Page 32 of From the Mouths of Sirens

“You speak blasphemously, little brother,” Raven said in a near whisper. Her hands were curled so tightly into fists that her knuckles went white. “You are toying with things beyond your control. Things you could never understand,” she paused. “If you must know, I have it on the Order of Elders’ good authority that the Mer are scheming to overthrow us by sewing seeds of chaos and disrupting our trade routes. Korina Petrakou herself has informed me of their plotting.”

“Since when has the Order ever concerned themselves with matters of state? They never advise our peace laws and treaties. They hide away in their temples until the next Tournament.” She turned her back toward him, refusing to look into his eyes.

“It is a good thing that you are not Queen,” she said over her shoulder. “You are a military captain because I made it so. I can easily take your position from you if you continue to fraternize with the enemy.”

Her words stung like frozen chips of ice. For a moment, it felt like he hardly knew the woman standing before him. She had never so blatantly put him in his place.

“You’d better keep yourself in check, Rook,” she warned. “The Tournament begins tomorrow morning and you must be prepared. No more talk of disunity or of secrets. No more conversing with the enemy or challenging them to childish duels. You know the truth,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. “It’s time that you choose what to believe.”

Rook watched as his sister left the room, her robes billowing as she turned the corner. He didn’t know what to think. He certainly wasn’t on the Mer’s side. But it was becoming increasingly clear that there was more to the story than he had been told. He sighed, pushing back his hair in defeat. Raven was right. Now was not the time to think about secret deception and conspiracy theories. Hel, he was competing in the Tournament in a day’s time. Three days ago, he hadn’t given a second thought to any of the other nations, and now he was talking like a revolutionary.

Pull yourself together, he told himself. Your team needs you.

He left his rooms in a cloud of confusion. He wandered through the Citadel without purpose, walking through the sunlit halls absent-mindedly. It suddenly struck him that these might be his last moments in the palace should he die in the arena. But he couldn’t focus on the familiar halls he strolled down, nor could he reflect on his life within these ancient walls. His mind was racing with questions he had never thought to ask. As hard as he fought, his thoughts kept slipping back to the Mer princess. Something about Saoirse and her people captivated him. He hated that he was intrigued by her.

Rook found himself outside the Citadel, walking down the grand staircase that emptied into the courtyard. Courtiers and court diplomats passed by him in a flurry, but he barely registered them. The wind shifted his feathers, calling him to take to the skies. He closed his eyes, feeling the reassuring warmth of the sun on his face. He unfurled his wings and leaped into the air without a second thought. He soared above the courtyard, flying between the floating towers that were tethered to the Citadel below. He headed for the Order Temple, a levitating building that jutted out above the palace. Spires pierced through the cotton-white clouds, capped by shining gold domes. Just days before, Rook, Eros, and Veila had been chosen by the Auran Elders in the Temple, crowned with laurels and blessed with victory.

The floating pavilion was covered in curling ivy vines, its thick pillars nearly obscured by tangles of green. As long as he could remember, the Order Temple had remained tethered in place above the Citadel, reminding everyone of the Elders’ place in Revelore. The ancient Order of acolytes had served the continent since the Great Peace, when the Crown was forged as a symbol of unity between the nations. The Order was charged by the founders of Revelore with preserving its people, protecting every nation and tongue and race. Supposedly the Elders of each court watched over Revelore and upheld the old laws with unbiased neutrality, but it seemed that each branch had developed their own ulterior motives in recent years. But though Rook didn’t trust the Elders, he respected them.

As he flew near, he could see that the Elders of every nation had gathered in the floating Temple. Every decade, the purple-robed Order would come together to pay homage to the old ways and meditate on the history of Revelore through sessions of oral history and primeval chants. The Elders were mostly silent about matters of state, leaving the volatile politics to the rulers of the continent. Though the Order ultimately bowed to the ruler of Revelore, their authority held a sacred weight that was seldom questioned. The Tournament itself had been conceived by the Elders thousands of years ago, and had since been preserved generation after generation. Though only in the last century was the Crown of Revelore chosen as the grand prize for whomever won.

Raven’s words in his room returned to him: “I have it on the Order of Elders’ good authority that the Mer are scheming to overthrow us by sewing seeds of chaos and disrupting our trade routes. Korina Petrakou herself has informed me of their plotting.”

