Siren's Song (23 page)

Like hulls you did. You forgot about a hundred things. Not the least of which is a decent good-bye.
“I was just hoping to connect with you before you disappear.”

He peers around. “I have a few minutes, but then I must make final preparations for the ships.” He touches his fingers to my arm and leads us to a shallow alcove along the wall where it's a bit less noisy and a lot more private. “What did you have in mind?”

Hit you. Kiss you. Yell at you. Tell you I'm mad and confused and terrified you're flying to your death and this time I won't be there to save you.

“Nym?”

I shut my mouth and clear my throat. “I just . . . I wanted to know how you thought this evening went.”

“I believe it went exactly as King Sedric hoped. Now we move on to carry it out and pray we all survive.” He stares straight at me.

“And how did . . .
I
do—with my speech?”
Good grief, that's the best you can do? Do not blush do not blush do not blush at such a stupid thing to ask.

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck while eyeing me. “Frankly, you performed perfectly. Not to mention you . . .” He stalls and chews his lip before eyeing my dress.

“Look ready to help lead us into war?”

“Something like that.”

I frown. “What does that mean?”

He runs his eyes back up to my bodice, my neck, my mouth. “It means you appear ready for war in more ways than one.” He glances around and smirks. “Between that dress and your speech, I'll wager you just declared war on half the men's hearts in this room.”

I shrug like nervous butterflies are kicking at my chest bones. “King Sedric picked it out.”

“I can see why.”

I grimace. “He's not in love with me, if that's what your tone's implying.”

“I know.”

My stomach feels uneasy. Then why is Eogan acting odd?

“Sedric mentioned my rightful place as heir to Faelen's throne,” I say after an elongated pause. “I told him I don't want the job.”

“Don't you?”

I glare. “You know me better than that.”

“I'm not saying you're begging for it. I'm simply saying that seeing as it is your heritage, perhaps it's meant to be, that's all.”

I stare at him.

“You could do a lot for your people,” he says quietly.

I stall and try to inhale the air that just left my lungs.
What is wrong with him?
I study his eyes in hopes he'll start making one lick of sense.

He merely gives that stupid, gorgeous, polite smile.

I scoff and look away.

He leans in. So close I can feel the heat from his body and the sweet clarity of his breath across my heavily exposed skin as he drifts his gaze over mine before it slides to my lips. And I'm suddenly back in his room with him, trying not to imagine him with his exposed broad chest and wearing only that blasted bath towel.

He opens his mouth. “Sometimes we give up what we want for the greater good.”

I'm going to slap him.
Creator, help me. I'm going to slam the flat of my hand across his jaw because he is a bleeding bolcrane.
I bend in until the space between us is a mere breath. “Are you talking about for me or for you? Because I doubt I need to remind you I've given up
everything
for these people's good.”

And I may give up more before this is all over.

I blink but don't drop my glare.

“And yet you're so anxious to run off and give up more. A bit ironic, don't you think, considering your anger at me for going to ensure your sacrifice for my people hasn't been for nothing?”

My stomach tightens. “What do you mean—anxious to give up more?”

He lifts a hand to a lock of my hair and turns it in the light, staring at it. “Going after Princess Rasha, of course.”

I narrow my gaze. How'd he know?

He utters a dry chuckle. “Because as I said before, I know you. And I know you can't leave well enough alone. It's not enough you're helping put together Faelen's defense. You have to rescue your friends
in the midst of it.” He drops my hair strand and stares straight at me. “And I'm asking you not to.”

I refuse to dignify that with a reply.

He twists his lips and nods. “Exactly.” Then glances away again. “You should know I've given Tannin a map to the village where I last saw the two Uathúils living in the northern part of Litchfell Forest. If you happen up that way in your rounding up of armed forces, convince them this is a worthy fight.”

I raise a brow. I recall him saying something about them amid all the noisy conversation in the War Room yesterday. “What kind of Uathúils?”

