Page 23 of From the Mouths of Sirens

Princess Saoirse.

He had not expected the daughter of King Angwin to be chosen as a tribute. He stared at the princess, something like intrigue tugging at him. He had never seen her before. She was beautiful, her bronze skin covered by shimmering, transparent blue scales that caught the light. Her glossy dark curls fell to her waist, and tiny seashells and pearls glittered in her hair as she rose up from the bow. But under the fine dress and shining jewels, he could tell she was a warrior from her stance alone. The other two tributes, a man and a woman, were equally stunning, their clothing seeming to shift like the waves of the Maeral Sea as they rose from deep bows. If they were this graceful on land, he couldn’t fathom their grace underwater.

“Warriors of Elorshin, please take your places at the tribute’s table,” Korina told them. The three Merfolk walked forward, their chins lifted in pride. Rook had seldom met Mer in his lifetime, but these proud warriors were not what he had expected. The crowd whispered as the three tributes wove through the crowd and headed for the tribute table at the courtyard’s center. And then suddenly, they were only paces away, pulling out their chairs and sliding into the seats to his left. He tore his gaze away, staring straight ahead at the crowd. Beside him, he could smell Princess Saoirse as she moved. She smelled like sea brine, rose, and something unfamiliar.

He was frozen. He hadn’t known that he would be seated next to his greatest enemy.

“Let the celebration begin,” Korina declared, lifting her arms to the sky triumphantly.

12

SAOIRSE

Saoirse’s back was ridged as she took her seat. She glimpsed Rook from the corner of her eye, taking in every detail of his face. She had seen paintings of his likeness on occasion but had never seen him in person. It was obvious that he was tall, even sitting down. His legs seemed far too long for the chair, his ankles crossed casually as if there was not enough room to stretch out. His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his cheeks tight. For some reason those little details-like the way his eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes-hadn’t seemed like things he possessed. Until now, she had simply known him as an enemy. Different to her in every way. Not as an actual person who breathed or moved or spoke. Even so, she felt nothing towards him but resentment. She knew virtually nothing about the prince, save for the details of his activity in the military and his family’s political exploits. And that knowledge alone was enough for her to hate him.

She was under no illusions that she was somehow better than him in combat, nor did she believe she could surprise him in the trials. He was a highly-trained captain of the Ariels. She needed to know how he fought and reasoned if she was to be successful. She needed to gain his trust.

Saoirse stole glances at him, trying to see if he preferred his left hand or his right. He was left handed, she noted, watching as he picked up a goblet and brought it to his mouth. She tucked her observations away for future use. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a beautiful dagger at Rook’s hip. Her gaze caught on the gleaming black opal on the pommel of the blade. The dagger was timeworn and the gemstone cloudy, but it was still a thing of beauty. Instinctively, she knew that this was the blade that Selussa hungered for. The dark vial of Selussa’s blood seemed to hum against her skin, hidden under the bodice of her gown. She couldn’t risk one of her attendants finding the flask in her chamber, so she had tucked it away at the last minute as they shuffled her out the door. She tore her gaze away from the dagger, busying herself with taking a sip of wine from her own glass.

She looked down the chairs of tributes, fascinated by each of their differences. Beside the Auran tributes sat the three Tellusun warriors. They wore the loose, airy clothing of the Shujaa Desert. Gold cuffs shone on their arms and colorful beads were woven in their hair. Saoirse recognized the female tribute as Noora Mir, the famed archer from Princess Havana’s personal guard. Nora’s kohl-rimmed eyes never stopped scanning the crowd, constantly looking for hidden threats.

Saoirse’s eyes moved onto the white-haired tributes that sat beside them. Out of everyone there, she knew the least about their kind. Their skin was a pale grey hue, nearly translucent in the soft torchlight. All three of them had impossibly large eyes, pale and colorless after living their entire lives below the surface of the earth. Neia Landum, Captain of the Terradrin Army, caught her staring and smiled. The smile was neither friendly nor hostile, which made Saoirse uncomfortable. She tore her gaze away, forcing herself to look at the tablecloth. After surveying her competitors, Saoirse suddenly felt out of her depths. It was clear that they were all talented and highly-trained, just as she was.

