Page 40 of From the Mouths of Sirens

Rook’s normally bright eyes were dark, his thick lashes clumped together with raindrops. His raven-black hair was plastered to his skull, wet tendrils creeping across his high cheekbones. His loose tunic was opened at the neck, revealing warm olive skin dampened with rain. A fresh gash on his forehead glistened, red and angry. But beside the ugly streak of crimson, he appeared whole and relatively unscathed. There was an electricity to the air around them, a slight humming that was not from the lightning in the clouds. The emotions swirling inside of her were a tangle of contradictions, warring to be dominant. Hatred. Admiration. Curiosity. Contempt. They stood across from each other in wordless challenge, daring the other to speak first.

“Princess Saoirse,” Rook stated with a nod, finally breaking the silence. His voice came out in a rasp, betraying the exhaustion he felt. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, something weary and haunted she hadn’t seen in their previous interactions.

“Prince Rook,” she returned, giving him a bow. It was a ridiculous gesture in the pouring rain, with her clothes plastered to her body and her hair in knots.

“I-” he began, his eyes scanning her face. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and touch her. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, bright and burning. He straightened, instantly transforming into the regal prince of Aurandel. Any softness in his blue eyes hardened into stone.

“You are summoned to a meeting in the Queen’s private tent. It is a matter of great importance, and all four rulers of Revelore are to be in attendance.”

“What is it?” she ventured to ask, her heart beginning to race. “What’s wrong?”

Rook’s hard exterior was unmoving, his mouth set in a firm line.“Follow me,” he simply said, turning on his heel. His wings were tucked tight against his back, the downy gray feathers damp with rain.

Instead of arguing, Saoirse followed him without a word. She was too tired to fight with him, and too curious to ruin the moment with questions that wouldn’t be answered. They trudged through the forest in silence, the roar of the Adonis gradually melting away as they drew nearer to camp. Had she visited in any other circumstances, Saoirse supposed that the woodlands might be beautiful. The towering trees were cast in vibrant shades of green, soft moss clinging to their trucks and roots. White mushrooms dotted the rich forest floor and sprigs of fern bubbled up from the soil. Even in the torrential downpour, birds called to each other from the tapestry of branches high above. But the Stone Circle loomed even taller than the trees, a smear of ugly stone that marred the brilliance of the forest.

The tribute campsite slowly came into focus as they continued walking, tents sprouting up through the forest and clustering together in little pods. At the sight of the white healer’s tents in the center of camp, Saoirse’s heart dropped. The mere thought of Sune lying helpless on a cot sent a stab of fear through her. Although it had always been a possibility that one of them could die in the Tournament, it hadn’t felt real until now. She now understood why there had been fingernail marks on the sides of the tunnel that opened into the arena.

“This way,” Rook said as they wove their way through the camp.

They passed the Mer tents, and Saoirse spied Aurelia standing outside. She exchanged a worried glance with her as they strode past. Saoirse trailed close behind Rook, watching as the cloak hanging from his shoulders became splattered with mud. Two slits cut down the swath of fabric, allowing his wings to freely extend out from the cloak. Just like her own tribute’s cloak, the crest of his people was embroidered into the rich fabric. A winged horse reared up on powerful hind quarters, surrounded by twisting vines and wreaths of laurel. It was a crest she had learned to hate, a symbol of oppression and tyranny.

Her heart began to race as they gained sight of Queen Raven’s tent at the center of the camp. Like the rest of their tents, the Queen’s quarters were adorned in the colors of her country. In the rain, the deep purple tent almost looked black, delicate threads of silver stitched across it by expert hands. But unlike the small, personalized tents of the tributes, the queen’s tent was made up of three different extensions that stretched outward like a miniature castle.

Saoirse straightened as they approached the soldiers on either side of the tent opening. She was sure that the personal guards of the queen wouldn’t hesitate to slit her throat if she so much as gave them the wrong glance. She nearly bumped into Rook as he abruptly halted, taking a step backward just before she collided with his broad back.

“Your Highness,” one of the guards acknowledged with a bow. When the soldier rose, he gave Saoirse a withering glance from beneath his iron helmet. It took everything in her power not to return his hateful gaze.

“Has everyone arrived?” Rook asked the soldier.

“Yes, Majesty,” the guard replied, moving his gaze from Saoirse back to Rook. “They’re waiting inside.” He pulled back the curtain of the tent in a graceful sweep, revealing the luxurious space within. Much to her surprise, Rook offered his arm to her in a gesture of civility. But she ignored his arm and pushed inside the tent first.

The room dripped in finery, the floor cushioned with lush carpets and plump pillows. Glowing candles sat on several mahogany sitting tables that were scattered throughout the room. At the edges of the sitting room, two more doorways opened into separate quarters within the tent, separated only by thin panelings of sheer fabric. Everywhere Saoirse looked, gold accents and luxurious upholstered chairs seemed to glow in the candlelight, a stark contrast to the dreary world outside the tent. A glossy wooden table sat at the center of the room, surrounded by six chairs.