“One's a Mortisfaire, actually. Like Lady Isobel, though far less powerful. The other is a Terrene.”

“Will they listen to me?”

“They will if you show them what you can do. Whether they opt to join after that, I don't know, but it's worth a try.” His gaze falls to my lips again, and a second later he leans away and straightens. “And I'd strongly request you leave Princess Rasha until I return if—”

“If you thought I'd listen.”

He snorts and looks away. When he peers back over at me, it's with his official kingly expression I'm just now deciding I officially hate. “Be safe while I'm gone, Nymia.” Then dips his head and starts to walk away.

“Why is it safer, Eogan?”

He stalls.

“Earlier in your room. You said going to Bron was safer. What did you mean?”

The muscles in the back of his neck and shoulders tighten.

One second, ten seconds, twenty seconds . . .

He turns and his eyes are shadowed. Flecked with doubt.

“I was simply drawing a conclusion. That's all.”

“About what?”

He swallows and his jaw clenches, mimicking the uneasiness behind his gaze. Then sighs. “About the fact that Draewulf was in my body. He left it, but that doesn't mean a part of him isn't still there.”

He thinks a part of Draewulf could still be in him—could still have some control over him?

“It would make sense that if Draewulf now owns some of my blood, I, too, now own some of his.”

“You're not Draewulf.”

“No. But that doesn't mean I might not have a few of his tendencies.”

“Do you?” I swear I feel my expression turn horrified.

“Not as far as I know, but . . .” He splays his hands. “I'm unwilling to inflict that on you or anyone else here. Good-bye for now, Nym.” And for what seems like the hundredth time he turns his back to stride away.

My mouth drops open.
That's it?
The urge to grab his smoothly shaven cheek that smells like pine and honey and earth surges. Instead, I grab his arm and, without thinking, lean up and press my open lips to his. Allowing him to feel the frustration and refusal to believe what he just said burn through my own heated skin.

He stiffens beneath my fingers, beneath the caress of my lips, enough that I release him half an inch. And whisper against his mouth, “You told me once that if I was unsafe, you would come back from the grave and haunt me, Eogan. Well, I'm going to do the same. I know I don't own you, nor do I have any claim upon your life. But I
do
know you could never be Draewulf. And if you so much as get yourself injured while you're gone, I will come there and make you
wish
he'd killed you.”

I slide my hand up to his neck, feeling over the top of Draewulf's scar there—over the wound that's healed and yet still so fresh in my soul. And touch my lips to his again in a final good-bye. His stiffness softens and his mouth opens as he puts his hands on my waist—and in that moment I can feel it.

His desire. His aching. His need for love and touch that hasn't faded in the least.

It's promptly followed by a different feeling—one just as familiar but no less aggravating.

I feel him willing me his calm. As if he could tame me—tame this moment—in which he is suddenly pulling away from me.

I blink. “If you don't want to kiss me, that's fine,” I growl. “But don't you dare use your ability to try to steal my emotions.”

His gaze cracks for one millionth of a second. But in that emerald crevice is the same hunger in him that is filleting the inside of me. Then his black lashes come down like a curtain, and before I can ask, he turns. “I didn't intend to anger you.”

And suddenly Tannin is there, tugging on my arm, and Eogan is striding away.

CHAPTER 23

D
AWN STRETCHES HER FINGERS THROUGH THE
curtains to warm my chilly skin and the pillow my cheek is plastered to. I blink against the glare but promptly become aware of the droning noise overhead. The sound elicits a sensation of my body floating in the sky.

I frown and sit up.
Am I . . .?

No. My room is all stone and tapestry and wood—no metal or heated balloon. And the airship's humming is distant. In fact, there are two of them, if I'm not mistaken.

Litches.

Jumping from my quilts, I nearly tumble Kel from where he's sleeping on the bed's end again. He must've slipped in a few hours ago. I rush to peer out the window in time to see the expanded cocoon-shaped balloons of both airships bobbing up from the Northern Courtyard.

