Page 55 of From the Mouths of Sirens

She slipped her uniform over her head for the final time, fitting the breastplate over her chest and locking the shoulder plates in place. She pulled the familiar golden cuffs over her forearms. She then sat on the bed, wrapping her damaged feet tightly with swaths of bandages. Though her acid-burned feet didn’t hurt any longer, they were still tender to the touch. Gingerly, she slipped her feet into the new boots that had been left outside her tent by Isme, easing them slowly up her calves. She pushed off the bed and stood, testing out the feel of them. Though the boots were uncomfortable with the bulk of the bandages, they would serve their purpose well enough.

Saoirse picked up the small mirror on the dressing table, staring at her reflection. Without the silver tribute’s cape cresting her shoulders, she felt exposed and unprotected. But it had fallen into the jaws of hungry spiders, torn to shreds down in the caves. A wry, cynical smile crept across her face. It was almost poetic that she couldn’t represent her nation in the final trial, that she couldn’t don Elorshin’s colors as she went to battle for the last time.

After it was all over, she would belong to no nation at all.

She heard the rustle of the tent flaps behind her, feeling Aurelia’s presence. She didn’t turn around as her friend entered the tent, still staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“I can’t believe this is almost over,” she sighed. “After waiting my whole life for this, I thought I’d feel different.” Aurelia said nothing behind her, and she turned around curiously.

She froze.

Though the mirror clattered to the floor, she still saw her own reflection. There, standing across from her in the tent was her. The tent entrance abruptly shut on a phantom wind, pulled closed by an invisible force. The tent darkened with threads of creeping shadow, like black clouds blotting out the sunlight in a clear sky. She stared at the creature, watching in terror as her identical body prowled slowly over. It had been real. That glimpse of her in the caves and in the forest had been real.

“Sweet little Mer,” a low voice slithered out from between her lips.

No. Fear clenched in her abdomen.

“Selussa,” she whispered, taking a step back. She hit the dressing table and the wood dug into her back. She stared as the creature that lurked over, both terrified and amazed. In every way, the woman was identical to her. The same brown skin with shimmering blue scales. The same dark curls, braided down the same slender back. The same blue eyes that she stared back at in the mirror everyday.

“How-” Saoirse stuttered. She pressed her back harder against the dressing table, trying to put as much distance between her and Selussa as possible. “How do you look like me?”

“Don’t you remember?” Selussa asked cooly. “You gave me your blood the night we made the bargain. A simple shape-shifting potion, my dear. You were so eager to win this Tournament that you gave up your most valuable asset without question. I had to have an alternative plan, you see,” she continued, prowling toward her.

“You’ve been watching me,” Saoirse breathed.

“When were you planning on informing me of your decision to break our bargain?” Selussa hissed, sending a chill up her spine. “You know I cannot allow this bargain to go unfulfilled, Princess. Not when there is so much at stake.”

The Sea Witch stopped just before Saoirse, their eyes at the same level. Selussa brought her hand up to the curve of her jaw, her fingers digging into her chin. “I suspected this might happen,” the Witch said darkly, her voice as cold as ice. “I should’ve known you’d be too weak. Your family has always struggled to keep vows, you know.”

Saoirse shoved away, pushing out from under Selussa’s grasp. She lurched toward her sword, stumbling over to where it lay on the bed. She grabbed the pommel, unsheathing it in a fluid movement. Selussa’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t move from where she stood at the center of the tent. “You know nothing of my family,” Saoirse seethed, pointing her sword at the Sea Witch’s heart. Selussa’s identical eyes glittered with predatory hunger.

“Oh don’t I?” she purred. “I thought you would’ve put the pieces together by now, clever little Saoirse. But I should’ve expected nothing less from Lorsan’s great niece,” she laughed cruelly. Saoirse tried to grasp her words, but her mind was spinning with a thousand possibilities that didn’t make sense.

“A hundred years ago, I was locked in the Fretum,” Selussa said slowly, the shadows in the tent growing darker with her words. “My crimes were great. You see, it was I who killed King Lorsan.” Her words reverberated through the air and rang through the tent. Saoirse gazed with horror as the Sea Witch’s eyes turned black, giving her a glimpse of Selussa’s true form beneath Saoirse’s own skin. “Selussa is just one of many names people have called me,” the Sea Witch continued. “Yrsa is another.”

“You’re the Auran princess?” Saoirse whispered in disbelief, her sword trembling in her hand.

“In some ways, yes,” Selussa murmured cryptically. “It is true that a hundred years ago I traded my wings in exchange for a Mer body to prove my devotion to Lorsan. But much in the same way I have taken on your form and adopted your body as my own, I took Yrsa’s. She bargained with me just as you did,” she recalled wistfully. “Her love for the Mer King was so great that she surrendered everything to me. But in the end, I took on her flesh and married Lorsan in her stead. But I am not Auran by nature.”

“What do you mean?” Saoirse asked, a sickening feeling growing in her stomach. “What are you?” A hideous grin unfolded across the Sea Witch’s face.

“You’ll have to determine that on your own, Princess,” Selussa replied, her black eyes shining with malice.

“Why did you do it?” Saoirse asked, raising her sword higher. “What purpose did you have in killing my great uncle and sending our nations to war?”

Selussa smiled again, her eyes flashing. She pulled on a silver cord around her neck, lifting the chain from between her breasts and holding it in the light. The dark Málmr pearl shone against her palm.

“Because of this,” the Witch answered. At Saoirse’s blank expression, she asked, “You truly have no idea what this is, do you?” She threw her head back and laughed, a hideous barking sound that sounded like gravel. “What do you know of the Myths of Old, child?” she taunted.

“I know the stories,” Saoirse answered cautiously. Gooseflesh rose on her neck.

“The Titans were defeated by the Four Kinsmen of Revelore,” Selussa told her. “Four rulers, one from each nation.” She held out the Málmr pearl. “This is the heart of Charybdis, Titan of the Sea. When she was defeated by the queen of the Mer, only her cold heart was left behind.”

“Impossible,” Saoirse breathed. “None of the myths are real. They are just stories told to us as children,” she protested.

“I can assure you that they are real, child,” Selussa retorted. “I was there when that foolish band of Revelorians challenged the Titans and defeated them, binding them within the Stone Circle and burying them under the mountain.” The Sea Witch straightened, slipping the dark pearl back under her clothing. “Four Relics now remain, all scattered to the different corners of Revelore.”

“The dagger,” Saoirse whispered, finally understanding. “The dagger is one of the Relics, isn’t it? You’re collecting them.” Selussa merely grinned in answer.

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