Sing me to sleep, p.31
Sing Me to Sleep, page 31
He slides off the sofa to kneel next to me, blue eyes bright, earnest, and terrified. “But none of that matters. I don’t trust you at all, and I’d still willingly follow you off a pier—song or no song.”
There’s something lodged in my throat. Without thinking, I take his hand and squeeze. He’s warm. He’s always warm. “You’re going to live past today.”
His eyes search mine. “I know what it’s like to be willing to risk everything for someone. For you, that someone is Rain. When it comes down to it, you’ll pick her over me.”
He’s right. Of course he’s right. I’d pick Rain over anyone. “I don’t want to have to choose at all.”
“I know.”
“Maybe you don’t have to,” says Jeune. “She’s your sister. She could escape on her own.”
I pull my hand from Hayes’s and sit on the sofa. “Rain’s not a siren.”
Jeune rolls her eyes. “Not all creatures aside from sirens are useless. If she’s not a siren, what is she?”
I twist my fingers in my lap. I’ve never actually said it out loud. “She’s human.”
“What?” Jeune stares. “How?”
“Keil beads. Like me. Like Sherri. We tell people she’s an ikatus.”
“But she goes to Caruston,” says Hayes. “I know that school. They have rigorous fitness training. A human couldn’t keep up.”
“We bribe her fitness instructor every lune so she never has to compete. As long as we pay on time, he doesn’t ask questions.” Caruston is the best. Its fitness standards are so high, it’s the only school in Vanihail that doesn’t have to report their testing scores. Which means it’s the only school for Rain.
Smoky curiosity wafts from Hayes and Jeune, but I press forward. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting her out.” I fly to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Returning to the sitting room, I thrust the chipped glass at Hayes. “Drink this. I’ll stop it before it reaches your stomach. We’re going to practice. I’m not losing my sister, and I’m sure as hell not killing you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Spektryl
It’s half past eleven when Hayes and I arrive at the dock.
We’re dressed warmer now, wool shirts and heavy pants. The breeze that blows across the ocean drifts to me. The xaladran wore off half an hour ago but, for once, the water’s call is silent.
Hayes walks ahead of me. His wrists are bound by rope, and I tied a gag in his mouth. Loose enough so it’s not uncomfortable but tight enough to be convincing. I hold the crossbow with trembling hands, the tip of the bolt prodding Hayes’s back.
His steps are short and shaky, like he’s walking on slick, cracking ice. The stale flavor of his apprehension grows with every step. I shove him with the crossbow, urging him to walk faster.
He stumbles, shooting me a look over his shoulder. But he complies.
Jeune waits behind us, away from the docks, hidden from sight.
Laa’el stands on the other end of the pier, just in front of the gangplank to the Sea Queen. She’s scowling. “You can stop there.”
We jerk to a halt. I stand behind Hayes, just to the side so I can meet Laa’el’s eyes.
“You’re not very attentive, are you?” Laa’el taunts. “I’m almost certain I told you I wanted him dead by midnight.”
“It’s not midnight yet,” I say back. “But you already knew I wasn’t going to kill him without proof my sister is alive.”
“I showed you proof.”
I scoff. My hands—shaking harder than ever—dig the end of the crossbow into Hayes’s back again. I almost say sorry, but I trample that desire underfoot.
It shouldn’t be hard to act indifferent toward Hayes. I’ve been doing it for weeks, but it feels different now. Cruel.
“That was hours ago,” I say. “I want to see her again—now. Then I’ll kill him.”
“He’s standing right in front of me. I could kill him myself.”
“You could,” I agree, “but then I’d have to kill you, and you know I can. You know how xaladran works and you know it’s worn off. I’m sure you’ve heard stories of sirens and how powerful we are. How powerful I am. I’m not here to play games; I’m here for my sister. Where is she?”
Laa’el curls her hand into a fist and raises it, holding it in the air for a few beats. A signal. I assume it’s for whoever has Rain—Spektryl.
I look above Laa’el to the Sea Queen. Two figures emerge from the top of the gangplank. As they descend, I see my Beansprout first.
Her hands are tied, her eyes are covered, there’s a gag in her mouth, and her skinny frame shivers—both from fear and from cold, I imagine.
But she’s alive.
My hands stop shaking. Seeing her calms me. I’m terrified, but I know what I want. No matter what tricks Laa’el pulls, I’m leaving tonight with Rain and Hayes, both unharmed.
“Rain! Beansprout, are you all right?”
She perks at the sound of my voice. She can’t speak, but she nods.
The only force stronger than my determination is my fury. It swells as I focus on the figure leading Rain off the ship. Spektryl.
I can’t see his face. He’s shrouded by the cover of nightfall and a hood. Still, I can tell he’s tall and spry.
There’s a blade strapped around his hips. New. His pants are dark and perfectly tailored. His boots are black and shiny—also new.
The only worn aspect of his appearance is the hilt of a dagger protruding from the sheath on the side of his boot. The hilt is crafted from dark-green leather and, although I can’t see it from this distance, I know it’s stamped with a black X.
