Siren's Song (21 page)

His expression registers surprise that is fast replaced by an apology. “I'm sorry if we overlooked communicating as much to you, miss—”

“You did forget.”

“Again, my apologies. His Highness mentioned it after you exited the War Chamber. I believe it is his belief that after his and Eogan's speeches, a positive word from you could add extra weight.” Of course they did. And of course it would. “Anything in particular he'd like me to say?”

“Something about how you're planning to lead them to victory?” His smile indicates he's only half-joking. “I'm sorry, miss, I'm not much for speeches. Give me a sword, though, and . . .”

“You and me both,” I mumble. “I guess if you'll excuse me . . .” I head for my room and arrive just as the maid is leaving with our luncheon tray.

“Will there be anything else? Your hair, perhaps?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

“I set the dress on the bed for you, miss.”

I nod and wait until she's gone before I close the door and turn to the room. My gaze falls to the dress, and I actually choke on the air in my throat.

The thing is Faelen's ancestral color—a green so deep in the flickering candlelight it's almost black—with a corset top and jeweled back and lengthy taffeta skirt that is five times thick with material all cinched and bustled and looking very much like a dress my previous owner Adora would've killed for if it had a skunk-skin hat to go with it.

Oh, look. It even has a train for me to trip over.

I stare at the dress in all its flamboyance. I'll be lucky if I don't
fall out the top. And what in hulls am I supposed to say while wearing it? “I hope you'll all join us in fighting—and some of you may die, but cheers!”

I groan and stride to the mirror to begin yanking a comb through my hair, in hopes that when I turn back to the dress, it won't look as gaudy as I fear. Five minutes into it, though, I'm thinking I should've had that maid help me after all, because I'm just as bad at twists and hair twirls as ever, which makes me miss Breck and Rasha something fierce.

I swallow and pile the lot of it into a massive, messy coil on top of my head that Breck would've been proud of. Maybe that'll diminish the dress's opulence a bit. Then I turn back to slip on the fancy dress, using my good hand to tighten the laces that are, mercifully, on the side of the corset. I finish it off by sliding on a pair of matching slippers and tying my new set of throwing knives to each leg.

A look in the mirror tells me I am exactly what King Sedric is hoping for.
Nice. Fancy.

Influential.

I straighten my shoulders and firm my jaw in order to appear exactly as
I
am hoping.
Powerful.

Finished, I stride for the door, running through fifty comments in my head that I could say to encourage the High Court members to fight. Unfortunately, the only things I can come up with are swears I've wanted to say to the lot of them far too often.

Tannin is waiting outside the door when I step out. He grins but doesn't say anything other than, “Feels familiar, doesn't it?”

I nod and try not to show my nerves, nor to mention that this is about as far from the other week's familiarities as possible. Because Eogan is no longer Draewulf. And Draewulf is no longer dead. And Rasha is not here to insult my life and clothing choices.

Once we enter the banquet room, however, it does, in fact, feel
familiar, with its crammed balcony full of guests, most of whom are dressed in gorgeous silk layers and those silly pantaloon hats. The candelabras are illuminating the room, except rather than holding banquet tables and the noisy traveller's carnival, the place is barren—even of furniture. Only a few tables are set along the back balcony wall, holding weapons and maps and piles of scrolls that appear to have been already written on and sealed. For runners to carry to the villages across Faelen, I'm assuming.

“You look perfect.” King Sedric's low voice carries past the councilmen and soldiers dotting the balcony.

He's smiling and bounding over in his rather unkingly way. I try to feel more charitable toward him.

“A symbol of victory.” He gives a lavish bow. “Thank you for wearing it.”

“I'll admit I'm not sure how my dress choice matters much, but if it lends to inspiring the Council to war, then so be it.”

His grin widens. “You read my mind. These people—” He glances over the balcony's railing to the mingling High Courtiers below who are talking and, if I'm correct, looking a tad confused. “They respect the language they can speak. And whether you or I approve or not—that language tends to be style and power. Both of which you clearly wield tonight.”

