Drown me with dreams, p.3
Drown Me with Dreams, page 3
“Sirens can taste emotions. He was nervous. And guilty. Like he was hiding something.”
“I noticed it too.” Jeune comes to stand alongside my chair. “He started fidgeting when Her Majesty said she didn’t know where the doorway is.”
Hayes’s eyes are on me. “Can you get him to talk?”
Ikenna is a Queen. A powerful and cruel woman. We can ask her all the questions we want, but if she doesn’t want to answer, she won’t. This guard, on the other hand . . . I have lots of experience bending men exactly like him to my will. “Yes. Do you know if he’s working tonight?”
“I can find out,” Jeune offers.
“Thank you.” I smile at her. “If he’s not on rotation, I’ll pay him a visit at midnight.”
“Come find me after,” says Hayes. “We’ll meet in my room to debrief. And Saoirse, remember—”
“I know, I know,” I say. “Don’t let anyone see me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SHIFTING TIDES
Hayes mentioned the former King and Queen slept in different rooms. He failed to mention they have separate wings of the Palace. Larster had the eastern side of the third floor, and Ikenna the western side. It’s a waste of space and resources, but having met them, I can’t say I blame them for going to extremes to avoid each other.
Midnight is nearing as I slink through the corridors. Like Hayes, Ikenna keeps her guards close to her quarters. Their rooms are in her wing of the Palace, near her chambers.
It’s late enough that the halls are empty, but I still wear a low-hanging hood and keep to the shadows to avoid being seen. I haven’t passed anyone yet, but my heart hammers louder with each creaking floorboard I hear, no matter how distant.
Chaeliss lights in the halls are dimmed after sunset, but there’s still enough light to make out the portraits on the walls of the Queen’s corridors. They’re all of Larster, Ikenna, and a man with brilliant eyes like the sea. Finnean. Hayes’s brother, dead well before Hayes was born.
I examine more portraits as I pass. None of them feature Hayes.
My stomach turns in distaste.
I stop at the door eight down on the right. According to Jeune, this is my mark’s room. She also told me his name—Thannen—but I don’t intend to use it. He’s a mark and I have a rule about that.
When I knock, there’s shuffling on the other side before it cracks open.
Ikenna’s guard peers through the gap between the door and jamb, eyes wary. “What—”
I wedge a foot into the room, stopping him before he’s finished. One hand slams against the door, pushing it open, the other shoves his chest, moving him back as I enter. My face is still hidden, and I can’t reveal myself until we’re in his room, where there’s no chance of discovery.
My mark was caught off guard by my sudden attack, but now that he’s had a moment to process, he’s alert. He tenses, preparing to try and fight me off. I kick the door shut behind me and shake off my hood.
His hostility extinguishes as his jaw tumbles to the floor.
“Hello.” I smile. “Do you know who I am?”
He nods. Doesn’t speak.
He seems still enough now, so I drop my hand from his chest. Disappointment darts over his face at the loss of contact. In response, I sing a hauntingly alluring melody.
My mark’s body slackens and his topaz eyes go blank.
“You lied to me.” My eyes glow silver and I step toward him.
He moves closer, his motion a longing echo of my own. “I would never lie to you.”
“You did.” I lean forward. My face lingers, a few shaking breaths away from his. “Queen Ikenna said she doesn’t know where the doorway to the barrier is. That was a lie, wasn’t it?”
His lips part to answer me—then his eyes go wide in horror and he clamps a hand over his mouth to rein in the words. “No. I—I can’t—”
I can hardly hear him through the hand over his mouth.
He’s loyal to his Queen. Not surprising, but irritating. Gently, I reach for his arm. Draw his hand away from his face. “You can.” My silver eyes capture his. Hold them captive to my whim. “For me, you can.” I sing another few notes.
The soft tune draws a shudder from my mark. The song washes away his inhibitions, shifting the tides of his loyalty from the former Queen to a new one. Me.
