Siren's Song (25 page)

I study them through the gathering dim. She's right. They're waving tree branches and flowers, and as we draw nearer, the words shouted make it clear they're embracing me as one of them, as having come
from
them, on my way to power and glory.

Apparently they remember I lived here.

I sniff and choke back a caustic laugh. How quickly some things change.

“Will we sleep here?” Kel is eyeing the run-down buildings that are so strangely different from his home of metal walls and warm baths in Bron.

“No,” Tannin answers. “We'll speak to them in their common house and then be on our way. We can make camp halfway between here and the next stop on the map—that way we don't lose too many days.”

“Or our livesss, depending how this goes,” Myles says beneath his breath.

By the time we arrive at the town's center, the streets have become thick with bodies and noise and music. Even in the cool evening air, I'm starting to feel clammy from the heat they're giving
off in the somewhat confined space. The guards keep pressing the people back with their horses, shouting over the crowd to give us room.

“You can come see the Elemental at the common house,” they shout.

Such assurances don't stop them from trying to get by Tannin and the other guards to touch me, though.
“A magical token,”
Rasha had once joked. If only she could see how ridiculously serious some seem to be taking that now.

It makes my gut squirm.

The soldiers lead us to the back of the common house that is far too familiar to be comfortable. I keep my features straight and firm as we dismount and tie up our horses, posting Haven at a good distance from the others using the metal ropes Eogan made so many weeks ago. I pull out a squirrel she caught during our early-afternoon break and feed it to her, then with a pat on her flank command her to behave before following the others in through the common's back entrance.

The sour scent of ale and sweet herbed cakes leaks from the wall boards and floor and every inch of this place. I inhale and promptly clench my teeth when the song of a bard hits me. He's regaling the crowd with a tune about the origins of the bolcranes of Litchfell Forest and how some believe they used to be Elementals. Until their hearts got twisted with greed.

Lovely.

“Might as well get thisss over with,” Myles says.

Kel looks at him. “Do you not like this place?”

“Not everything here is sssafe,” he says softly to the boy.

I ruffle Kel's short black hair. “Stay near me, all right?”

He nods but peers around Myles and Tannin as the guards push open the back room's separation door.

A waft of musical notes and ale accosts us head-on as we enter the main space, and with it come memories—the part of my childhood I lost here, of the men I killed here, of the auction stand closer to the High Court where another bard was singing a different song. And of the last time I visited a common house with Colin and Breck.

I swallow and step in.

The singing stops with a jolt. The patrons' voices stop. All movement stalls.

Before they erupt into a roar.

“The Elemental!”

“One of our own!”

“From our town!”

“Make her stand so we can see her!”

Good hulls, I think I'm going to be sick. I turn to Tannin and Myles, whose face is damp with sweat. “Let's do this quickly.”

Before any of us can address the crowd, though, we're all pushed into chairs at a table where food and drink are forced in front of us in overflowing bowls and foaming mugs. Myles sets upon it as if he's never seen nourishment before, as does Kel—at least until I take his ale mug away and hand him water, at which he grumbles something about never having any fun.

The crowd presses against the table and against the guards who're standing at our backs. They watch and wait as some of us eat and others of us try to shrink in our chairs. A few minutes of attempting to be polite and Tannin finally nods toward me and Myles, then rises to stand on his chair since the central counter is too far to reach.

“Good ladies and gents of this town, I implore you to quiet yourselves so we may speak with you on behalf of our favorable King Sedric.”

He pauses and waits for the room to settle, which it does, although most people remain standing.

“We are here to share with you news only recently discovered of the dire need our great Faelen kingdom is in.”

“Your runners told us,” a voice from the back of the room shouts. “Draewulf's not dead!”

“And why should that concern us?” another yells. “We've paid our dues to war and he ain't done us harm in a hundred years!”

“Allow me to explain,” Tannin says. Except he doesn't get more than five sentences into the account when the crowd boos so loud his voice is drowned out. He looks over at me.

“Clearly they need a delegate who holdsss authority up there,” Myles slurs beside me. “Pardon.” He stands, drags his chair near Tannin, and climbs onto it.

I raise a brow.

His silver tooth flashes in the candlelight, reminding me of the first time I ever saw him, in a place much like this, as he puts up his hands and waits for the noise to die once again.

“I asssume you know who I am. I'm Faelen's Lord Protectorate Mylesss, and cousin to King Sedric.” He waves a hand around. “And
I
am here to inform you of
exxxactly
what is headed our way.”

There's rustling and coughing, but the audience remains mostly still, listening with suspicion etched across their expressions.

“We all know of the existence of Draewulf. You've heard of his manipulation and his attack at the Keep two weeksss ago. Even better”—he points a finger at me, and for a second I think he might fall off the chair—“you've heard of how our own Elemental and the Bron king helped to defeat him.”

“So is he dead or ain't he?” an old man shouts, but directs the question to me rather than Myles.

I shake my head.

“He'sss not. He survived by ssshape-shifting into another—and then hijacked Bron's airships and much of their kingdom. And now he'sss coming back soon with an army of
undead
.”

Good grief. The way he says
undead
is so loud and dramatic, the audience responds with a gasp. Though I doubt it was as much Myles's intention as the dark power attacking his veins. He's scratching his arm and pulling the cravat away from his neck, exposing skin that is looking disturbingly splotchy and swollen.

Litches.

After a moment a sunburned-faced woman says, “Well, where's the Bron king been? He been working with the beast?”

“He's been working with usss, you fools. Now let me finish.”

“Boooo!” A shout goes up, and within moments they all get in on it. Booing and hissing.

The air snaps and wavers out from where Myles is standing, and the next moment an image of Draewulf wreaking havoc upon the Tullan king appears. I watch as the king's body is torn open by the monster's wolfish figure.

