Page 61 of From the Mouths of Sirens

Saoirse went cold. There was only one way Selussa could possess the blade. It was hers only when Rook was dead. Saoirse shattered, her heart wrenched from her chest at the sight of the Witch sheathing the dagger of Aris. But instead of charging for her, Selussa ran toward the hydra, sprinting through the chaos of diving horses and riders.

Hasana appeared next to her, her pegasus rearing up on its heels. The Tellusun princess offered her a hand and hoisted her onto the saddle.

“We have to get out of here!” Saoirse yelled, watching in terror as Selussa headed straight for the hydra at the center of the arena. Hasana’s pegasus leapt into the sky, catching a gust of wind and soaring up to the clouds.

Below, Selussa broke the hydra’s chain, shattering the metal with a mere touch of her hand. Darkness and shadow emanated from her like a fog, wrapping around her body as she pulled herself onto the hydra’s back. The dragon seemed to sense the Sea Witch’s dark power, for it immediately submitted to her will. It reared up and shrieked, the sound ripping through the air like death incarnate. Upon the back of the great dragon, Selussa was more terrifying than Saoirse could’ve ever imagined.

“Titans. Who the Hel is that?” Hasana looked over her shoulder at Saoirse with a horrified expression.

“Fly faster!” Saoirse yelled through the wind. The hydra was unfurling its leathery black wings, obeying Selussa’s command. The dragon’s six heads roared in unison, a deafening sound that shook the forest around them. It took to the sky, hurling its gigantic body into the air with a mighty battle cry. Hasana’s pegasus soared through the clouds with frightening speed, urgently darting through the sky as the hydra flew from the Stone Circle. But instead of following the band of winged horses, the hydra turned from the arena and changed direction.

The dragon headed for the Maeral Sea. For her people.

“We have to turn around!” Saoirse screamed. “We have to stop her!” But Hasana kept pushing forward, steering her pegasus toward the cloud of riders ahead of them. They were headed south, to the hot winds of the Shujaa Desert.

“Please,” she pleaded, watching in horror as Selussa and the hydra swept over the Aurandel woodlands and toward the Coast of Delore. Here on the back of the winged horse, she was completely helpless. She would fall to her death if she jumped, and she didn’t dare try to override Hasana’s control over the pegasus.

“No,” Hasana replied firmly over the wind. “Whatever that thing is, she isn’t our concern right now.”

“You don’t understand,” Saoirse yelled back, “Revelore is in danger. We must stop her!”

“Even if we turned around and followed her, we wouldn’t be able to stop the hydra.”

“That thing is more dangerous than you know,” Saoirse tried to explain over the roar of wind. “She is going to destroy my home. She is going to take revenge. We have to warn my father.”

“We can’t,” Hasana retorted. “It is too late.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as Saoirse watched Selussa over her shoulder. The witch was now a speck on the horizon, the hydra soaring over the blurry sweep of coastline in the distance. Tears streamed down her face and the wind stung her cheeks. Rook was dead and now her kingdom would be too.

She had brought this fate to Elorshin. She had broken the bargain and in turn ignited Selussa’s wrath. And her people would pay the price for her treachery.

There, on the back of the winged horse, Saoirse vowed to save Revelore with everything in her power. She wouldn’t allow the rest of the continent to endure the same fate that her people would. She would make this right. She would take ownership of it all. Until her dying breath, she would fight to stop Selussa from gathering the Relics and awakening the Titans.

She would see the Witch fall.

30

ROOK

Rook drifted through the night sky.

He passed by constellations, so close that he could feel the heat of their flames on his skin. The endless sky was eternal, stretching for as far as the eye could see. Stars burned against the blanket of dark velvet, blazing brighter than they ever had before. The familiar constellations moved and shifted as he drifted by, undulating through the night as if they were alive.

There was the Tellusun huntress Vasia, her bow raised to the heavens. Rook watched as Vasia pulled back her bowstring and launched a shimmering, star-tipped arrow across the cosmos. There was the queen-warrior Cira, her star-studded sword lifted to the Titan of the sea, Charybdis. He passed the great soldier Aris, unsheathing his dagger and leading the rest of the constellations to battle. The mythological figures danced around him, shimmering with splendor.

He didn’t know how long he drifted through the night sky. For all he knew, he might as well have been a constellation himself, tethered to the dark horizon for all time. Perhaps he had died in the arena, his soul ascending to the heavens as the blood drained from him.

Saoirse.

The memories returned to him slowly. He felt the sting of her dagger in his side, saw the hatred in her gaze as she laughed at his pain. Fractured pieces of consciousness began to fit together like shards of broken glass, none of them making sense but hurting all the same. He heard the cry of the hydra in his ears, and the stars around him shuddered.

Rook opened his eyes, now painfully awake. He was lying on something soft and cushioned. He felt the soft sheets beneath him and slowly inhaled. The air smelled of spices and warm earth. He tried to sit up, gasping in pain as searing heat surged through his abdomen. He looked down, wincing at the bandages wrapped tightly around his stomach. So it had been real. Saoirse had truly stuck a dagger in his side. Hatred warmed his skin.

Rook looked around the foreign room. He was sitting on a large canopied bed. Four tall posts stretched to the ceiling, sheer white fabric draped around the bed like a tent. Hazy light drifted in through curved windows beyond, filtered through by gauzy curtains. The terracotta floors were tiled with colorful, hand-painted squares of ivory, marbled by the golden afternoon sun. The walls were a burnt orange, smoothed with expert care. Gold accents were scattered through the luxurious room, and vases of ivory filled with green, leafy plants were settled in every corner.

He pushed open the fabric canopy, forcing himself up from the bed with a groan of pain. His wings were stiff as he rose, uncurling from days of disuse. He strode over to a window, clutching at his bandaged stomach with every labored step. The window was open, letting in a swift breeze of hot air. He already knew what he would see as he pulled open the delicate swaths of curtains.

The Clay City. His gaze swept out across the sea of terracotta houses, taking in the familiar rise and fall of Behzad. Shining gold domes stood high above the smaller buildings and Tellusun flags waved in the breeze. The sun was bright over the city, searing and intense. And beyond the city, a sea of endless sand. He didn’t know how he had gotten here. He had no memory of traveling through the Shujaa Desert.

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