Sing me to sleep, p.19
Sing Me to Sleep, page 19
“I’m fine.”
I’m furious. The fury thrashes like the sea in a storm. It sings to me. Calls me to act.
I shake off the feeling and shove away from my parents to march to the door. “I need to get back to the Palace. Maybe go for a run. I’ll see you both later.”
“Saoirse—”
I slam the door behind me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Tempted and Shattered
My sheets are the ocean, my bedcovers are the wind, tossing and turning. Each time I try to lie still, the water rages and I shift, until I’m so tangled in my bed, I’m drowning.
My mind is a battleground. Thoughts roar, demanding to be heard. They fight with blades of steel and echoing screams. The loudest repeats one name, over and over.
Trellis Ruster.
I’ve never hated someone as much as I hate him.
My memories of living with my aunties in Ketzal are scattered and few, but what I do remember, more vividly than anything, is clutching a tiny bundle to my chest and refusing to let go.
The sky cried the night someone left my sister on Auntie Drina’s doorstep.
It was by happenstance that Aiya thought to step outside that night and spot the tiny creature, soaking wet and half frozen to death.
I remember sitting in front of the fireplace as Aiya walked inside, holding a leaking pile of blankets.
When the blankets moved, I took interest.
A little brown face stared at me with big brown eyes.
She blinked. Just the once, slowly and carefully, like she was assessing me.
And that was it. With a slip of her eyelids, my heart was hers.
I was dutiful and attentive as my aunties nursed her back to health.
I remember holding her. A teensy finger banding around my own like a ring. My heart fluttering like pages in the wind in response.
Time passed. I remember teaching her to braid, laughing at how her hands were too small to contain her big hair. I remember shrieking with laughter as we played on the riverbank.
The call of the water dulled when she was near.
We have no blood in common, no shared parentage, and we are completely different species, but from the moment I met her, she was my sister. Mine to care for, mine to love, and mine to protect. From all threats.
Like Trellis Ruster.
I’m spiraling, headed fast for the edge of my self-control.
I throw off my bedcovers and disentangle my legs from the ocean of sheets.
Boots. No socks. No time.
I need air—need to think.
I’m still dressed in my pajamas—loose-fitting pants and a long-sleeve shirt—as I unlatch my window.
Climbing down is easy. The castle walls are calm with the King’s sleep, and as I descend, my scrambling arms and legs send ripples across the glossy surface. My room overlooks a green field. It’s within the Palace gates but outside the confines of the Palace structure. It’s perfect for pacing and ranting and fuming in the dead of the night, shielded from prying eyes.
The night air does little to cool my rage, but it helps me grapple with control.
I’m in control. Complete control.
I walk the length of the field, letting my thoughts mimic my feet and wander.
Trellis Ruster. As if Rain’s life isn’t hard enough.
All children are cruel, but fae children are a special kind of torture. They hide behind lofty expectations and judgmental stares. They use their affinities like toys and hurl insults like stones.
I near the far edge of the field, lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts.
I inhale deeply.
The air smells sweet. Refreshing, even. Almost like . . .
Dammit.
I twist on my heels and sprint for the Palace.
Rain. I smell it in the air—feel it hovering overhead—waiting to cascade over the field and the Palace and me.
The air grows heavy with humidity.
The pull of the water vapor is tenuous. Nothing compared to—
A drop of water lashes against my forehead, punishing me for daring to think it weak.
I push my feet harder.
I’m fast. Always have been. But not even I can outrun the rain.
Another drop. More vicious.
There’s a crack of lightning, a rumble of thunder, and the downpour ricochets from the sky, drenching me. Drowning me.
I stop running.
The water is tempting. Too tempting.
Unable to resist, I throw out my arms and toss back my head. Lune above if it isn’t invigorating. The night is cold, but standing in the rain, I’m wrapped in a blanket huddled over crackling flames.
