Page 4 of Of Song and Scepter
If I can’t outswim this dredgebeast, it won’t matter what condition the body is in.
The clicking stops. An ominous silence settles in, the only sounds my fin's labored push through the water.
The dredgebeast is within attacking distance.Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.I squint into the darkness ahead of me, searching for the pinprick of light emanating from Vespyr.
There. A bright blue dot pierces the blackness like a beacon of safety—still out of reach. If we want to make it to the city alive, I’ll have to fight off the beast.
“Odissa, let go,” I whisper.
Her tentacles slither away from my body, releasing me from the burden of her weight and swimming toward the light of Vespyr. There’s nothing to be done about the corpse, no timeto transfer the tether. With a flick of my tail, I twist to face my adversary.
In the dim light of Odissa’s retreating glow, I can only make out the outline of the beast’s snout, each nare twice my length. The water stirs as the beast inhales, scenting my position.
The beast lunges. With a snick of its bones, the jaw unhinges in a woosh of water. I follow the current, floating closer to its face. Claws extended, I collide with its snout and begin to climb. The jaws snap shut, jolting me. My hold slips. The princess’s corpse shifts, and I dig deeper, sinking my claws behind a thick scale into the soft flesh beneath.
The beast screeches, sending shockwaves. The reverberation shakes my skull, and my teeth clatter. Its head whips and bucks. Those slit nares flare as it tries to locate me by scent. But I’m too close. I claw my way on its nose, resting on the long surface between its eyes.
With what remains of my energy, I stir the magic in my belly. I could fight it with my knives, but I have extra cargo today—precious cargo I can’t afford to damage in a bloody scuffle.
My Voice is off-pitch and urgent. Lightning splits the dark. Along the beast’s head, a row of scales illuminates, running the length of its large body—one stripe down the middle means this is a male.
The males are smaller than their females, but they make up for it in aggression. He won’t give up easily. With another shriek, he shakes his massive head, trying to dislodge me. But my claws anchor me in place. I draw my head close enough to sink my fangs into his scales, too.
I deepen my Voice. Lightning crackles from my hands and mouth. The magic burns in my eyes.
My stomach churns, rapidly depleting its energy stores. If the beast doesn’t go numb soon, I will die from exertion. To kill a dredgebeast of his size will take everything I have.
The purple glow of my magic travels from his skull to the tip of his long, thrashing tail, caressing each of his bones.
But my magic is running dry, yet still, he moves.
I pry one hand from his skin and stretch for his great, black eye. Growling, I slice into the soft flesh—a straight shot to his brain. His body twitches, writhing, as my magic courses through him. His screech cuts short, and the mighty dredgebeast goes limp, tilting toward the abyssal plains below. I release his body with numb hands.
The energy tax of my magic squeezes. My brain fogs. My body turns to ice. The last thing I see is the distant speck of Vespyr, still out of reach.
The beast will awaken soon, and I pray to Tephra that he kills the wounded soldier after he finishes devouring me.
Chapter three
Soren
I am the paragonof power, sweating in a pair of linen pants.
The seat of my mother’s throne grows harder against my ass with every passing minute. I shift, trying to find a better position. My stiff muscles protest, forced to assume a formal posture when I should be slicing a trident through the water in the reef’s training ring right now. This duty belongs to my mother, the queen. But she’s not here, and the throne cannot remain empty on the day of supplication. I will not allow it.
So I sit here, drenched in sweat. Like the rest of the palace, the Coral throne room is hot and humid—the most egregious downside of perching a palace atop the sandbar instead of beneath it. As I question the decisions of my ancestors, I survey the large, gilded door of the chamber and wait for the next supplicant to enter and state their complaint.
A dull ache forms at my temple. I rub the spot and groan, leaning against the back of my seat. The vaulted ceiling arches above, the sloping arcs of gold meeting in a domed center. A gilded frieze depicts scenes of my ancestors conquering the reef territory generations ago. Each figure is lined in gold paint, reflecting the light of the room. The prevalence of fangs and claws in the figures gradually lessens in their procession to the epicenter, showing the path of my lineage from vicious conquerors to reigning monarchs as we earned the civilized seat of power.
One image always catches my eye—the lead couple from the first generation. A strong, dark king wields his magic to seduce and subdue the terrain, while his warrior female mate brandishes a crooked knife. The female, Amura, is terrifying and cunning, whisking through the battlefield like a wraith, leaving fallen enemies in her wake, while the male, Eero, leads the charge against the dredgebeasts of the reef with a single trident and a brave heart.
They’re like midnight and morning; opposite, complements that would not exist if not for the other.
Annoyance scratches the edges of my mind, as it does every time I study this painting. Eero and Amura’s example of unity is the very reason I must marry before I can take the Coral Throne. The crown is stronger when two rule as one.
But the odds are slim of finding a female who meets my standards. In my three and a half decades, I’ve yet to find one who even comes close. It shouldn’t be this difficult. All I want is someone who balances my power without hungering for more—equally intellectual, humorous, and passionate. And as much as I desire a mate who will love me for me and not for the throne I sit upon, I drowned that hope long ago.
The longer I procrastinate my selection, the less choice I’ll have in the matter. With each roll of the tide, my mother growsmore anxious to pass the throne. One of these days, she will appear with one final candidate in tow and put the whole thing to rest.
