Page 28 of Of Song and Scepter
Her stare tingles on the side of my face, but I ignore her. I lie flat on my back and stare at the ceiling as the sponge slowly loses its tension and my bones sink through it to the cold, hard floor beneath. The sheet clings to me like water on a fish. I flex my toes, dragging my big toe along the fabric, testing its gravity. With a soft flutter of wind, it lifts then settles around my legs, an extra layer of silken skin.
She finally rolls on her bed, facing away from me.
I tear the sheet away from my body, exposing myself to the sticky night air as I wait for sleep to fold me into its soothing darkness.
But sleep doesn’t come easily. Sound rustles through the room in quiet whispers: the breeze on the gossamer curtains, the endless crashing of waves on the beach beyond. Odissa shifts onher bed, snuggling deeper into the pillows. I grit my teeth at the sound of her comfort, despising her for it. Even in sleep, she’s keeping up the act, pretending she’s some sweet little thing, pink and pure. The Odissa I know is anything but.
In the light of the surface moon, Odissa’s borrowed body looks nothing like the death-dealer I met in the Drink. In this body, she is soft. Pretty. Gone are her wicked, sharp teeth. Gone are her tentacles, her barbs, her glowing gelatinous head. Her siren face nests in a satin pillow, long lashes dusting the crests of her rosy cheeks. Plump lips part to let out the rhythmic breath of deep slumber. Inside that borrowed husk, she is still the mermaid who raised me—who taught me the way of killing.
With a grunt, I rise from the mattress. My bare feet meet the sweating marble floor, and I pad quietly to the chamber door.
If I cannot sleep, I can walk. I can walk until the uneven rhythm of my land legs rocks me to sleep, or until I collapse on the floor—whichever comes first.
Chapter seventeen
Enna
The palace sweats atnight. The air hangs in a blanket over the cold stone floor. The walls drip with condensation, leaving puddles on the marble. Even as my skin prickles with its own sweat, the stone saps the heat from my feet until my toes are numb rocks. I weave through the winding corridors, hoping the careful pace will lull my brain into a false sense of safety.
Each turn brings me into another hallway, lined with sconces of dancing flame. The palace echoes and groans around me. I walk with raised awareness, ears straining for sounds of danger. In the Drink, everything is a shadow. I could not see the darkness there; darkness just was. Here, it moves and dances in slithering phantoms, lurking in the corners and shifting as I pass.
It’s silly to think the shadows would pursue me. They’re just reflections of the light; they cannot hurt me. Even so, I cast a glance over my shoulder, watching them, making sure they do not make any sudden movements.
My father’s house has corridors like this, passageways that wind through the bowels of his water-tight mansion, connecting rooms, holding nothing but thick tapestry and flame, where thelesser beingsroam free in the night. After my father and his family climbed into their cushioned beds, I haunted the halls, floating from room to room. It was the only time I could be truly alone, where no one looked at me and frowned.
I liked the library the best, for it was the room my father’s family used the least. They kept it unheated. The chill from the water outside seeped through the walls, and ice webbed across the ceiling. Dust clung to the shelves, dripping from the corners on strings of glowmite silk. It smelled of ancient history, of buried knowledge. I fell asleep in there often, the thin stone tablet of a book resting on my chest as its magical visions danced through my mind, until the maid discovered me in the morning.
Lost in my thoughts, I almost bump into Clio, her mouth parted in the aftermath of a question. How did I miss her? My senses strain with overload.
I’m losing my fucking mind.
I cross my arms, suddenly feeling the chill. I sway on my feet, the exhaustion washing over me in a wave. “Um, hello.”
The housekeeper’s mouth lifts in a wry smile. “Can I help you find something, my lady? A glass of water, or perhaps your room? You look a bit lost.”
“I was just—” I bite my lip. Do I really expect this strange female to understand my predicament?
Clio’s ears swivel, rotating on their axis. “Just wandering late at night?”
“Library?” I blurt the first word that comes to mind. When she studies my face, I nod, as if that’s what I’ve been looking for all along. “Her Highness requested a bit of light reading.”
Odissa would never be caught dead with a book, but my heart brightens at the thought. Given Coral's fondness for gold foiling and expensive artwork, this palace must have a nice library. Maybe I could sleep there.
Convinced, Clio gestures for me to follow. “This way, then.” She leads me back the way I came, then turns right. I do my best to memorize the path, but my tired brain struggles to keep up. We pass more sconces, more empty halls strung with fabric, art, and flame, then into a large foyer framing two large doors. The detail on the door is elaborate and curving, like waves rolling on the beach. Clio grasps the two golden handles and hauls it open with a grunt.
“Here we are,” she says, waving me inside.
My breath hitches. Three stout staircases reach four levels high in a display of disjointed marble curlicues. The bottom stair starts in the middle of the floor and curls to the left. The second stair connects to the third floor, its base hanging freely like a guppy clinging to a ledge. And the third stair rotates in a slow spiral, suspended mid-air by an invisible string.
The ceiling is a shrunken speck above them, dangling a glass chandelier high overhead, casting the room in a million sparkles of light. Tall rows of shelves form labyrinthine paths through the room, lined with the colorful edges of books. So many books.
Hundreds of books suspend mid-air, the flat stone tablets floating toward various shelves. They wriggle and nestle themselves into the open slots. A low hum permeates the room, spinning a soft melody of magic, emanating from an elderly siren who occupies the front desk. A cloud of white curly hair forms a halo around her face. Glasses perch on her round nose, framing a pair of brown eyes half-obscured by her droopingeyelids. Her mouth parts, letting a soft rhythmic breath pass in and out, maintaining her spell even in her sleepy haze.
“Pearl can help you find a book for Her Highness. Don’t dawdle too long, my lady. We do have that sunrise appointment with the prince.”
The librarian stirs at the sound of Clio’s voice. With a snort, her head snaps up, her eyes flaring wide. Swinging the book she held between pinched fingers, she narrowly avoids shattering the teacup on her desk. Her spell cuts off, and the floating books clatter to the floor. I flinch, waiting for the third stair to fall from severed magic, but it continues its smooth rotation without a hitch. How odd.
Clio leaves me standing before the desk. The librarian rakes her eyes over me from head to toe.