I watch it happen. Taste the moment the burning sweetness of his lust for me becomes overwhelming. The moment he’s no longer a Keirdren soldier, but a toy for me to play with.
“Ikenna lied, didn’t she?” I say again.
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in his answer now.
“Thank you for your honesty,” I say encouragingly. “I need you to keep being honest. You can do that, can’t you?” I lay a hand on his arm. Rub it soothingly up and down. “For me?”
He doesn’t waver. His eyes are completely glazed with desire. “Yes.”
“Good. Does she know where the doorway is?”
“Yes.”
I duck my head. My lips skim his cheek as I speak. “Do you?”
“Yes.” He’s so eager—so enraptured by me—he nearly falls over. I hold his arms, steadying him. The contact sets his heart careening faster. “It’s where the Jeune River meets the barrier,” he says. “The doorway was made with water magic. Only water fae can get through. Or,” he amends, “a siren.”
“How?”
“The barrier was created by a warlock. When he sealed it, he left a tear. It’s too small to pass through. You have to use water to push it open large enough to enter. But it’s unstable. Once it’s open, you only have seconds to cross before it closes again.”
Carrik’s words from last night ring in my mind. “How do you get back?”
My mark shakes his head. “You can’t. The gap in the barrier is only on the Keirdren side. It closes as soon as there’s no more water holding it open.”
Lune above, I wanted Carrik’s words to be a lie. My brain spins with this new information, so I pace, half forgetting my mark is still here, with greedy eyes that follow my every move. “Is that all?” I ask.
“Er . . .”
A faint hint of old bread intertwines with the taste of my mark’s desire for me. Nerves.
In an instant, I’m in front of him again. “What? There’s something else Ikenna is hiding?”
“Her Majesty . . .” He hesitates. “Despises you.”
I almost roll my eyes. I already know that. There’s more he’s holding back. I soften my gaze and sing again, louder this time.
His fragile resistance crumbles. “Her Majesty has a private audience with a warlock tonight,” he blurts. “To discuss you.”
“Me? What about me?”
“She plans to use magic to force you out of Keirdre. Permanently.”
Is that even possible?
A few weeks ago, I’d have said no. Now . . . I don’t know what to think.
Is Ikenna capable of using magic to get rid of me? Maybe. But why bother? She must know—or at least suspect—that Hayes is already planning on sending me to the other side. She doesn’t need a warlock to send me away. The fastest way to get rid of me would have been to tell me where the doorway is instead of playing coy.
Before Larster’s death, I never thought much of Ikenna. Never saw her as anything other than her husband’s wife. It’s clear now that while she didn’t share her late husband’s bed, she shared his dark and twisted soul. And, apparently, his hatred of sirens.
“You said this meeting is happening tonight?” I say. “When?”
“Midnight. At the pier.”
I’m reeling. It’s midnight now. Ikenna is speaking to a warlock about how to remove me from Keirdre right now. “Which pier?”
“The one used for His Highness’s birthday celebration.”
Of course. The Sea Queen is docked there. Freshly abandoned and perfect for clandestine conversations.
My mark watches me. “Please don’t tell Her Majesty I told you.”
“I won’t. But I need you to promise me something in return.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t tell anyone we spoke.” Having one of Ikenna’s guards at my disposal could be useful in the future. Especially if she’s planning something.
My first instinct is to drop everything and race to the pier to eavesdrop on the rest of Ikenna’s meeting. Except, if I do, Hayes will worry something’s happened. For all the times I’ve lied to him, I feel I owe him this.
I give my mark a stern stare. “Promise me.” My hand trails up the side of his arm. “You won’t tell a soul we spoke.”
His head bobs earnestly. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
CHAPTER FIVE
BLOOD ON HER HANDS
The corridor outside Hayes’s room is chaos. I’m around the corner, back against the wall, trying to stay hidden. Just barely, I peek my head around to peer down the hall. Dozens of fae soldiers dart around in a panic; human servants scuttle about, looking equally frantic.