Lightning crashes, illuminating the Keirdren skyline. The trees bend, cowering from the wind, while the Palace remains, still and resolute, watching it all.
As the image flickers away with the lightning, everything shifts into startlingly clear focus.
Kill.
Trellis Ruster is an abomination. His entire family is a mass of rotten cow cud, and he claims we are cursed.
Kill.
The rain pelting my ears sings it to me. Its voice is soothing, gentle, and undeniably cruel.
There’s another pull inside me—reason. Telling me to flee for the safety of the indoors. Telling me to dry off. If I do, the pull to kill will evaporate like rain after a storm.
The problem: the Siren Song that lives within me doesn’t want to see reason. I don’t want to see reason.
I teeter on the precipice of logic and instinct. Right and wrong.
In the end, neither side wins. As long as I’m standing in the rain, the water wins.
My feet move before I give them clear instruction. They guide me away from the Palace, over the gate, and toward the Jeune River.
The Rusters live on the bank of the river in a house so massive, it’s practically a Vanihailian landmark. My legs follow the riverbank upstream.
Removing my keil bead, I tuck it into the pouch around my neck.
Water thrashes from the sky, but I want to be submerged.
I close my eyes and drift forward until I feel the rushing river against my legs. Against my torso. And finally, finally flowing overhead, flowing around me.
My destination is upstream, against the current. The strongest water fae can’t battle a river this swift, but I know the water’s secret: it doesn’t want to fight me. It’s as eager to submit to me as I am to it.
I push the water against itself and it carries me, counter to the current, toward the Rusters.
The large house is only a couple hundred paces from the riverbank. I fly out of the water and explode onto the bank.
Their house is two stories of handcrafted brick with windows dotting the back of the house, each dark with curtains drawn. One window on the second floor—a glass set of double doors—opens onto a white stone balcony.
I think about knocking, but that’s too polite. More than Trellis Ruster deserves and more than the punishing rain is willing to give.
My fingers find stable ridges in the rough brick and mortar. I start to climb.
I toss my leg over the balcony and stand outside the glass doors. The curtains on the other side of the window are pulled together, veiling me from the inside, but even through the storm, I hear the mingled snores of Trellis and Vencinia Ruster.
I run a palm over the glass and close my eyes. I feel each drop of water in my mind. I focus on the feel of each of them and clench.
Tension rushes out of me like an exhalation, and the rainwater on the glass freezes into a sheet of ice.
I see a flash of silver winking back at me in the icy reflection—my eyes—as I send my fist flying through the ice.
The door shatters. Ice crystals and shards of glass erupt in a fine mist.
I step through the wreckage and enter the room.
It doesn’t surprise me that Trellis and Vencinia have a bed large enough that neither of them ever has to touch the other, even by accident.
They bolt upright and stare as I cross the creaking wooden floor to them. They’re shaking.
Their terror is sharp and acidic. Panic never tasted so damned sweet.
Vencinia opens her mouth. She has time only for a brief, startled shriek before I send a wall of water crashing in from outside. It wraps around Vencinia’s throat, squeezing like a hand.
Her shriek cuts short—sliced through like a dull blade.
“Make one noise,” I say calmly, “and I’ll kill you.”
Tears pour down her cheeks, but she obediently keeps her wobbling lips pressed together.
Water shifts behind me—Trellis, attempting a counterattack. With an impatient flick of my wrist, the rising water crashes to the floor.
“Don’t bother.” I near Trellis’s side of the bed.
“Wh-who are you?” He backs up but stops when he brushes against his wife.
I hear their heartbeats. The two overlapping sounds sputter in a frantic rhythm.
I come closer.
All they can see of me is glowing silver eyes. The rest of me, ensconced in black attire and cloudy nightfall, is hidden.
A chaeliss stone sits on the bedside table. My hand darts for it, and Trellis flinches as if I’m about to strike him.
I don’t comment, but I smirk at his expense.