Saoirse stiffened as she took in the guests before her, her heart pounding. The rulers of Revelore all turned to them expectantly, their eyes burning in the soft light. She had never met these strangers before, only ever studying the cultures of their courts and the political alliances formed between them from the safety of the Maeral Sea. Seeming to sense her apprehension, Rook placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, leading her to the table with a reassuring touch. She pulled back an empty chair from the fine table and eased into the seat with as much grace as she could muster. Rook left her side and took a seat next to Queen Raven, all the way across the table.

Saoirse took in an unsteady breath, daring to peer at the foreign rulers around her. To her right, a pale-skinned man sat squinting in the light, his white beard standing stark against the dark tent. King Grivur of Terradrin, she recognized as his colorless eyes passed over her in an assessing gaze. His snow-white hair fell past his shoulders, twisted in elaborate braids and fastened silver beads. The monarch was near her father’s own age, she remembered. Behind him, Commander Neia Landum stood against the back wall of the tent, concealed by shadows. To Saoirse’s left sat Princess Hasana of the Tellusun people, her rich orange robes complimenting her golden brown skin. To her surprise, Hasana gave her a soft smile of welcome.

“Rulers of Revelore,” a cool voice called from across the table. Saoirse stared at the dark-haired woman at the head of the table: Queen Raven of Aurandel. The closest she had ever been to the Auran Queen was at the tribute’s banquet, and even fromthat distance, she was impossibly frightening. Raven’s face was angular and sharp, almost cat-like. Rook’s face was softer, his mouth ready to grin at a moment’s notice. But they shared the same eyes, piercing and bright blue.

“I apologize for interrupting your evening,” Raven said, her dark eye lashes casting shadows on her cheeks as she looked down to her hands. “I know that the events of the Tournament are occupying your minds, but I must draw your attention elsewhere.” She looked up, something like anger and annoyance flickering across her beautiful face. “Each of your nations has sworn fealty to Aurandel. Every decade, you renew your vows to my people. Now, I must demand that you make good on your oaths.” The air filled with tension, the tent suddenly growing hot as they all looked around at each other. “To that end, I must ask that every word you utter in this tent be truthful. You have been summoned here because of a rapidly evolving conflict at our border, which may prove to be deadly for our alliance and mutual security.”

Everyone shifted in their seats. Saoirse tried not to fidget as she felt the weight of Raven’s accusatory gaze. The Queen’s presence was like an imploded star, all consuming and relentless.

“A bloody and thoughtless uprisinghas taken hold of the Terradrin border,” Raven revealed to them, folding her hands in her lap. King Grivur sucked in a shocked breath, his colorless eyes widening in surprise. “This uprising threatens to disrupt our alreadyover-burdened supply lines and merchants. Aurandel haslittle skin in the game-mostly lost coin and murdered soldiers. But you all collectively face greater disfunction if this uprising goes unquelled. Your lands will be wanting in food and supplies, your peoples will starve and become desperate, and the thrones you occupy will grow hot with rumors of uprisings and rebellions as your subjects turn to actions of their own."

“I’ve received no word of such an uprising,” Grivur hissed defensively, leaning forward. Behind him, Neia’s expression darkened.

“We just learned of it,” Raven replied. “It occurred in Meysam this morning.” Grivur huffed in surprise once more, his white eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “It is our assumption that these radicals took the opportunity to attack during the opening trial, when the governors are absent and the garrisons are allowed to sleep in for the holiday,” Raven continued, her eyes flashing.

“The border is a messy place,” Grivur declared, crossing his lean arms across his chest. “There are skirmishes all the time. This uprising will be dealt with, I can assure you. He looked back at Neia, as if willing her to defend Terradrin’s honor.

“It’s true,” Neia confirmed with a prideful lift of her chin. “My generals and I have prevented the rise of any serious radicalized groups. I would’ve heard word of such plans to revolt.”

“Yet Meysam burns,” Raven countered. “And here you are, none the wiser. Perhaps yourcontrol is slipping, Commander.” Outrage streaked across Neia’s face, and her lip curled with rage as she began to speak.“My commanders at the border suggest this is a new radical group,” the queen continued. “Perhaps they have found a way to conduct their scheming under your soldiers' noses. Perhaps there is a rat in your court of spies, Commander.”

“What makes you so sure?” Grivur interrupted before his commander could speak. His already pallid face somehow grew paler.But where Neia was outraged that her honor was at stake, Grivur appeared sheepish and embarrassed in front of the queen.

“This insurrection was not a natural overflow of frustration, but an organized attempt to overthrow local governance,” Raven answered. “According to my commanders, they were led by Tellusun radicals."

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