Page 3 of From the Mouths of Sirens

“I was thinking we should discuss some more trial strategies,” Raven began, her eyes scanning over the various cuts and bruises from his earlier training session with Eros. “You promised to save your strength,” she scolded him. “Eros and Veila know better. No more training sessions.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Rook mocked with a grand flourish. “I do as my Queen commands. But if you’re about to tell me not to fly, your sisterly advice will fall on deaf ears,” he said with a smile, unfurling his pale grey wings for effect.

“After all these years, you seriously think I would get between you and the clouds?” she teased, pinching his cheek. “I know how to pick my fights, little brother. You would never let your feet touch the earth again if you had the choice.”

Raven grew serious, as if remembering why they were meeting in the first place. “Let’s go somewhere private. We need to talk about the Tournament.”

Raven pulled him into a hidden corridor connected to the throne room, heading for the private quarters of the royal family. The passageway snaked into the mountain, sculpted into the rock itself. Although the Citadel looked huge from the outside, the private quarters within Mt. Thalia were even more impressive, tunneling deep into the mountain. The stone corridors were surprisingly bright, lit by golden flames in elaborate sconces. They headed down a familiar staircase, the steps time-worn and smooth after centuries of use. They entered the great common room at the heart of their mountain palace, a roaring fireplace at the center of the room. The enormous chimney curved up the bare stone walls, climbing through the mountain and releasing the smoke through a hatch at its surface. The cavernous room was one of Rook’s favorite places in the Citadel, despite it having minimal views of the sky. Plush lounge chairs and velvet pillows crowded around the fireplace, and countless shelves of books lined the walls. Rook had spent many hours of his childhood curled up on the thick rug before the hearth, lost in a book and transported to another world. Other than the sky, books were his closest companions.

Raven sat in one of the upholstered mahogany chairs in the firelight, its dark velvet cushions sinking gently as she sat down. Rook took a seat next to her, leaning back in the chair and staring up at the glittering chandelier that hung above them, filled with flickering gold candles. When they were younger, he and Raven would pretend that the little flames were harnessed stars, shimmering in the candelabras above them. He lowered his gaze back to Raven, watching as she anxiously tapped her fingers on the side table.

“Did you see anyone on the way here?” Raven asked, her eyes darting to the shadows in the room.

“You’re scaring me, Rave,” he observed. “Whose ears are we avoiding in our own palace?”

“The Tournament is in three days,” Raven replied, her voice growing somber. “Secrets regarding the upcoming trials are worth more than gold. And harder to come by,” she added, scanning the dark corners of the library with a hawk-like gaze. “Do you have any ideas of what you will be up against in the trials? Any theories will be valuable for your survival.”

“I’ve heard a few rumors, but I doubt any of the whispers hold merit. Not even my charming smile has made the Master of Trials crack,” he added with a smirk.

“Of course not,” Raven replied, a smile cracking her serious exterior for just a moment. “High Elder Korina Petrakou was selected for her stoicism and staunch resolve. She wouldn’t risk the entire outcome of the trials because you flashed her one of your dimpled grins.”

“Well then besides you, she is the only one who can resist,” he teased in return.

“I don’t think your charm will be much help in the trials,” Raven said with a sigh, twirling a dark stand of hair between her fingers thoughtfully.

“Tell me what will, then,” Rook said, leaning in. “Tell me what you know.”

“Up until today, I’ve heard no rumors of what each trial will require,” Raven answered. “However, I stumbled upon an interesting bolt of fabric in the Master Seamstress’s wards.” She pulled something out of her pocket and presented it to him in the candlelight. In her hand was a scrap of cloth, slightly iridescent in the soft glow. She turned it, and Rook could see the almost imperceptible pattern of a silvery thread.

“Avgi silk,” Rook breathed, watching as his sister held up the scrap to the light. “To collect silk from an Avgi spider must have taken ages,” he mused.

“I have a couple of theories as to why this material might’ve been in the Seamstress’s quarters,” Raven began. “For one, Avgi silk gives off an iridescent glow. I believe the Master Seamstress may have used it to create uniforms that can be seen in the dark.”

“You think one trial may take place at night?” Rook asked, lowering his eyebrows in thought.

“Either at night or underground,” his sister replied. “The most valuable property of Avgi silk is its ability to glow in the dark, and it is primarily harvested in the Terradrin caverns of Natassa.”

“Alright then,” Rook sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So the Terradrin will likely have an advantage in one of the trials if it is hosted underground.” Thinking of being trapped in the earth with no open sky to flee to felt like his own personal torture.

“It’s just something you might want to think about,” his sister encouraged. “At least you can mentally prepare for it, if not physically.”

“Thank you,” Rook told her genuinely. “Thank you for helping me through all of this. I know it probably hasn’t been your favorite thing to re-expose yourself to the Tournament after all these years.”

“I’m fine,” Raven said quickly, averting her eyes. “It hasn’t been so bad,” she lied. “Most importantly,” she continued, “I would do anything for you. If saving your life and helping Aurandel achieve victory means returning to that time in my life, then it is worth it.”

She looked back at him sincerely, her dark blue eyes filled with concern. “Tell me you’ll win this, Rook. Tell me you’ll show no mercy.”

“I will win,” Rook replied, taking his sister’s scarred hands in his own hands. The rough skin had been burned ten years ago in one of her trials. “I will show no mercy. I will make sure we keep the Revelore Crown.”

Rook gazed over his sister’s shoulder, his eyes catching on the golden object he spoke of. Displayed in a crystal-encrusted glass case was the Revelore Crown, glimmering in the torchlight as if it were alive. Four glittering gems were set against the polished gold, each precious stone wrought from the four corners of Revelore. The Crown was forged thousands of years ago, during the Great Peace. It had once been shared by the rulers of Revelore, a metal symbol of unity and triumph. But when their alliances collapsed into the ravenous, all-consuming fire of war, every nation clambered for ownership. It had been a bloody, vicious struggle. But when the flames of war finally burned low and the chaos had subsided into burning embers, Aurandel had emerged with the Crown, their enemies vanquished and sentenced to obedience. For that was the ultimate prize of the Tournament: the right to rule over all the nations of the continent. Whoever possessed the Crown possessed Revelore.

“You must win,” Raven said, following his eyes to the Crown that served as the focal point of the room. “You must win for our ancestors’ honor. You must win for our people. You must win for me.”

“I won’t let you down,” Rook said genuinely, standing up from the chair. “I promise.”

Raven stood with him, smoothing out her tunic as she stood. She smiled at him, but not before he caught the faint shadow of fear in her eyes. He was all she had left in the world.

“We should get ready for the parade tonight,” Raven said, turning away from him. “I have at least three-hours of torturous primping and beautifying to endure that I’d like to get over with.” She looked over her shoulder at him, a wry smile on her lips. “Perhaps you’ll see the lovely Flora tonight. Maybe she’ll give you some measure of enjoyment before the Tournament,” his sister teased.

---