Page 69 of The Eighth Isle

I had no problem sitting next to him, so I went eagerly. Despite the absurdity of the situation—the way this place was now looking, her and the brothers sitting at the table, eating—I sat down, and then Grey was right there. I could touch him if I reached out my hand a little bit. I could breathe in his scent. I could feel his energy.

It calmed me down like a charm.

“White looks good on you. So pretty. Did you like the dresses I made you?” Syra said as she cut into the pancakes on her plate. “Go ahead, serve yourself. Look at all these delicious things, right? Back in the day we didn’t have this many recipes. People have gotten so much more creative in the kitchen.”

I looked at Grey and he looked at me, and even though we couldn’t speak, we understood each other just fine.Eat,he was saying.Just eat.If we could play by her rules for a bit and put her at ease, maybe running away from here was really possible.

So, I reached for some bread, but when I tried to grab the milk, Syra said, “Be a gentleman, V.”

Valentine grinned. “Of course, Your Highness,” and he took the milk and poured me a glass.

Grey’s anger was so raw Ifeltit, just like the heat of the sun’s rays falling on my back through the windows. The windows that now had glass in them indeed, so the sound of the outside didn’t reach me the way it had yesterday.

“V has been of utmost help to me since yesterday. Such wonder the world has seen since I’ve been”—she paused for a second, her fork halfway to her mouth—“away.”

I focused on the food, on not letting my hands shake, on chewing and swallowing until I was full, on showing her exactly what she wanted to see—me, submitting.

“I mean—the Internet!” She laughed. “Such a wonderful thing. I canseeeverything through a screen. Howfascinatingis that? I can see it and then I can replicate it with my magic.” She waved her hand forward, and suddenly a miniature version of the Eiffel Tower came into existence over our plates, and the more she moved her fingers, the faster it changed—to the Big Ben and a pyramid and a large skyscraper I had never seen before—until I was dizzy and had to close my eyes for a second.

“All these years and I could never see these things, never with my eyes. Tied to the ocean—always tied to the ocean. My Hansil told me stories, but I never quitesawthem for what they were, and now I do,” Syra said, smiling like she really was happy. “I plan to go see them in person, too.”

“You’re a siren,” I said, despite my better judgment. “You belong in the sea.”

Another pause, and I thought she’d get angry, but…

“I did, yes. But the sea is no longer my home.”

She was not happy in the least when she said it.

“What are you planning to do to me, Syra?” I asked because, no matter what she looked like right now, she was still a monster, and I needed to know.

Before, when I’d seen her in the Storyteller and I’d felt her pain, I was sure that it had driven her insane, that she’d genuinely lost her mind before she ruined Ennaris five hundred years ago. Except now I saw that that wasn’t it. She’d been fully aware of what she was doing then, just like she was now. And despite what her sisters had done to her and what she’d lost, she wasn’t going to get any sympathy from me.

“I’m planning to take care of you, lovely. Keep eating,” she said, waving her fork at my plate. “And drink your milk. You need all the vitamins.”

“I’m full,” I said and pushed the plate away, but the look on her face…

“You’re full when I say so,” she said under her breath, and I felt the energy of her magic intensifying with every new breath.

“I don’t?—”

She raised her hand toward me, and Grey moved so fast it was a miracle I wasn’t on the floor yet. His wings were wrapped around me all the way, and his fangs were extended, and he was hissing at Syra.

“Oh, for fins’ sake, Hansil!” she said, and she wasn’t afraid, not in the least. She just sounded irritated. I barely saw her face through Grey’s wings, but she still had the fork in her hand, and with it shestabbedthe wing with all her strength.

A scream slipped from my lips even though Grey didn’t make a single sound. The tongs of the fork were barely an inch away from my eyes, and then Syra pulled it down, tearing the leather of the wings as she went.

Blood dripped out of the tears, but Grey didn’t even flinch.

“That’s not painful? Not even a little bit?” she mocked.

“Do with me with you will, but you won’t touch her,” Grey said, his voice strained. Itwaspainful—of course it was. His wings were a part of him just like his limbs.

“Stop,” I breathed, and I had no idea whom I was asking to stop, but this wasmyfault. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth at all, damn it.

Then Syra laughed.

“Sit down, Hansil. She needs to eat. I mean it.”

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