I press my thumb to the large rune in the middle. The chaeliss lanterns flicker to life, bathing the room in firelight.
Trellis’s eyes find me. I’m soaked to the bone, I’m wearing my nightclothes, and my braid is sloppy from sleep, but when he sees me, his trembling extinguishes like a wet torch and all I taste is sweet, spicy lust.
“Hi.” I smile. It feels feral, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I lean forward, open my mouth, and let my anger pour out in a song. Low, so his wife can’t hear over the storm. It’s vengeful, smooth, and ominous, like darkening thunderclouds.
Trellis’s vibrant blue eyes empty of all expression.
I pull away—slightly—and he follows. Slides to the edge of his bed, legs dangling over, body bent, trying to get closer to me.
From over his shoulder, Vencinia follows her husband’s movements. “Trellis? What are you—”
“I thought I told you to shut up!” My eyes flash dangerously.
The water around her throat tightens. Not enough to choke her but enough to remind her it’s there.
My silver gaze flicks back to Trellis. The bastard is still staring at me with eyes wide, glassy, and innocent, like a newborn lamb.
I brought no poison with me, I have no blade, and taking him to the nearby river is risky so soon after another, similar drowning.
Kill.
The water demands it and I intend to deliver, but first, I have a loose end to contend with.
The ring of water drops from Vencinia, soaking her bedcovers. She releases a shuddering breath, and her hands fly to her neck, feeling for damage.
“Go,” I say coldly. “Now. Come back and I’ll kill you. Tell anyone you saw me here and I’ll return for you.”
She doesn’t move. She glances at Trellis, who’s still staring at me, transfixed even as I threaten his wife. “Wh-what are you going—”
“I don’t like to repeat myself. Go.”
She hesitates only a tick longer before sprinting from the room.
Kill.
The water is impatient, and my soul is restless with its discontent.
I meet Trellis’s eyes and smile, that same monstrous smile as before. A song flows, louder this time, without an audience.
I slink closer to the bed. My song fades into a question to which I already know the answer: “Do you know Rain Sorkova?”
A sober Trellis Ruster would be surprised at such a random question, but Trellis Ruster is mind-numbingly drunk on me. “Yes.” He’s hoarse. “She’s a runt.”
I almost snap, but I bridle it. For now.
“Did you tell your son the Sorkovas are cursed?” I ask.
“Yes,” he whispers.
“Why?”
“They have two runts in one family.”
He says it like it means something. Like it justifies anything.
My eyes glow brighter.
Kill.
I sing a few more notes. Press myself closer, my face so near his that our breaths mingle.
He tries to lean in—to steal a brush of my lips against his—but I jerk back. “Don’t move, Trellis.”
He obeys, holding his breath in rapt attention.
I raise my arms, and the pouring rain rushes forward, eager to meet me. It forms a sphere of water, hovering just above my open palms.
“Please.” He’s breathless. I realize he hasn’t breathed since I told him not to move. “You know my name—what’s yours?”
I smile. The sphere of water drifts closer to his head. “If you’re good,” I say, “maybe I’ll tell you.”
I stop the water. It’s suspended in front of his face—brushing the tip of his nose.
My fingers dig through the leather pouch around my neck for my keil bead. I click it into place behind my tooth.
The transformation washes over me like freshly fallen rain. I’m me again. The me he knows, anyway. My lips stretch into a wide smirk as I say, “My name is Saoirse Sorkova.”
I have the sick satisfaction of watching the shock set across his face.
He tries to run, but I push the sphere of water forward.
It consumes his head.
Through the glassy water, his eyes widen with panic.
I feel a tug as he tries to expel the water using his own affinity. I’m stronger than him on my own, but with the merciless rain, Siren Song in my heart, and fury in my veins, he stands no match.
Our battle is brief and vicious. My victory is inevitable.
We all have instincts. Mine is to kill. His is to breathe.
He holds on for as long as he can, resisting the urge, fighting the instinct, holding his breath.
