Page 18 of From the Myths of Kings

“It is a risk we must take,” Hasana replied soundly. “If it means securing safe passage in the Southern Sea, then we must allow Rook to assist with the rescue efforts. Queen Raven has doubtless been scouring every inch of Revelore searching for her missing brother. If we give Aurandel a glimpse of him, their focus will fall on the Isles of Mythos and at the very least distract their reconnaissance efforts on the continent.”

“Very well. Sune, Aurelia, and Rook will lead the Mer rescue efforts in the Isles of Mythos,” Neia relented. “I, Rymir, Saoirse, and Hasana will travel to the Under Kingdom. I have already contacted those loyal to the resistance who are waiting to smuggle us in. We should arrive on Terradrin’s shores within three days if all goes to plan.”

“I would prefer to stay by Saoirse’s side.” Each person at the table swiveled toward Aurelia. “I’m not leaving you,” she promised Saoirse fiercely.

“I’m inclined to believe that it would be in our kingdom’s best interest if you accompanied Sune and Rook to the Isles,” Saoirse said gently. “Our people are fleeing from the sea in droves. They’ll need to see two strong Torqen captains waiting for them on shore. There hasn’t been a mass exodus of Mer from the ocean in centuries, perhaps ever. As it stands, there are so few Mer volunteers among our ranks that your presence will further encourage the refugees to trust the resistance. I’ll be safe with Hasana and Neia.”

Unspoken words passed between the two and Aurelia finally relented with a curt nod, a frown biting at the corners of her mouth. Aurelia’s palms were splayed on the table and her knuckles were white with tension. Rook could tell Aurelia wanted to say more, but in the presence of the rebel leaders, she bit her tongue. He watched as Sune’s smallest finger grazed Aurelia’s hand almost imperceptibly. Rook watched with fascination as Aurelia visibly relaxed at the brief touch, both in awe that the emotionless Sune could exhibit such affection and surprised he hadn’t caught onto their affair sooner.

“After the Terradrin Relic has been stolen and the displaced Mer relocated to safety, we shall rendezvous at Raj’s Point to regroup in seven days,” Saoirse finished. “With both Relics in hand, we shall make for the Northern Wastes just as Tezrus has guided.”

Rook spared a glance at her. Her pale blue eyes blazed with determination. He’d seen that look on her face before. Once she set her mind to something, there was no stopping her from pouring every ounce of strength she had into making it happen. She was a gathering storm on the horizon: sharp and merciless as the salt-laden winds that skimmed the sea and as unyielding in her convictions as the pull of tides. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

What you did love.

As the table raised their cups in agreement once more, the light caught on their polished bronze rims like scattered coins, casting reflections on the walls. As he lowered his goblet, Rook couldn’t shake the anxiety lingering in his heart. For all their meticulous planning, he had a disconcerting feeling there was more to the story. Maybe it was just his newfound doubt that made him believe there was something they were missing. But he couldn’t bring himself to be fully hopeful, alluring as it was. He didn’t know if he ever could.

Over the rim of his cup, Rook watched as the attendees filed out of the great hall, ambling off to make final preparations or to steal away with lovers and friends for one last moment of revelry before the world’s end. From under lowered lashes, he observed as Saoirse bid Sune and Aurelia goodnight and stalked out of the great hall, heading toward the hanging gardens. With his nerves warmed with wine and his emotions mottled, Rook took only a moment of deliberation before he rose from the table and followed her.

8

SAOIRSE

The war council had gone well, all things considered. Saoirse felt a strange mixture of anticipation and terror for what was to come, an unmoored feeling like what she’d felt in the Soundless Oasis. It felt good to have solid direction after being listless for so long. She could mentally visualize each step of the plan, connected one after the other by a strategic thread that would lead Revelore to salvation. Even so, there were so many things that could go wrong.

Saoirse wandered into the hanging gardens, alone with the thoughts that swirled around her like sea foam. She desperately wanted to speak with her father. The last time she’d seen him had been when he bade her farewell along with the rest of Elorshin, tentatively hopeful in her ability to win the Tournament thanks to the mind-altering potion Selussa had given her. When she had left for Aurandel, neither of them could’ve predicted the foundation of their existence would be so profoundly toppled in just a handful of days.

