Page 95 of Of Song and Scepter
I try to suck in a breath, but the air does not come. I kick my legs and twist my torso—anything to wriggle free. But nothing hits my mark. My energy drains by the second; my vision clouds with darkness.
The sting of the blade leaves my skin as she winds up for the stab that will kill me. And in that moment, I feel an overwhelming sense of regret—sorrow for the life I might have led with Enna; mourning all that time I wasted before making her mine.
She would have made a great queen.
Chapter sixty-one
Enna
When I was ten,the day before Odissa murdered my father and destroyed my world, he told me to swim away and never come back. He was tired of my mermaid shit, he’d said. Tired of training a worthless half-breed to act like a siren. Tired of seeing me toddle on my wobbly two legs and struggle with my magic. I would never pass in an Abyssal court as the real thing.
He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me close, spitting the words in my face. His breath smelled of liquor. He did not see me, not then. He looked at me and sawher.My father was always afraid my mother would find me some day. He feared she’d sink her mermaid claws into me, drag me into the depths, and seduce me into a life of depravity and lust—just as she had done to him.
I didn’t listen to him that night when he told me to leave him. I waited for the magic to drain him, waited for him to release his grip, to fall into a stupor in his leather office chair, and I took away his knives, rum, and ropes. I hid them in the garbage chute like I always did.
When he got like that, he wasn’t the father I loved. The person who sometimes sat me in his lap and bounced me on his knee, ran his fingers through my long silky hair, telling me far-fetched stories of fighting monsters in the Drink.
Would I have left him, had I known what would come next? I thought I was safe there, hidden from the watchful eye of Vespyr. But the Drink couldn’t separate me from the wrath of Vespyr forever. Servants talk, secrets spread, and soon enough, trouble found us.
Odissa found us.
And I watched as everything I knew and loved ended in an instant.
I had no fight in me then, and as Odissa led me across the Drink, I vowed to never be caught weak in love again. I would become the monster my father feared I would be—so hard and loveless that when I visited my memories of him or imagined Odissa dragging her knife across his throat, I could look him in the eye of my memory and feel nothing.
Loving my father ended in pain. My love for him felt like cold and cutting numbness, and I'd tread the icy waters of my grief until the day I stepped onto that beach and Soren began to thaw my frigid heart.
This is not the same love. My love for Soren is all-consuming, brighter, and more beautiful than anything I’ve ever imagined. And if I lose him now, the sea will boil with the heat of my rage.
Odissa chokes my Soren with her knee. He flails his legs weakly in an attempt to kick her off.
I am no longer that helpless guppy, and I will not run from a fight. I will not hesitate to protect the one I love, for I am no longer alone in this world. My feelings, my safety—they shrink in proportion to a new, clearer focus.
That choked sob, stifled now by the weight of Odissa’s knee on his neck, will be the end of her.
I push onto my hands and knees, gritting my teeth through the searing heat as my muscle flexes around the foreign blade buried in my leg. Step by agonizing step, I drag myself across the floor. Odissa lifts the knife in her hand, aiming for Soren’s heart, and I attack.
I wrap my body around hers with blunt, barreling force. My legs snake around her hips, my hands around her neck, and I tear her away from him like a bloodfish from my side. The knife clatters to the floor seconds before we hit and roll, scrabbling into a fury of slashing nails and teeth.
Odissa’s hand twines in my hair, and she yanks, but I do not release her from my wrath. I find the soft flesh of her face and dig in my claws, drawing deep, bloody gashes. Her blood runs thick and wet, and I revel in the sight of it.
“Back off, Enna,” she spits, spraying blood on my face. “You should know better than to get between a death-dealer and her prey.”
Her fist connects with my cheek, sending a starburst of pain through my head. I twist to avoid the full impact, and my vision grows fuzzy. Still, I grab her by the neck, curling my fingers. Her pulse flutters manically under my touch. As she coughs, blood drips into her mouth, and she swipes her tongue over her lips, drawing it in.
With an impressive twist of her body, Odissa slips her legs beneath me and kicks. Hard. My claws scrape through the skin of her throat as I’m torn away from her, flung into the air. I land with a half-assed roll, colliding with the wall of weapons. Thedisplay rattles, loosening sharp blades. A gilded scepter clatters to the floor, narrowly missing my stomach. The scepter tapers into a sharp point, caging a solid, red jewel. And despite the horror of the moment, despite the stakes at hand if I fail, as I assess its potential for use as a weapon, I grin. That’ll work.
I grasp its handle and push from the floor. My wounded leg cries out at the exertion, but I press forward. Heart pounding in my ears, I cross the room. Soren lies moaning on the floor, streaked in blood and mumbling incoherently.
Odissa stalks toward him, drawing close now. A dagger glints in her hand.
I push my leg faster, ignoring the pain. A few more steps and I’ll intercept her.
I heft the scepter, just as she leaps for him, knife outstretched. I club her body mid-air. She crashes into the wall with a crunch. Whimpering against the stone, she slumps, her eyes searching the room but seeing nothing. I limp toward her, dragging the tip of the scepter across the floor. It screeches against the marble, the sharp sound mingling with her mewling protests. Her arm twists at an unnatural angle. Blood runs from her many cuts.
As I approach her, she lifts her face and squares her jaw, meeting my gaze with her steely eyes. “Finish it,” she spits. “Put me out of my misery.”
I raise the scepter, touching the soft part of her throat just beneath her chin. It would be so easy. One final thrust through her soft flesh with a sharp metal pike, and she’d be gone.
