inquisitively. “I know that blade means nothing to you, I can see it on your face. It was never about the wager,” he repeated, almost to himself. “You know that as well as I do.”

“You didn’t even bring the book you wagered, did you?” Saoirse asked.

“No,” the prince replied. “I didn’t need to.” At her raised brow, he confessed, “there is no book. My father never read to me as a child. I made it up.”

The arrogant bastard. Why hadn’t she just let him drown?

Wingbeats filled the air from above as Veila and Eros circled them. Sune and Aurelia weren’t with them, likely abandoned on the sky bridge as soon as Rook had gone over. Eros hit the sand, running towards them. Veila was close behind, an expression of horror on her face. The two of them kneeled next to Rook in the shallow waves.

“You’re alive,” Veila breathed. She ran her hands along his face, her eyes catching on the ugly bruise that grew darker by the second.

“You,” Veila snarled, directing her gaze at Saoirse. She rose from the water, her gaze burning with fury. “You tried to kill the prince!” She lunged at Saoirse and pinned her to the ground, her hands curling into a fist.

“Get off of her,” Rook ordered. “Veila, stop!”

Veila shoved away from her reluctantly, rising from the sand with a vengeful look on her face. “It was as much my fault as it was hers,” Rook offered, sparing a glance at Saoirse.

“Let me at least take him to an infirmary,” Saoirse began.

“No. You’ve done enough, siren,” Eros hissed.

Saoirse flinched at the derogatory word. She was suddenly grateful that Aurelia had been left on the sky bridge, otherwise she might have killed him.

Eros slipped an arm under Rook’s shoulder, helping him stand. Veila held him up from the other side, her eyes dark with hatred. “See you in the arena.” And without another word, the three of them rose into the air and vanished on the wind.

15

SAOIRSE

After she nearly killed Rook at the sky bridge, Saoirse made Aurelia and Sune swear their meeting with the Aerials to secrecy. She didn’t feel like inciting the wrath of the Elders or earning a scolding from Ambassador Vangelis on the eve of the Tournament. And the last thing they needed was the rest of the tributes finding out that she had almost killed the Auran prince. They already believed Mer to be cunning and deceptive. She didn’t need one more stain darkening her reputation.

But although Sune and Aurelia promised to keep their duel on the sky bridge a secret, Saoirse was powerless to stop Rook and his companions from telling the world what she’d nearly done. She didn’t trust the Auran prince for one second. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that her saving his life atoned for her reckless behavior. Aurans were slow to forgive and quick to collect their enemies’ debts. She had no doubt that one day he would demand retribution.

Sitting across from Vangelis in a small meeting room near their private quarters, Saoirse fidgeted in her seat as she thought of the events of that morning. Aurelia and Sune sat on either side of her, their expressions dark. A part of her felt guilty about dragging them into the feud that was blooming between her and Rook, but a smaller, secretive part of herself was proud that she had bested him in front of her companions. Though their skirmish on the bridge wasn’t anywhere near the level of savagery that would take place in the arena, all her years of training seemed to have paid off. She had earned the right to gloat some, hadn't she? Beating the Captain of the Ariels in his own turf and saving his life by her own hands was no small feat. She allowed herself a small, hidden smile.

“In the arena,” Ambassador Vangelis was saying, “you must follow your tasks exactly as the Master of Trials commands.” Thick candles sat on the table between them, puddles of wax pooling along the wood. The flickering flame glimmered against his deep blue scales.“There is no trickery in the Master of Trials’ tasks, but that doesn’t mean the challenges are straightforward,” he said, looking at each of them sternly. His long fingers were entwined carefully on the table before him. Saoirse watched as a melted glob of wax dripped threateningly close to his folded hands.

“In the seventh Tournament of Revelore, during the second trial, each group of tributes were tasked with obtaining a feather from a griffin. Griffins are notoriously hard creatures to tame, as you know. They are proud of their feathers above all else, and to pluck one from their shoulders is as difficult as threading a needle with a frayed string.”

Saoirse remembered the first time she glimpsed one of the magnificent creatures flying over the Isles of Mythos. Its white feathers looked as though they had each been dipped in a pot of gold on the ends. The beast’s lion body had been corded with muscle, its tawny coat catching the light of the sun as it sped through the clouds. She shuddered at the thought of facing one in the arena.

“The Tellusun tributes defied the odds and plucked not one, but three feathers from the griffin,” Vangelis continued. “Naturally, the Tellusun tributes believed that they had executed the second trial perfectly. But they were disqualified because they did not adhere to the Master of Trial’s task. They were instructed to collect a single feather, and no more.”

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