Since when had the Elders ever cared about missing merchant ships and the economics of Revelore? And why would they have information on trade routes in the first place? None of what Raven had said made any sense.

He flew by the open pavilion, drinking in the sight of hundreds of candles shining brightly in the archways and flickering on the steps leading up to the Temple. Countless purple robes shifted as the Elders of Revelore continued to light candles and move about the ancient hall, singing their ancient chants to the heavens. He watched them from the sky, both intrigued and intimidated. High Elder Korina did not hold the highest rank in the order, but she was certainly the oldest one alive. It was an honor to be selected as Master of Trials, and every Elder across Revelore pined for the position. He knew in particular that High Elder Adda Carew of Elorshin had hungrily sought the position for the last few decades. But the last time a Mer had been selected as Master of Trials was centuries ago, before the war between Aurandel and Elorshin had fractured the continent’s unity. And it would likely stay that way for a very long time.

He swept by, sending a rush of wind across the candles on the steps. They flickered in the breeze but continued to burn. He pumped his wings harder and soared through the clouds, trying to rid himself of the mysterious and disconcerting view of the Temple.

But just as he passed the ancient steps of the pavilion, one of the Elders looked over her shoulder at him. As if time stopped and the world shifted, he could feel her bright green eyes burning through him. Just for a moment, the wind seemed to still.

High Elder Adda Carew smiled at him.

17

SAOIRSE

At dawn, Saoirse and her fellow tributes were escorted to the courtyard of the Citadel. Their attendants crowded around them, waving banners and flags in celebration of the Tournament. It was the last time they’d get a glimpse of their champions before they’d watch them from the stands.

As they were led through the crowd of Mer courtiers and toward the awaiting chariots, her stomach churned. The voices of cheering Merfolk filled her ears, reminding her of why she had dreamed of this day her whole life. But instead of excitement, apprehension seeped into her heart like a slow-acting poison.

Through the dull roar of the crowd, Saoirse managed to pull herself out of her thoughts and focus on reality. Sune stepped into the chariot first, holding out a hand for Aurelia as she climbed in behind him. Elaborate golden cuffs wrapped around their wrists and forearms, more stylistic than protective. In addition to the gold cuffs, the three of them wore matching uniforms of deep turquoise, tailored perfectly to each of them. The flexible, light fabric was soft against Saoirse’s skin, perfect for mobility and combat. The fitted breeches were flesh against her legs, as tight as a second skin.

Unlike the raeda that had taken them to Coarinth from the coast, their chariot was open to the air for everyone to see. Chained to the front, three winged horses waited anxiously for flight, pawing at the street with silver-painted hooves.

Saoirse began to step into the chariot, but a cold hand suddenly grabbed her arm. Nails dug into her skin as Adda Carew pulled her back.

“Do not forget your bargain,” she hissed in her ear. Saoirse went cold, the world blurring as Adda tightened her grip on her arm. “Selussa is watching.” The High Elder let go of her, melting back into the crowd as quickly as she had appeared.

Saoirse tried not to appear rattled by her words. She forced herself to look ahead, even though her hands were shaking. Saoirse took Sune's outstretched hand and climbed into the carriage, the burn of Adda’s fingers still lingering on her skin.

“This is it,” Aurelia noted in disbelief, staring out into the fray of cheering Merfolk.

“We've trained for this, and worse. We'll manage,” Sune added, grabbing the crossbar attached to the front of the chariot for balance. But Saoirse couldn’t hear their words as Adda’s warning reverberated through her head and blotted out all other sounds.

Selussa is watching.

She didn’t need to be reminded of what she had to do. She had thought of the bargain all night, tossing and turning in her bed as thoughts of Rook plagued her mind. He was infuriating and arrogant, and his charming smile sent her blood boiling. But the act of killing him had become much harder to think about. She had gazed at the vial of Selussa’s blood for a long time the night before, trying to think of ways to do it. She could sneak up on him. She could take him by surprise when he least suspected it, attacking him while he was distracted. But no matter the strategy, Saoirse couldn’t help but feel disgusted with herself. Eventually, she decided that she would just wait until the first trial was over. She needed to get a feel for what she was up against before she could make a solid plan. The decision to wait gave her a measure of peace, finally allowing her to sleep.

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