I see the moment he gives in—the instant his body gives up the fight. Something indiscernible shifts in his eyes, and he inhales. I feel the water from my sphere flood his lungs. His eyelids slide shut, and his body slumps forward.
I spin around, facing the open balcony doors as he tumbles forward, splashing onto the rain-soaked floor, still littered with splintered ice and shattered glass.
I leave the house the way I came—through the wreckage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
What Lurks Behind
I don’t regret it.
I don’t regret that Trellis Ruster is dead. I don’t regret that I’m the one who killed him.
My only regret is ever knowing him. Because if I didn’t, killing him wouldn’t have violated one of my rules: never kill someone I know.
I made my rules after my first kill, when I made the mistake of telling my father.
He looked at me like I was a stranger. A monster. It hurt like hell, but I could handle a look.
And then I tasted the rot of his horror—of his terror—and I was a falling crystal glass. My stomach dropped as I tumbled, and my heart shattered as I crash-landed in shambles.
I made my first rule then: no more killing.
For one year, I honored that rule.
At first, I used the water to resist my urges. I hid behind keil beads, avoided my abilities, refused to touch water near anyone else, and I stopped singing.
Every few lunes, my instincts would scream, louder and louder, until they were impossible to ignore and I’d give in and take a swim. It was just enough to sate my thirst and keep my other instincts at bay.
It took a year for the water to change its tune. It didn’t just call me to swim; it screamed at me to hunt. To kill. What was once peaceful solace became my sweetest temptation.
Wykland Railsen crumbled my feeble resistance.
He was an earth fae Mom knew from Kurr Valley. He was in Vanihail for business, staying with my family for a few nights. On his last night in town, I came home to visit.
I didn’t mean to kill him.
I don’t even remember doing it. I have no recollection of creeping down the hall from my bedroom to Wykland’s. Of singing him a soothing lullaby from our house to the Jeune River.
But it happened.
The next morning, I woke at the bottom of the river, and Wykland was gone.
I obliterated my first rule.
Worse, I learned that if I want to stay in control, I need the kill.
I sobbed for days. The realization broke my heart. I’m not sure I ever put it back together.
From the ashes of that first rule, two more were born: one, never kill someone I know, and two, only kill assholes.
My marks for the Raze were perfect. I didn’t know them and, until Felix, I assumed they were all assholes. Why else would assassins want them dead?
Trellis Ruster satisfied only one of my usual requirements. I feel no remorse for killing him, but when I deviate from my rules, I feel like a sprig after my first kill again, tasting my father’s fear of what I am and falling in darkness.
I try and push Trellis from my mind as I sneak from the Palace yet again. The last silver envelope told me to go to the sentencing at Haraya Hall, and despite my gnawing self-hatred, I won’t risk not complying with my blackmailer’s demands.
In the aftermath of last night’s storm, Vanihail feels more chaotic. The path to Haraya is scattered with destruction. The harsh winds wreaked havoc on the crops in Kurr Valley, toppled massive trees on the main roads out of Vanihail, and, most notably, left the Greysn River blocked with debris.
With the blockage upstream near the barrier, the flow of fresh, drinkable water into Keirdre is stalled.
The only people out right now are humans scuttling around to clear the damage and fae headed to the sentencing at Haraya.
After the Palace, Haraya Hall is the second-largest structure in Vanihail. It’s made from thick gray stones, massive stained glass windows, and erstwyn double doors that are wide open for the sentencing. There are sentencings every day in Sinu, but once a lune, there’s a massive one here, overseen by Vanihail’s Enforcer, Anarin Arkin. Attendance is optional, but judging by the number of fae coursing through the double doors like a current, it’s a well-attended event.
I keep my hood up as I enter the hall. There’s a wooden stage in the middle of the sentencing chamber surrounded by raised benches. Fae file in, and the room fills with the taste of fresh berries—excitement—while my stomach fills with dread.