A soldier’s head pivots in my direction.
My hood is up, so he can’t see my face, but I swiftly duck back around the corner anyway. Out of sight, perfectly still. My breathing is unsteady as I wait . . .
Seconds tick away. Nothing.
It’s a minor relief. Why are there soldiers here? Hayes wouldn’t have summoned them—he knows I’m meant to meet him in his chambers.
Something must’ve happened. My mark said Ikenna is meeting someone right now. Maybe whatever she’s planning is tied to whatever has soldiers swarming Hayes’s room like locusts.
Meeting Hayes is out of the question now. There’s no way for me to get to him without being seen.
I have two options: go to the pier myself and intercept Ikenna’s meeting, or return to my room. Patiently sit on my hands and wait for Hayes to fetch me.
Mind made, I push off from the wall and head down the corridor.
I duck into my room. Lock the door behind me. And, as I’ve done countless times before, climb out the window and scramble down the side of the Palace.
My feet know the route to the pier by heart. Memories of my last time here—delivering Hayes and a vial of luneweed to Laa’el and Spektryl, my heart shattering with Carrik’s betrayal, watching him pitch Rain into the sea—slink to mind. I shove them aside.
Focus.
I crouch in the greenery about a dozen paces from the dock. I look around, searching for anything out of place. The Sea Queen is instantly recognizable, with its navy exterior and gold-scripted lettering that glimmers in the starlight. The ship sways in the gentle waves. The shadows it casts over the pier elongate and shrink as it rocks. The movement is calming. The water whispers to me. It’s not an urge to kill—there’s no one around to kill—just the ever-present desire to submerge myself in the waves.
I take a breath.
Focus.
The night is still. There’s no sign of Ikenna or a warlock anywhere.
Suspicion wraps around me like a scratchy wool blanket. It’s enough to quiet the water’s singing. Was my mark lying? Or misinformed?
I’m about to give up and return to the Palace when a piercing scream splits the night.
My head jerks up, seeking the source.
I can’t hear anything over my roaring heartbeat. My chest heaves as I look around, scanning . . .
All is quiet.
The pounding drums of my heart start to settle—
Another scream. Loud enough for me to identify where it’s coming from—the Sea Queen.
I take half a tick to check my hood is still up before charging from the shrubbery, over the ship’s gangplank, and onto the deck.
Wind whistles, water splashes, and the wood of the ship creaks. But no more screams. Once again, the night is deceptively calm.
Fear has my pulse sprinting and eyes glowing silver. There’s no one on deck. There must be someone beneath me.
Water rankles my senses as I move across the deck, headed for the doorway that leads below.
A voice—scratch that, a moan—catches me off guard. It’s low, pained, and getting louder as an unseen person approaches.
I stop. A figure stumbles through the doorway. It’s too dark to see their features, but I see enough of their silhouette to know that one hand is pressed to their side.
They lurch for me, free hand outstretched, before collapsing with another groan.
Are they—?
The deck whines as I close the distance between us. My stomach is twisted into a knot so tight and heavy, I fear it’ll sink through the ship and drown.
I’m close enough now to make out his face and—lune above.
My mark.
Thannen. Jeune told me his name and I brushed it off. At the time, it didn’t matter.
He’s alive, but barely. The hand against his side is painted red with his own blood. Beneath the hand, the fabric of his navy shirt is cut open. His eyes meet mine, wild and frantic. He tries to speak, but he only manages a gurgling sound.
Panic clamps my heart. I know that sound. He’s been stabbed. His lungs are slowly pooling with blood. He can’t breathe, and in a matter of minutes, he’ll be dead. It’s an excruciatingly painful way to die.
I know this—because I’ve killed men this way before.
Get out of here.
My instincts—common sense—hiss at me. I should listen. Run off the ship, retreat to the safety of my room in the Palace. Someone did this to Thannen, and judging by the freshness of the wound and recency of his screams, they’re still here. But if I leave now, he’ll die.