I grab my night cover and hurry to yank open the door—and run into the maid.

“Miss, I was just—”

“Have they loaded?”

“Yes, miss. That's why I'm here. I—”

I'm already stepping past her.

“I know you asked to be woken sooner, but the Bron king said—”

I don't catch the rest of her words as I race barefoot round the corner hallway to a flight of stairs and on through the two corridors that have become far too familiar the past two days. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I mutter when I reach the door leading out to the courtyard, then shove past the stationed guards who're promptly pushing it open for me.

I'm just in time to see one ship in the air and the second ascending in front of me.

No.

My throat goes dry. I move to the courtyard's center and look up, hoping for a glimpse of Eogan, or Kenan, or anyone other than the soldiers going about their duties of prepping the ship for higher altitude. The few men who are peering over the side to ensure they're staying clear of the Castle see me, because one salutes with a fist to his chest while the other eyes me warily.

I bite my lip and keep staring.

It's no use, though. Eogan's green eyes and onyx face don't appear, and after a moment I wave back at the soldiers. I keep my arm up while standing there with my night cover barely tugged around me and my hair flapping as all get-out in the breeze, until the ship is so high I can no longer see anything but the base of its glistening silver hull edged by the giant balloon billowing above it.

You'd better come back to me, Eogan.

“Nym?”

I don't look at Rolf. Just shake my head and stride by him to return to my room, forcing down the fear welling up with ridiculous intensity.
What is my problem? Why am I suddenly so scared? And of what?

Of losing Eogan
, my mind says.
Of maybe already having lost him.

I climb the stairs and tell my soul to shut the hulls up.
Time to go raise an army and rescue Rasha, Nym.

Tannin is waiting by my door when I arrive, and he's a welcome relief from my thoughts. “I believe the horses are ready and the delegation packed. All except your mare, that is.”

My mare?
I smile in spite of my mood. “Haven?”

He nods. “She won't let anyone touch her and the men are—”

“It's fine, I'll do it. Give me ten minutes.” I knock three quick times before striding into the room where Kel is now awake and eating a breakfast the maid brought.

The servant girl grins. “There's some for you there too, miss. And I packed up a satchel of your leathers you mentioned you wanted along with a brush and some—”she glances at Kel before lowering her voice—“lady necessities.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, what about this dress? Does it need washing?” She holds up the green gown from last night.

“No need to clean it. I'm sure it's perfectly fine.”

“No wine stains or food from what I can see,” she murmurs more to herself as she inspects it.

“Or slobber stains,” Kel mumbles around his porridge. “Might want to inspect it for those.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Just in case she was kissing a king last night.”

No matter how many weeks I've known Eogan, my skin still sets off like a fire. I frown at Kel. “Very funny. Finish your food.”

“It's not funny, it's disgusting and—” He glances at the maid as if suddenly remembering she's there. And shuts his mouth.

“I'm sure whatever you did in it you were beautiful, miss,” the maid breaks in as if to ease the awkwardness.

“You think?” I turn to size her up. She's about my height and weight. “In that case it's yours.”

“The dress?”

“And any others in the armoire you fancy. I've no need of them and I'm sure you'll look lovely.”

“Oh, miss, I couldn't.”

“Yes, you can and will. I won't need them where I'm travelling to, nor will I need them when I return to the battlefield.”
Nor maybe even after.

“That's kind of you, m'lady, but I couldn't. King Sedric, he—”

“He has no use for them either, and if anyone asks, you can tell them I said as much. We're about to go to war, not a party. I imagine they'll fetch you a good price if you don't want to keep them all.”

Her nod is hesitant. “Two of those would bring in more draughts than I've ever seen.”

“Good. Then it's decided. So, did the boy come with luggage as well?” I ask, indicating Kel to keep her from going on about it.