Page 84 of From the Myths of Kings

With the final words of her prophecy uttered, the siren was consumed by darkness, falling into the underworld with the curse still on her lips. Her voice continued to echo like the tolls of a death knell, whispering on the icy wind as her magic wrote the prophecy into existence, blazing her curse into the stars and knitting the future into the very fabric of Revelore.

Suddenly Rook was staring up at the faces of Aris, Vasia, and Raj. He saw through Leucosia’s eyes as she fell backward into the gaping maw of the underworld. The faces of her former allies grew smaller and smaller as she plummeted. He could feel her terror and fury pulsing with every beat of her heart, could feel the numbing darkness encroaching all around her. It felt like being buried alive, and she supposed that she was. Her voice was torn from her throat and she felt hollowed out. Her vocal cords strained, but no more than a rasp passed from her lips. The magic of her song remained in Revelore, dusting over the ruins of her kingdom, leaving her throat desolate and empty.

They took her power.

They took her voice.

They killed her sister in cold blood.

They took everything.

They would pay.

The mouths of a thousand sirens had begged them for mercy, but only one voice would haunt them for an eternity. Hers. The scent of her burning city scorched the inside of her nose and everything went black.

35

AURELIA

Aurelia walked through the Soundless Oasis.

The moon was swollen against the starless sky, shining like a saltwater pearl. Shafts of silver cleaved through the oasis, gilding the palm leaves and glittering on the glass-like surfaces of alluring pools of water. A cool breeze whispered through the trees, a crisp, earthy aroma punctuated by a slight tang of sweetness. She was alone.

Where was Saoirse? Aurelia felt a pang of fear in her chest as she looked around the silent forest. She tightened her grip on the pommel of her sword, an uneasy feeling prickling on the back of her neck.

It was too quiet, too calm.

The breeze picked up, winding through her blonde curls and toying with her loose desert clothing. Shifting leaves and fluttering vines hummed in the darkness. Her skin pebbled as the wind taunted her. She stilled. There was a faint sound carrying in the breeze, an almost mortal-like voice. She listened as the whoosh of wind formed a cadence, the rush of air solidifying into an otherworldly voice.

“Aurelia—”

She stared up at the silent moon. A dark cloud moved across its pale face. The glowing moonbeams that illuminated the oasis receded like a tide, shadows slipping across the forest as the veil of clouds draped over the sky. The darkness leered at her, creeping ever closer as the slice of moonlight she stood in waned.

“Aurelia—”

Where was the voice coming from? Was it just another trick of the oasis?

“Aurelia…You shall not survive the coming darkness?—”

The wind whispered against the nape of her neck, sifting through her hair. She closed her eyes, a primal fear crawling up her spine as the phantom voice whispered her fate.

“You will lose your life before the end. The Moirai are drawing near, readying to sever the cord of your soul?—”

Aurelia could feel her lashes dampen with tears. They slid down her cheeks, burning wet trails of sorrow that she couldn’t stop.

“The cost of victory is steep, and every bargain has a price. You shall be taken from the mortal realm before the war is over. Your death is the price to pay?—”

Aurelia opened her eyes, panic knotted in her stomach. She wiped at her tear-stained cheeks. She looked at her hands in horror.

Black.

Her tears were black.

She couldn’t stop the liquid pouring from her eyes, seeping across the front of her tunic like ink. The moon was entirely covered by dark storm clouds. The pool of silver light vanished with the moon, and she was drowning in shadow.

Aurelia jerked awake.

She stared up at the frost-crusted ceiling of the abandoned merchant shop. There must’ve been a storm during the night. The door had blown open in the wind, carving a path through the room in a thin line of snow. It stopped just before her bedroll. It was a miracle she hadn’t frozen to death.

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