Page 39 of From the Mouths of Sirens

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rook told Hasana, bowing slightly. “I’d heard stories of Numair Majid’s great leadership in battle. He was a well-respected warrior, Your Highness. His death was an honorable one.” Hasana’s honey-brown eyes flashed, as if she had something to say. But she said nothing, merely inclining her head at him in thanks.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” Rook continued. “However, my sister has organized a meeting that demands our collective attention to resolve a matter of great importance to our lands and peoples."

“What is this meeting about?” Hasana asked, folding her arms across her chest. There, in the doorway of the tent, Hasana looked impossibly weary and aged beyond her years. It was the face of a young leader who had borne too much weight and seen too much. Rook had seen that expression on Raven’s face too many times to count.

“I can’t say here,” Rook said in a hushed voice, glancing around at the neighboring tents. Hasana sighed, turning back to her companions and giving them a short nod.

“Allow me a moment to collect myself,” she told him, wiping a sleeve against her damp face. “I will join you in the Queen’s tent momentarily.”

“Do you require an escort?” Rook asked, eyeing the mourning tributes.

“No,” Hasana replied. “I don’t believe that would be the best decision. Judging from your face, you’d like to keep this meeting rather discreet. Am I correct?” She looked up at him, cocking a dark eyebrow.

“That is probably for the best,” Rook admitted.

“You Aurans never want to make a scene,” Hasana murmured, her intelligent eyes never leaving his face. “Not when your power is in question.”

Rook was taken aback, his jaw clenching. Her discernment was eerie, and even worse, frighteningly accurate. He said nothing, merely giving her a nod and turning away. There was something about Hasana that got under his skin and made him uncomfortable.

Mud squelched under his boots as Rook headed for the blue tents on the north side of the camp, where the Mer tributes had made their homes for the next three days.

“She isn’t here,” a voice called out from behind him. Rook turned to see the blonde-haired Mer tribute stomping through the mud. Aurelia, he remembered as she strode toward the tent. She was soaked to the bone, her tunic clinging to her skin in the downpour. But her pale scales shone in the rain, more vibrant than they had been before.

“One of our companions is in the healer’s tent,” Aurelia explained, shoving past him. “He barely made it out of that damned labyrinth in one piece. It will be a miracle if Sune heals enough to compete in the next trial,” Aurelia said, pulling open the tent angrily. She whirled around, fury written on every part of her face. “What do you want with Saoirse?” she demanded, her turquoise eyes flashing with a challenge. “If you touch her, I’ll gut you.”

“The rulers of Revelore are summoned to a meeting,” Rook offered. “Her presence is required.”

“Since when did Aurandel ever include Elorshin in their negotiations?” she asked, her lips curled in disgust. “How benevolent of you to invite a lowly Mer princess to your stately gathering.”

“Where is she?” Rook asked, ignoring her. “It is of great importance.”

Aurelia said nothing for a moment, her eyes roving over his face and stopping at the gash that streaked across his forehead. She stared at him for a long time, determining if he could be trusted. Something like resolve softened her features, and her shoulders slumped in surrender.

“She’s in the river,” Aurelia told him. She pointed to a clearing in the trees, where the great Adonis River cut through the vast sweep of woodlands. The churning, white-foamed rapids were not for the faint of heart. But for someone hailing from the wild waters of the Maeral Sea, Rook supposed the river was mere child’s play. Rook gave her a thankful nod, turning toward the roaring Adonis River north of the camp. An odd thrill whispered through his chest at the thought of seeing Saoirse again. It was the same feeling that Rook felt just before a brawl, when adrenaline hummed through his body and prepared him for battle.

Where the Mer princess was concerned, he might as well be preparing for a fight.

20

SAOIRSE

Saoirse invited the biting cold of the river gladly. The roaring waters swelled around her, ushering sweet relief to her dry skin and enveloping her in a familiar, weightless hold. Saoirse drifted through the river, allowing it to carry her over eddies and around rocks that sprang up from the riverbed. She closed her eyes and let the rapids churn and swirl around her body.

She had been unconscious only for a moment, waking up in a healer’s tent an hour after completing the first trial. Here on land, it felt as though she could never get enough air to breathe, could never quite find her balance the way she could in the sea. The emotional and physical toils of the maze had overtaken her, forcing her into unconscious submission. She had awoken to prodding fingers and unfamiliar faces looming over her, a ceiling of white fabric stretching above her. But what she needed was not in glass vials or contained in healer’s jars. What she needed was water.

Now, the Adonis River claimed her, its cold rapids revitalizing her with every push and pull. Surrounded by water and inhaling it on each breath, Saoirse began to heal. But even as she tumbled through the foaming rapids and felt the friendly sting of rain above, she knew it was not the end.

Surviving the first trial was only the beginning.

She turned in the water, her strength renewed. She kicked and dove, dodging jagged rocks and swimming with the current. Her heart soared as she flew through the river, her body remembering strokes and kicks without reminder or instruction. She broke the surface of the river with a leap, diving back under as soon as the air kissed her skin. She missed the feeling of diving next to dolphins, missed the call of seagulls as they flew overhead.

But at the back of her mind, Selussa’s bargain gnawed at her. Here in the water, Saoirse was reminded of where she belonged, of what she was fighting for. The absence of her power was a constant reminder of what she had sacrificed to be in the Tournament. A reminder of what she would lose if she failed. Thoughts of her father suddenly filtered into her mind as she swam, seeping into the water around her until she could hardly breathe. Guilt and obligation warred inside of her, tearing her heart into shreds. Saoirse shoved her emotions down, letting out a scream underwater.

You will finish what you started, she vowed to herself. Her lies and deceit would be worth it in the end. They had to be.

As she launched out of the river in a graceful leap, she caught a glimpse of a shadow on the river bank. She dove under once more, taking a deep breath before rising to the surface. With only her eyes above the water, she took in the form of a man standing at the river’s edge, the familiar outline of his wings unmistakable. Her heart pounded faster at the sight of Rook, something like relief pooling in her stomach. He had survived the first trial.

Reluctantly, she swam over to him. Her feet caught on the soft pebbles that were embedded in the slope of the riverbank. She hated how her body was pulled toward the earth, anchored to solid ground as she trudged up the bank. Already, the energy she’d gained from the river was fading rapidly, leaving her limbs aching and her muscles sore. Her skin felt suddenly hot as she felt Rook’s gaze upon her. But she merely lifted her head, giving him an unwavering gaze as she strode toward him. They said nothing to each other, both warily assessing the other.

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