Page 7 of Of Song and Scepter
“Clio.” She snaps her fingers, and her quiet attendant rushes forth, carrying a notepad. “We need to arrange for the escort, lodging, wardrobe, meals, royal balls…”
Clio’s bone quill scratches, and I slump into my chair. I knew this day would come eventually—my mother would tire of my hesitation; I would be forced into an arranged marriage—but I wasn’t prepared to face it quite so soon.
I didn’t expect to feel this way when it happened. Empty. Like the vast chaos of my future has punched a hole into my stomach and sucked me into it.
I clench my teeth, fists, and toes—anything to keep me grounded in this room. There are things to be done; a kingdom to run. And, hell, I don’t even know if I will like this Abyssal Princess. What if she has a third eye? What if she, like Miss Varik and the rest, only wants me for the power I represent?
“No,” I declare.
The whine of my mother’s voice cuts off, and she blinks at me. “Yes.”
Clio stops scribbling.
I shake my head. “If I’m going to marry this princess, it’ll be becauseIfind her worthy. Not because you’re telling me to. I’m not merely your subject to command, Mother. I’m your son.”
She blinks again, as if I’m speaking to her in screamerfish. “This is not open for discussion.”
“Hugo, what time is it?” I ask.
“Low tide, Your Highness.”
“Good.” I step toward the door. “I’m late for the practice ring.”
Mother crosses her arms, and a low hum of magic fills the air. When she speaks, her Voice stirs the room, thick with persuasion. The strength of her magic tests the defenses of my mind. My thoughts soften and lift. A foreign willingness prickles at the back of my mind. “Soren, you will do what’s best for the kingdom.”
Her magic tugs me, but I cut it off with a short bark of my own Voice, slicing through the spell’s mental chains. I push past her. The ache in my head roars now, loud as crashing waves.
“If you wantyourword to mean something,” she thunders after me, “then marry the princess and earn your spot on that throne.”
As if I haven’t been trying.
Chapter four
Enna
My tail is burning.Scraping, more like. As if my scales are dragging across scorching, rough pumice.
My eyes fling open, greeted by the black stone streets of Vespyr, inches away from scraping off my nose. A rough rope threads through my vision, tethered to my harness, where I secured the Abyssal Princess in transit. But the weight of her corpse is gone.
The princess.
I’ve lost the fucking princess in Vespyr—the vile, malicious city that has been home to the scum of Adria since Goddess Tephra inhabited the sea. The city drowns in poverty, and a catch like mine will draw attention. Bounty hunters. Death-dealers. Starved guppies looking for easy meat. That corpse could be anywhere.
I thrash my tail, lifting myself in a fury. If some motherfucker is after my bountihead, I won’t be dragged through the streets without a fight. I grab the rope and yank, bringing me closer to my kidnapper.
Odissa barrels into me with a grunt. Her tentacles tangle around me, ruffled with a cutting edge. “This is the thanks you give me after I dragged your ungrateful ass to safety?”
Then the princess’s corpse bobs into me, attached to a second tether rope, also threaded through Odissa’s harness.
“How did you…?” Odissa is weak. There’s no way she completed the journey alone.
“Very slowly.”
“And the dredgebeast?”
“Never returned. You zapped him good.”
We don’t mention the wounded soldier. I know I failed; Odissa will not set me free.
