Page 2 of Of Song and Scepter
The soldier thrusts his trident at me. Unable to draw another dagger, I sink my claws into his face. His jaw works furiously, snapping those teeth. My magic stirs, and I let out a long, low note of my Voice. Lightning courses through my hands, illuminating each bone in him with crackling purple light. His eyes glow under my touch, and his body writhes, until I release his corpse into the Drink. My energy drains, and I curse.
Above me, Odissa has the princess bound in the tight web of her tentacles, leering as the siren wiggles.
A dead soldier sinks past me, the flesh of his face feathered and torn by Odissa’s raging claws. A messy kill. Annoyed, I snatch him and suture the wounds best I can, but there’s already too much blood in the water.
The princess screams again, so Odissa clamps her hand over the siren’s mouth to stop her.
“Nobody can hear you scream out here, princess,” she snarls. “Nobody but me and the dredgebeasts. And we don’t want to wake them up, do we?”
“My brother will have you killed for this. Unhand me.” The princess’s voice comes out weak and shaking. The glowing light of Odissa’s skin casts angry shadows over the planes of the royal’s soft face.
With a long, sharp finger, Odissa traces the length of the princess’s arm—pale, flawless, the skin of a siren. Not a mermaid’s claw or tentacle in sight. “So beautiful.” She snatches a strand of floating, silver hair, drawing it out of the restless tresses. “So fragile. But you know that already.”
The princess’s eyes widen, pale blue and round, reflecting the light of Odissa’s translucent skin. “I have an appointment with the Kingdom of Coral. I will be missed, and they will come hunting, trench-scum.”
I inhale through my mouth, scenting the water for signs of a dredgebeast. The soldiers’ blood hangs in a thick, warm cloud. We should move.
“Odissa, let’s go,” I hiss.
The mermaid ignores my warning. “And what does their prince see in you? Princess Aris. The youngest sibling of the Abyssal King, but even that is debatable. Rumors of mermaids in the parents' royal bedchamber. Kings like their females high-born, or did you forget?” Odissa grabs a handful of hair, fingers twining tight against Aris’s scalp. “You pass as a siren, at least. And you have the Voice?”
“Don’t touch me,” Aris whispers.
Pathetic, soft female. The princess reminds me of a younger version of myself—steeped in nobility, weakened by comfort. I almost feel bad for her, the way her wide stare searches for a hero who will never come. Hope fades into sad, resolute acceptance of her own death. Not a shred of fight left in her. Had I been this pathetic when Odissa found me that day, 2,746 kills ago?
“It’s not nice to play with the target, Odissa,” I snap. “Be done with it.” I hate when I go soft, but I cannot stand to watch her suffer any longer. I’ve spent enough time burying my own regrets beneath a steel shell in my stomach, and I’m not about to dredge them up over a crying royal. Not with my life on the line.
I unsheathe another dagger, swimming closer. At the sight of my knife, the princess blubbers a stream of bargains as she finally fights for her life; too little, too late.
“Go ahead then,” Odissa grunts, finally moving her hands to give me a clear shot at the neck. But as I aim the tip of my knife, she grabs my wrist.
“Wait,” she snaps. “Not there. Cut her lower, between the ribs. Somewhere inconspicuous.”
Aris writhes, her whines of protest loud and unrelenting. I glare at Odissa, irritated by her indecision. This mission has been anything but efficient—a bloody, botched mess, thanks to her.
The princess will die painfully. I’ll crack her bones, puncture her lung. She’ll die in a few minutes, gasping and gurgling, loathing me all the while. I angle my knife once more toward her neck, where it will be quicker.
A familiar cold grip of magic wraps around my wrist, halting my hand. I swore an oath to help Odissa succeed in every way—bound in blood until the day she frees me. I press against the magic, and the resistance tightens. It’s a pointless fight. Either Ido as she commanded, or I die defending this final shred of my morality.
What does it matter how she dies if I must kill her either way?
The grip of magic eases around my wrist. My knife slips between the ribs, and the princess’s whine cuts off with a gurgle. She glares at me with unfocused eyes as life slowly drains from her face.
2,747.
I suture the wound, ears pricked and mouth scenting for the sounds of a dredgebeast.
Instead, I hear the clinking darksteel and stirring water. A lone wounded soldier pumps his tail, his trident reflecting the light from Odissa’s skin.
Fuck.I missed one.
Chapter two
Enna
I’m not a sloppykiller. I take my job as a death-dealer seriously—I kill quietly, precisely, and I clean up the mess afterward.
Never have I let a target get away. The wounded soldier dives into the current that leads to the royal city, and I pursue him, leaving Odissa to harness and tether the princess’s corpse.
