Page 155 of The Queens and the Kings
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s a side effect.”
“Of what?”
Pedr’s throat closed. Shite, but the arcane wouldn’t even let him talk about plans around the curse. Much longer, and he wouldn’t be able to speak at all. After the silencing effect passed, he said, “It doesn’t matter.”
Because I need to break the curse,he thought,by making it physically impossible for the curse to have an effect.
Not the best idea, perhaps, but his only one. The thing he hadn’t yet tried. His nose twitched. Heat from the curse filled his mouth and throat at the inspired idea. Inspired, or insipid. Hehad no idea if this would work, but he had to pose some form of rebellion.
“Tell me,” Jordaire demanded.
“I can’t.”
Jordaire scoffed. “Fine. It . . .seems. . . like you’re telling the truth. Himmel might have mentioned you had a curse by the Siren Queens.”
“Then stop asking, you bastid! You’re wasting time.”
Jordaire’s uncaring eye roll offered no apology. “Why can’t you tie yourself with your arcane?” he pressed, his brow a mess of wrinkled, livid lines. He cast his eyes to the left and right, fingers fidgeting. He’d always been a cagey little man.
“Because I won’t be able to focus on the arcane while I’m—” Pedr grunted, his wrists snapping inward. Already, he couldn’t control his curling fingers. “Just do it, Jordaire! You’re always giving arcane to humans and embroiling yourself in their problems. I know you can assist!”
With a roll of his eyes, Jordaire flicked his wrist. Umber ropes of hardened dirt looped around Pedr’s already curling hands. His arms retracted, the elbows bending under the volition of the curse. Sweat dotted Pedr’s forehead as four vines, thick as his forearm, encircled each wrist and ankle and tied to the gunwale and mast. He tugged, but they had no give.
Jordaire raised an eyebrow.
Pedr nodded once.
With a gusty sigh, Jordaire said, “Well? Tell me about your blasted curse, you insolent cow.”
Heat exploded through Pedr’s chest the moment he attempted to shout,the bloodySiren Queens!Fire occluded his throat. He couldn’t swallow past it. Jordaire stared, wide-eyed. Pedr must have looked like death as his arms resisted Jordaire’s arcane.
Pedr grunted out two words.
“I . . . want . . .”
The power of the Siren Queens rushed at him, making the truth impossible.
. . . to tell you everything about the Siren Queens and Mila.
An inferno baptized his throat, squeezed his tongue to ash. He made a guttural noise, air whistling through his taut lips. His body tried to give out, but Jordaire’s soil ropes held.
Panic built inside. The thought of speaking the truth and revealing the Siren Queens to the world made his blood warm with fear. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The muscles along his neck tightened when he said, “Fifteen years ago?—”
Full stop.
The contractions wrenched both arms to his ribs. They ground painfully. He tried, with no avail, to stop himself from bending to their will. Pedr panted, remembering the miserable night not long ago when he tried to tell Britt. The fever consumed him. Destroyed him. The curse bound him in ways both emotional, spiritual, physical.
He loathed it.
His body tugged against the ropes as it attempted to curl in, in, in. The ropes creaked as his knees pulled higher.
“My arcane will pull your legs out at this strength, Pedr,” Jordaire barked. “This is madness!”
“Don’t stop!” Pedr shouted.
Noises gurgled from his throat as he assassinated the Siren Queens with his mind.Vile pieces of shite. They stole Mila! They cursed me to my ship, bound my tongue, and doomed me to roam five hundred years while they hold her hostage.