“Smart.” I search the balcony for Eogan.

“Sire, I believe the Assembly is complete.” Rolf comes up behind us.

“Good. Please tell King Eogan we're set to begin.” Sedric starts to follow him, but stops and pats my hand. “Are you prepared to say something for the Court tonight?”

I nod. “Let me know when it's my turn.”

“You have my gratitude for assisting us—assisting
me
—once again, Nym.” With that he turns to go.

He steps toward the balcony's center and onto a slightly raised platform and gives a hand signal that prompts an instant blaring of trumpets, calling the room to order. A glare of light bounces off the wall mirrors to settle their glow on Sedric just as a bump against my shoulder alerts me the Cashlin, Gilford, is standing there along with both Luminescents. I nod to Mia and Mel and they smile politely back, their eyes lit up like red fireflies, before swerving my gaze away to scan the room again for Eogan.

“My friends.” King Sedric's voice echoes across the banquet room.

“I have a request,” I whisper to Mia.

Her reddened eyes are on the king as His Majesty expresses gratitude to the High Courtiers for assembling on such short notice before beginning a rundown of the horrific events from the past week. Although, from the sound of it, Sedric's only giving necessary details—and none that include Eogan's shape-shifter occupation.

“Let's hope it has to do with Princess Rasha,” she murmurs. “For I confess my time here is beginning to feel wasted on Lady Isobel.”

“I swear that will become part of it.”

She grunts as King Sedric's regal voice continues to expound upon Faelen's dire situation.

“As you know, I am to visit the villages throughout Faelen over the next few days to rally volunteers for the war. I wonder if you'd be willing to join me.”

“You're thinking to take Lord Myles,” she says with only slight surprise in her tone.

“I suspect he'll become uncontrollable soon, which will lend a danger King Sedric and his men are unprepared to handle. Not that I feel much confidence to stop him, but—”

“Without Eogan's block for Lord Myles, you would be the best option for controlling him.” She nods. “And yes, if you leave him
here, he will end up endangering the palace. If your king is approving of my attendance, then I will come. As will Gilford. Particularly to act as a scouting party once we hit the northern region, as I assume that's what you're planning,” Mia whispers. “To pursue the princess's whereabouts?”

I purse my lips but don't disagree.

“Might as well kill two birds with one stone,” she says.

“Might as well give ourselves every last advantage.”

She tips her head in agreement. “I agree you will need the princess to win the war—especially seeing the state Lord Myles is in. Your Uathúil ranks are already too few.” She looks over at the other Luminescent, who nods. “Mel will stay to assist your king with Lady Isobel if necessary, as Queen Laiha intended.”

I chew my lip and look back toward the king. Only to realize the audience is applauding and he is stepping down, his speech done, and from between a unit of Bron and Faelen guards, Eogan has emerged and is striding for the low stage.

His eyes spark green in the light, matching his pants and doublet that were clearly picked for him to wear to this occasion—to dissolve all hint that he is anything but in full support of Faelen. From the approving expressions on the sweaty faces of those around us, it's working.

“My friends,” Eogan says as soon as the clapping has died down. “Nearly two weeks ago I stood before you, swearing my commitment to work side by side with your king and country as partners and brothers—both in times of peace and war. If I'd known then how quickly the latter would come upon us, I admit I may have been more inclined to hide out a bit longer during my recent trip to Bron.”

His offered humor at a time like this elicits a roar of grateful-sounding laughter from the crowd. He gives them that half smile
bound to make every person here swoon and makes that craving inside me for his company flare.

“However, as promised, I commit to you—to all of us—Faelen, Tulla, Cashlin, and Bron—what few resources are at my disposal at this time to help wipe out this scourge of the Hidden Lands once and for all.”

The crowd's cheering forces him to pause, and for a second there's a hint of desperation in the sound of it. As if they know what we're truly up against as well as the strength that Bron can give. And the power that will be required.

