Page 53 of From the Mouths of Sirens

But he stopped just before his wings caught the breeze. A turquoise tent glowed in the moonlight, silver fringe drifting like sea grass in the night air.

Saoirse’s tent.

He didn’t know what compelled him to move forward, or what hands of fate pulled him toward the tent. But he found himself standing before the entrance, his hand reaching to the bell that hung on the doorway. He had only known her for a short time, and yet he yearned to talk to her about everything, to pour his heart out to her. But before he touched the bell, the fabric pulled away slowly.

Saoirse stood in the doorway, her face illuminated by the glow of the moon. The transparent scales on her cheeks glimmered in the light, as if she had been dusted with stardust. She stared up at him with somber eyes, only the barest hint of surprise looming within her gaze. She wore her hair in a long braid down her back, tight curls pulled back from her face. Though she wore only a simple tunic and dark breeches, he had never seen her look so lovely. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to say, words completely failing him at the sight of her.

She took his hand without a word and led him into the tent. In a daze, he followed her inside the small space, his heart beginning to beat rapidly. The simple tent was similar to his own, scattered with only the basic necessities. Tendrils of sea shell ropes hung from the center beam of the tent, swaying softly with the breeze. A wash basin and side table sat near the bed, a mirror balanced on the edge. A soft carpet lay across the floor, woven from sea grass and threaded with glowing strands of silver pearls. A single candle burned beside the bed. Saoirse sat down carefully, patting the space beside her. He took a seat where she gestured, sinking into the soft blankets beside her. Her hand never left his own, her fingers interlocking with his the whole time.

“Why did you help me today?” she asked after a long moment. “You should’ve left me to die down there. You should’ve turned around and fled the moment that spider started after me. Why did you put your own life in danger, Rook?” Her voice turned urgent, pleading even. “Tell me it was just so you could have the upper hand. Tell me you did it for the games, to even the odds and make yourself appear nobler when you win.”

He stared at her, dumbstruck. She genuinely couldn’t fathom a world in which an Auran would help a Mer. Then again, neither could he.

“So there always has to be an ulterior motive behind my actions?” he asked gently, reaching a hand to a stray curl. Her hair was silken and smooth between his fingers. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. “My whole life I've been noble, loyal to a fault. To my country, my people, my sister.” He paused before turning to look back at her. “I suppose I have never truly considered myself or what I want. I saved you because I wanted to. Because…” he trailed off. He leveled a gaze at her, trying to read her face. “You must think so little of me, Princess.”

“No,” she whispered, so soft he could barely hear the word. “I do not think little of you.” The words echoed between them, unnamed possibilities drifting through the air.

“I don’t know why I stayed behind,” Rook replied genuinely. His own heart was cloven in two, one half tethered to his people and the other half flying to realms he had not dared to dream of. His fingers wandered to her cheek and touched the soft scales that covered her skin. The tiny pebbles of transparent scales were as silken as flower petals, nearly indiscernible from the warmth of her flesh underneath. He was transfixed by her beauty, mesmerized by the way her cheekbones caught the light and shimmered. Her lips parted as she inhaled sharply, his fingers trailing across her cheek and down to the curve of her jaw.

“I am drawn to you, Saoirse,” he whispered, barely understanding the foreign words that came from his own mouth. “Everything you do captivates me. There is great animosity between our people,” he admitted. “But perhaps that should change.”

“Your words are blasphemous,” she gasped as he traced her jaw. “How could you be drawn to a Mer-to an enemy?” she asked, her pale blue eyes full of disbelief and unmistakable longing. “We do not belong together. We come from worlds that are so different, from histories that are so embittered.” She paused, letting the words settle between them like the stones at the bottom of the Adonis River. “And we still don’t know the truth. The sins of our ancestors may be much worse than we realize.”

“I know,” Rook admitted. He knew as well as she how foolish it was that they sat together exchanging such tender words. It was treasonous for him to be there at all. But Rook suddenly didn’t care. He felt nothing but stinging betrayal from his own sister and raging anger toward those who lied to him. Saoirse was the only one that made any sense. Her honesty was so refreshing in the broken world of shadows and secrets that threatened to consume him.

To his shock, Saoirse leaned in and pressed her mouth to his. Her lips felt as soft as they looked. His heart stopped for a moment as she leaned closer, wrapping her arms around his neck with gentle strength. Her fingers wove into the hair at the nape of his neck, curious and probing. Rook cupped her chin, drawing Saoirse even closer as their lips moved together. He had shared countless stolen kisses with women. But never had a kiss made his blood sing and his heart soar to the heavens before. The woman curled around him was neither Mer nor Aura.

She was simply Saoirse.

She gave him a shy smile as they gazed at each other in the candlelight. He wrapped his arms around her, fingers tracing the curve of her back and trailing against the elegant column of her throat. Their lips met again, this time more assuredly. Passion rose around them like a mist, spicing the air with sparks that ignited into fire. Rook pulled at the loose bit of yarn that held her long braid intact, watching as Saoirse’s dark curls spilled around her shoulders in a cascade.

They broke a part for a moment, gazing at one another as though seeing each other for the first time. He stared at her in wonder, emotions he didn’t understand swelling inside of him. Her eyes were bright with astonishment.

“Saoirse,” he began raggedly.

“Don’t speak,” she said, running a finger down his cheek. Though her eyes were full of awe, sorrow lingered at the edges like frost on a flower petal. The look on her face broke his heart, though he couldn’t say why.

Instead, she pressed her lips to his again, silencing his words with a kiss of fire. But the kiss was searing and quick, gone almost in an instant. She untangled herself from his lap and stood abruptly. She smoothed out the wrinkles on her tunic and straightened quickly. She walked to the edge of the tent, her slender back to him.

“You need to leave, Rook,” she said regretfully. Her voice was choked with emotion. “This will all be over tomorrow. Life will return as it always has, if we aren’t dead by the end of the trial,” she whispered.

“Saoirse-”

“You must leave,” she interrupted, looking over her shoulder at him. Tears glistened in her eyes.

“Alright,” he conceded, rising from the bed. He strode across the tent, never taking his eyes off of her.

“This is a dream that will fade in time,” Saoirse told him roughly.“This could never be, and you know it.” A silver tear trickled down her cheek, betraying her true feelings.

“How will we know if we never try?” Rook asked, doing everything in his power not to reach out and pull her into his arms.

“You don’t understand,” she breathed. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please. Just leave,” she begged.

Rook thought his heart had been torn in two before, but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt now. He nodded quickly, giving her one last meaningful glance as he turned toward the tent entrance. She was right, of course. They had no hope to ever explore the budding feelings between them. He pulled open the fabric of the tent, slipping into the night as if he had never been there at all.

26

SAOIRSE

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