Cries break out as Myles snarls, “This is what he'll do to every one of you if you refuse to join with us.”

The image disappears as the murmurings continue, but it's not until food begins to fly that Myles apparently realizes they're not nearly as impressed with his ability as they should be. I snicker as an apple core hits his shirt, and the look on his face indicates he's never been so insulted or shocked. He glances at me and steps off the chair.

“Maybe you can talk sense into these peasantsss,” Myles growls as I step by him to claim his spot on the chair.

I catch my breath.

There are a lot of them crammed in here. Local peasants—some of whom I recognize although they're quite a few years older,
a couple of protectorates and town watchmen—even some slaves are here, seated in the back. A few of their faces unnervingly familiar. I force down my nausea.

Don't think about them, just get on with this.

“Lord Myles is right.” I firm my voice before raising it to reach the whole room. “Bron's King Eogan has brought me and Lord Myles back here to warn King Sedric. He's now flying back to Bron to loosen the hold Draewulf's wraith army has over his capital. If he succeeds, he'll return in time to help mount our defense before Draewulf descends.”

“And if he's unable to? What if he's killed? We're to fight alone against an army that has taken Bron, Tulla, and Cashlin?”

“We'll be demolished!” another voice from the back says.

“No, Nym can defeat him!” another yells.

“Where's Draewulf now?”

I glance at Mia and her guard. “He's currently still destroying Tulla and Cashlin.”

“Is that why you've got two Cashlins with you?”

“We have three actually, and they've come to lend assistance. They have more to lose at this moment than any of us. Their princess is currently in Draewulf's possession.”

“Princess Rasha?” A tone of concern ripples through the crowd as they say her name. “She was kind when she came through here.”

“I liked her.”

“She gave out coins.”

“Why are you telling us all this, m'lady?” a youngish man with three empty pint glasses in front of him asks. His dark hair reminds me of Myles's. “What do you want with
us
?”

“I'm here to ask you to join in the fight.”

Wait for it . . .

And just like that the room falls silent.

I reach out a hand and style my tone in a way I hope they'll hear as honoring. It's the same one Eogan and Sedric have used more times than I can count in the past two days. “My friends, I know you've given much—more than was fair—and I know you're weary. So am I. But join us in this one last stand before he robs what is—”

There's a low creaking sound as the common-house door in the back of the room opens. How I hear it, I don't know, but my voice cuts off at the man abruptly filling the doorway.

Owner number nine.

His eyes are the first thing I see. Cold. Hateful. Instantly locked on to mine in disgust. I'm glad I didn't eat anything when they served us because it'd be coming back up.

My stomach heaves anyway and I can't breathe. I don't want to be here. Seeing the face of the beast who allowed his sons to hurt me, then punished me when my curse reared its head and tore them limb from limb . . .
I don't know how to do this.

“What of the High Court officials?” a woman yells.

I blink and look away from the man I hate with everything in me.

“Them prissies in their fancy outfits having fancy parties,” the woman continues. “We just got our husbands back and you want us to send them out again—and for what? So those upper classers can keep their pretty faces and lifestyles? No thanks. You can fight for Faelen—and I'll thank you for it. But I won't be stickin' my sons' and husband's necks out no more for anyone.”

A round of cheers goes up as metal mugs thunk down on wood. “Hear, hear!”

“What she said!”

“They'll be fighting too,” I say, finding my voice. “Every last one of the upper classes.”

The crowd's noise dulls. “What'd she say?”

“They'll fight too?”

A woman spits on the ground in front of me. “Sorry, sweetie, but we don't believe you.”

“Even if we did, it's high time they fight for
us
!” an older man adds, drawing the rabid approval of the audience.

I laugh louder than necessary until the room quiets. “Have you seen them fight?” I nod at Myles. “No offense, but he is by far the best they've got. If you're counting on the upper bloods to save your skins, you've sorely misjudged them. As you say, they're more used to parties and placing you on battlefields than fighting those wars themselves.”

The expressions on their faces freeze. My words have connected with their pride. They begin nodding.

“If you leave them to fight for Faelen, none of us stands a bleeding chance. But if you fight alongside them, you will give them your hope—and hopefully some of your skills.”

A few chuckles break out.

“And in return I will give you every last piece of me and my skill. I will give you all I can.” I look around at their suddenly serious faces. “But I don't want to do it alone, because Creator knows, I'm scared as hulls. So will you fight with me? And will you stand beside me while I extend every last energy of my life for
you
?”

The silence is tangible. Until an awkward roar of forced laughter erupts from the doorway and owner number nine steps forward. The crowd parts, and I'm already cringing at his voice. At the guttural sound of it—at the familiarity that makes the blood in my veins bristle. “You'll give us all you can, eh?”

The beefy man looks around the room and guffaws. “Last time I saw this wench, she wasn't willin' to give all she could and ended up tearin' my boys apart. All for havin' a bit of teasing.” He curses,
then spits. “I wouldn't follow you to the pit of hulls even to save my own sons.”

From where I'm standing I watch all drinking and twitching hands stop. And as the room pauses, so does my heart. Suddenly the lights are flickering, except it's not the lights, it's my vision, and I am abruptly twelve years old again, sitting in that blasted rundown barn with my bones and muscles and body paralyzed while my eyes can't stop leaking tears.

The lights flicker again and I shut my eyes a moment. Then open them and harden my gaze at him and then at Myles. Not that Myles has any idea what this man's done, but something in the Lord Protectorate's darkening expression says he doesn't need to. He smirks with lips gone too white as he mouths,
Make him pay for it
. Because he knows what it is to be different, and to be unliked and broken beyond cultural acceptance.