“Tomorrow I will take my leave and return to my own people for a brief few days—to set things in order. My hope is to bring back more ships and troops to aide in your protection as well as in Draewulf's final desolation. However . . .” His voice deepens. “I confess I covet your prayers and well wishes for good speed, good winds, and good news upon my return.” He nods and lets his emerald gaze flash in the mirrored lights, igniting his handsome face in a promise of confidence and peace.

I swear it also brings half the women near me to sigh, and, drat it all, I may have just sighed too.
Bleeding bolcrane.

“Thank you.” He steps back amid the rabid shouts and clapping of the entire Assembly.

“The people love him,” Mel says near me. I tip my head in agreement as a swell of affection and pride and irritation blossoms to leave pink patches on my arms and heat on my face. I've rarely heard this loud of cheering from this Assembly of over three hundred councilmen and High Court citizens in any of my past months attending Adora's banquets. Eogan waves a hand at them, then casually steps off the stage and bows to King Sedric.

Sedric's gaze catches mine and he nods.

“I believe that's your cue,” Tannin mutters from somewhere behind me.

“Apparently.” I scrunch my cheeks and swallow. “Wish me luck.”

“Don't trip,” is all he says as I stride over to ascend and stand beside King Sedric.

A nervous energy runs down my skin and around the memorial tattoos on my left arm and the top of my chest that suddenly feels far too exposed in this tight bodice.

There are a lot of people.

They're all staring at me, waiting for what I will say that will empower them further than Eogan and Sedric already have. If that's even possible. I feel out one of my knives through the folds of my dress as Sedric leans in and raises his voice.

“My comrades and friends who've known my father before I was even born. I promise you that we
will
move forward against Draewulf in a show of force and fierceness. We will take Faelen's people of every class and ability and gender and show the monster that not only are we not to be trifled with, but we have not even begun to fight this war. We are about to unleash on him every weapon and person and ability that has been created through the greatness and passion of Faelen.”

The crowd roars with approval. Whistles ring out amid the stomping of feet and cheers. And then the wall mirrors flash the candlelight on my face.

“Beside us will be our champion and salvation from our last struggle. I give you Nym.”

It's like a bomb from one of the airships just exploded for how loud the audience cheers. King Sedric drops his arm and indicates me. Then steps back.

Suddenly I can't breathe in this dress, in this air, in this
claustrophobic room of expectation. I swallow.
Shoulders back, Nym. And spit out something.

How do I start? Do I call them “my friends” like Eogan and Sedric? Because they're not.

Breathe.

Do I tell them it will be all right? Because it won't be.

Breathe. And speak, you fool.

I peer around at their anticipating faces that are uplifted and glowing in the light.

“Good people of Faelen's High Court.” I pause to firm my voice as the words continue to tumble out. “As one who has spent time among all classes and citizen castes of our beautiful kingdom, I have never been more confident in what we as a people are capable of doing.”

Yes. Good. Both true and gracious.

“Nor have I ever been more confident of an imperative time to band together as one people, as one class and caste, than this time in our history. Do I believe that, in doing so, we will succeed at this war? I'll be honest with you—I don't know.”

Lovely. The room just fell so quiet you could hear a beetle scuttle.

I clear my throat. “But what I
do
know beyond a shadow of doubt is that if we fail to come together and commit to fighting this evil, side by side, by utilizing
our
own energy—as politicians, leaders, and pontificates—rather than relying on those in the lower classes . . . then we will not survive at all.”

I stop.

Only to realize after a second that there is still no hint of cheering. The crowd seems to be holding its breath, as if expecting more.

Litches.
Um . . . “Also,” I add feebly. “I will be with you at the front lines of this battle—should it come to that—doing everything
I can to slow Draewulf and ultimately stop him. However, I humbly admit that I can expend my energies better if I know each one of you is standing with me, lending me your strength. The strength that Faelen has been famous for since the creation of the Hidden Lands.”