Hot tears pricked at the corner of Saoirse’s eyes as she wandered the gardens, blurring out the beautiful blooms that swelled toward the pathway like cresting waves. Wherever he was, she prayed her father would forgive her. She hoped providing a safe harbor for the Mer refugees would atone for at least some of the tragedies her bargain with Selussa had caused.

The sun had long since sunk below the horizon, replaced by a milky-white moon hanging in the sky like a shining saltwater pearl and stars that burned against the dark satin sky. The gardens were lacquered in silver, each flower petal pearlescent in the starlight and each snaking path glowing like a river of moonstone. The groundskeepers had watered the lush gardens after the sun set and fine mist sparkled on the hanging vines like jewels embroidered into a beaded curtain. Small bronze lanterns were strung across the pathways like hanging stars.

Saoirse stopped to stare at the moon and raked in a breath. The sweet air burned like fire in her lungs. She needed another dose of titansblood soon.

“Saoirse.”

She froze as if petrified into stone by some mythological beast. Slowly, Saoirse turned toward that voice, half expecting him to be a figment of her imagination just like he had been in all her recent dreams. Both to her delight and utter mortification, Rook was very real this time.

He stood on the garden path silhouetted in the soft lantern light trickling out from the palace. He kept a healthy distance, but she could still smell him: jasmine and woody cinnamon, chased with a touch of fresh parchment that reminded her of a library. His pale gray wings were tucked against his back, mere spears of shadow in the dim lantern light. The loose Tellusun-style clothing he wore suited him well. Her eyes traced over the exposed column of his throat that peaked out from under the low, gold-threaded neckline of his tunic. His dark hair had gotten longer, falling over his forehead in effortless waves and looking so soft she suddenly had the humiliating urge to run her hands through it.

Hel’s teeth, she thought. Stop ogling him.

Her mind tracked back to the moment they’d spoken last: the room bathed in soft afternoon light, the air steeped with raw tension, and a look of stark pain on Rook’s face that nearly cleaved her heart in two. I’m sorry for everything, she wanted to say. I never meant to hurt you.

She settled flatly on, “Rook.”

“Saoirse, I?” he began, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m glad that you survived the oasis.” His gem-blue eyes glinted in the moonlight, brimming with words he left unspoken.

Saoirse was surprised. At the table in the great hall, Rook had all but ignored her, a sullen expression loitering on his face for the entire meeting. He’d kept his eyes trained on the goblet he gripped with a white-knuckled grasp as though the very thought of looking down the table at her made him physically ill.

“I’m glad too,” she answered uneasily. “In truth, I didn’t know whether we would come back to Bezhad alive.”

The day before they’d left for the Shujaa Desert, Rook’s eyes had been flinty with distrust after her recent betrayal. The icy bite in his voice seemed to have melted away, replaced by a neutral yet earnest tone she couldn’t read. It should’ve reassured her, but it only put her on edge. Was he merely playing a game with her, toying with her emotions in some sick attempt to cut her to the heart the way she had done to him?

An awkward moment stretched between them as they both stared at each other warily. Saoirse remembered how freeing it had been to confess her mistakes to Tezrus. Uneasy though she was, she took a deep breath and said, “Rook, I am sorry for deceiving you in the Tournament. Truly, I am. I know my promises may not mean much to you anymore, but if there is any part of you that still trusts me, please believe that I regret my decision to hide the truth from you. I have not fully forgiven myself for my mistakes, nor do I expect you to forgive me. But I would humbly request that you hear me out and know that I speak the truth.”

A strangled sound came from Rook’s throat. He turned away from her, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he stared vaguely in the direction of potted lotus flowers. Shadows danced along the hollows of his high cheekbones as his jaw worked.

For a moment, she thought her vulnerability would go unreciprocated. But then Rook said, “When I saw you—Selussa—in the final trial, I felt a terror unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. The ferocity of that fear shocked me,” he whispered. “How could this woman whom I’d known only for a handful of days inspire such terror? The thought of losing you—” he broke off. Something tightened in Saoirse’s chest. She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from reaching out to him.

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