Maybe I’m selfish, but if he dies, the odds of getting answers grow slimmer.
I kneel beside him. “What happened?”
Again, he tries to speak, but the words are too garbled for me to understand.
He seizes my arm. The blood on his palm streaks my sleeve. He stares at me, eyes intense with some meaning I don’t understand.
I tug up his shirt to get a better look at his wound.
I inhale sharply, horrified.
His flesh is torn apart. The bloody gashes stretch up his side, from his abdomen to his chest. My hands flutter uselessly. I try and press his shirt over his injuries to put pressure on the wounds, but there are so many. Too many.
Blood soaks through the shirt, staining my hands until they’re coated. “Hang on.” My voice trembles. “I’ll find who did this—” I try to rise, but again, he grabs me. His grip is weak but his meaning is clear: don’t go.
There’s nothing I can do for him here other than sit at his side and wait for him to die, but I comply.
His eyes get more frantic. The hand on my arm pulls my palm to his chest. Lays it there, against his heart.
“I won’t leave,” I assure him, voice shaking.
Thannen grunts. The expression in his eyes is urgent. He’s trying to tell me something, but I have no idea what. Still, I nod as though I understand. Stay crouched by his side as his grip—already loose—slackens. As the expression drains from his face until there’s nothing left.
His head falls against the deck.
My bloodstained hands shake as I shove them against his neck. Nothing. No pulse.
With my hand on his neck, I sense something sloshing in his lungs.
I expected there would be blood in his lungs. But this is water.
I wipe my hands, slick with blood, on my dark pants as my mind spins. Thannen is dead. It was the stab wounds that killed him, but the water in his lungs means that before he was stabbed, someone tried to drown him.
Why? And how the hell did someone have time to kill Thannen two different ways since I last saw him?
Orange light floods the deck before I’ve come up with an answer.
I jerk to my feet, blinking rapidly as my eyes adjust. Chaeliss lanterns float over the ship, now lit.
I twist around when I hear a shrill shriek from my right.
A woman stands on the pier, hands over her mouth as she stares at me with wide, horrified eyes. When she sees my face, she shrieks again, longer and louder.
Dammit.
I pull up my hood, but it’s too late. More people spill onto the docks.
I hear scattered shouts of, “That’s her!” and, “Isn’t that the siren?”
Above them all, here I am, standing over a dead body with the victim’s blood on my hands, and, complicating everything, there’s water in his lungs.
I look like a murderer.
Worse—I am a murderer—just not his.
There are only two ways off the ship. The gangplank, which leads to the hordes of screaming people on the pier, or over the side.
I don’t fully trust myself to be submerged in the ocean with my nerves so jangled and so many people nearby, but I don’t see another option.
The sea goads me to leap off the ship. It doesn’t want me to flee. The water wants me to take hold of it and silence the voices of the crowd. Permanently.
I back away from the front of the ship. More bodies piling up is the last thing I need. I’ll jump into the water—I have no other choice—but I will not give in. I’m going to swim away. No one else is going to die tonight.
The water snarls at me, and I back up farther. Leave Thannen lying in a pool of his own blood.
Every step is agonizing. I’m fighting my instincts and trying to ignore how desperate my body is for a kill. The water’s soothing tune reminds me how easy it would be to lure the entire pier of onlookers convinced I’m a monster into the ocean and prove them right.
Hiss.
Something sails past me and embeds into the wood of the ship. A navy crossbow bolt with a solid gold tip.
I look behind me. Soldiers have joined the crowd on the docks, and they’re charging at me.
I take swift inventory of the situation: the pins fastened to their chests indicate they work for the Palace. The crossbow bolt struck the ship a hairsbreadth away from me. These soldiers intend to take me captive—dead or alive.
The ocean is louder now. Its wrathful song demands I sing to the soldiers gaining on me. My head throbs as the sea churns violently, sending an angry, salty spray of dark water splashing onto the deck, drenching me.
Kill.
I raise myself on the ship’s ledge, preparing to flee.