A charming quartet of stringed instruments began to play a soft chorus in the background. A line of servants appeared from one of the corridors from the kitchens, silver platters in their hands. They dispersed into the crowd, bringing platter after platter of food to the tables. Her stomach was twisted with nerves, and the last thing she wanted to do was eat. Someone came up behind her, placing a covered dish right before her plate. The servant lifted the lid from the dish, exposing some kind of savory pie. She watched as several more servants placed silver platters along the tribute’s table, uncovering the exquisite dishes one by one. Stream rose from several loaves of fresh bread, and delectable scents wafted across the table. Bowls of olives, fine cheeses, and salted meats surrounded the bread, intended to be eaten together. Though the spread seemed appetizing enough, Saoirse had rarely tasted any of the surface-dweller’s food, let alone Auran cuisine. Mer preferred to eat oysters, fish, and fresh greens from the sea. She looked at Aurelia from the corner of her eye, watching as she curled a lip in disgust. Saoirse hid her smile, choosing to carefully fill her plate with food without complaint.

Saoirse felt her neck prickle. She looked beyond the table and caught a glimpse of Adda Carew watching her. The High Elder had moved away from the outskirts of the courtyard and was now sitting beside Ambassador Vangelis and the rest of the courtiers of Elorshin. Though she lifted food to her mouth, Adda’s eyes never left Saoirse. She stared at Prince Rook too, her sharp green eyes following his movements just as closely as she watched hers. With a shiver, Saoirse looked away and busied herself with piling more food onto her plate.

The tribute’s table was quiet, tension hanging in the air. No one spoke to each other, the tributes either unwilling to talk amongst themselves or unsure how. The silence was nearly unbearable, only broken by the scrape of silverware against dishes and the dull crunch of food. Saoirse had enough of the awkward silence. At this rate, she would never learn anything of value about the prince.

“Prince Rook,” she said carefully, turning towards him. “Your kingdom is more glorious than the stories I’d been told as a child.” It felt so wrong to speak with him as if his kind weren’t responsible for her peoples’ suffering.

Prince Rook looked surprised that she had spoken to him, his dark eyebrows twitching. Judging from the look on his face, her attempt at conversation was just as strange to him as it was to her. “I’m glad to hear it,” he replied roughly, clearing his throat. He took another gulp of his wine, turning directly to her with a guarded smile.

Much to her annoyance, Saoirse felt uncomfortable when she felt his direct gaze on her. He had the kind of eyes that could read a person with merely a few glances, like a predator stalking prey. But she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the clear blue eyes that surveyed her. Her breath locked in her throat. There was something strange and unnerving about staring into the eyes of her greatest enemy. Hatred and curiosity mingled together, churning in her pounding heart like the unruly tides of summer. Unable to help herself, her eyes drifted to his mouth, spying a pair of deep dimples on his cheeks as he smiled.

“Is this your first time on the surface world?” Rook asked casually, making forced small talk.

“No,” Saoirse replied. “I trained on the Isles of Mythos, just like the rest of the Torqen. Though I have never been to the continent itself.”

“You’re a member of the Torqen?” Rook seemed surprised. “That is quite an honor. I didn’t expect you to...” he broke off.

“Didn’t expect me to be a warrior?” Saoirse finished his sentence, her words coming out a bit more defensively than she had intended. She forced her tone to soften. “It’s understandable. I’m the only heir of King Angwin, and the life of a soldier is fraught with danger.” She raised an eyebrow, testing the waters. “Or perhaps you thought that I would simply be a sheltered princess, locked away with fine dresses and jewels without a thought toward swords and combat?”

“I meant no offense, Your Highness,” Rook answered, an amused smile on his lips. Saoirse couldn’t tell if he was mocking her, or if he was genuinely enjoying their conversation. “After all, I myself am Captain of the Aerials,” he went on. “I suppose you could say that the Torqen are Elorshin’s version of the Aerials, in a way.”

We’re nothing like you, Saoirse thought to herself.

“Then I guess we hold more in common than I would’ve thought,” she chose to say. Rook gave a disinterested nod, seemingly finished with their conversation.

“I’d wager that the Aerials wouldn’t stand a chance against the Torqen,” she stated quietly, innocently wiping her napkin along her mouth. To her left, Aurelia choked on some food. But just as she hoped, the prince turned back to her, his eyes bright with amusement.

“How much would you be willing to wager on that, Princess?” Rook said in her ear, his voice teasing and oozing with confidence. Much to her annoyance, her stomach flipped at the sound. She had heard tales of the prince’s conquests and charm. She wouldn’t give in.

“I’d wager every last one of these,” she answered tactfully, gesturing to the shining pearls in her hair. “Each one is worth at least a thousand pieces of gold, you know.”

A grin uncurled across his face. He was enjoying this spar of words. Evidently this Auran prince was fond of games. “No. You must wager something more valuable than that, I’m afraid. I can tell those pearls are meaningless to you, or else you wouldn’t have offered them so quickly.”

He was toying with her, testing her.

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