My eyes jump back to his head. His face is still hidden, but I know he’s looking at me, watching me. And somehow, I can tell he’s realized I know who he is.
Carrik Solwey.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Stuttering Drums
As if he can feel my rage, Carrik stops.
He’s holding Rain, so she stops as well. I taste her panic as her head swivels about, trying to figure out why they’re not moving. It’s sharp like lemon juice, spicy like peppercorn, and hot like scalding tea.
I wonder if she knows that the person holding her is the boy she used to gush about. The boy I once considered my closest friend.
I doubt it. When I saw Rain earlier, she looked right at him and there was no flicker of recognition, no glimmer of betrayal.
Laa’el must feel the tension crackling between us like an open flame because she frowns, looking first at me and then at him. “Do you two . . . know each other?”
I keep my glare fixed on him. “Apparently not.” I raise my voice so he can hear. “Why the hood, Solwey? Afraid I’ll recognize you?”
Rain jerks in surprise, confirming my suspicions. She didn’t know.
Carrik hesitates, but after a pause, he pushes back the hood and unslings a keil bead on a cord from around his neck. With the removal of the bead, his features melt like candle wax into the familiar: shorn hair, dark skin, sharp cheekbones. Just like I remember. Except I feel like I’m remembering everything wrong. Like the Carrik I knew and the one standing in front of me are different people. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
Pieces click together so sharply, it hurts. It was him, I realize, in the ship’s compartment during Hayes’s rehearsal. He pitched Hayes overboard. It makes sense. Years after his fall from grace and Carrik Solwey is still the most skilled water fae to never graduate the Barracks.
“I’m sorry, Saoirse.” His voice is hoarse. Sincere.
I wonder if he thinks his words mean anything to me.
Carrik starts to walk again. His steps are slower now. He eyes me warily. “Are you going to say something? Or are you just going to glare at me?”
He tries for a teasing smile, and my gut twists in hatred.
“Was it worth it?” I ask softly. “All of this for what—so you could be a damned Enforcer?”
His attempt at a smile warps into a frown. “You think I did this for power?”
“Didn’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“There’s nothing ‘of course’ about this,” I snarl. “You kidnapped my sister. I used to believe that ‘of course’ you’d never hurt her. I was wrong.”
I taste a wisp of his pain at my words, like sucking on a rusted nail. Instinctively, I twist my head and spit it out. I don’t want his pain. I have enough of my own.
“I told you to stay off the ship,” he says. “When I came to see you at the Palace, I told you it was dangerous.”
I laugh incredulously. “And I was supposed to know it was a threat?” He knew. When he came to my room after I passed out on the beach, he knew I was a siren. He knew they’d expose me at Hayes’s party. He knew they’d take Rain. And he did nothing.
“It wasn’t a threat.”
“Says the person holding my sister hostage.”
“That’s not personal,” he says. “I didn’t want to have to do this. I tried to tell you to stay off the ship, but you’re so damned stubborn. I didn’t want you to know it was me. How did you?”
I glance at his boots. “It’s a distinctive dagger. Your mother’s. You never go anywhere without it.”
Laa’el glares at Carrik accusingly. “You two really know each other.”
Carrik ignores her. “As soon as I learned there were creatures in hiding in Keirdre, I knew you were one of them. It didn’t take me long to figure out you were a siren. And when you started killing for Spektryl, for me, you would sneak out the same nights as his kills. I figured if you weren’t really an ikatus, then Rain probably wasn’t either. She was always so small and you were always so protective of her. I just put the pieces together.”
This whole time, he’s been studying me. Meanwhile, I never second-guessed anything he told me. I didn’t think twice about Carrik becoming an Enforcer because, awful as the job is, he’d always deserved to be more than a nursemaid at the Barracks.
But, thinking back, it was odd that Carston Tarren, a fae Enforcer, would nominate someone so famously half-human for the role. Which means it wasn’t a coincidence that Carrik was chosen; it was coerced.
“How’d you get Carston Tarren to nominate you as an Enforcer?”
“We threatened him,” says Carrik. “Then you killed his sister’s husband, Niklaus Serkis, to show him we were serious.”
Of course. Niklaus Serkis was the one victim Hayes and I couldn’t figure out. When we searched the list of Spektryl’s kills—my kills—we looked for connections through surnames. But Carston Tarren has sisters and daughters. With no common name, we missed the connection.
I tighten my hold on the crossbow. It steadies me where my anger unhinges me. My fury combines with the water surrounding the docks.
Kill.
I don’t want to fight my instincts anymore. I could kill him so easily. Shift the crossbow and shoot, or use the water to yank Carrik into the churning sea to never breathe fresh air again.
The water sings louder: kill.
I can’t think of a mark who deserves it more. But despite the rage festering, I can’t lose control. Not until I have Rain.
“I have what you want,” I say. “I brought the Prince; you brought my sister. Let’s finish this.”
Carrik takes the final step off the gangplank and onto the dock. His grip on Rain remains as tight, but his eyes soften. “Saoirse—”
I know that tone. There was a time it would comfort me, but now it makes the water around us thrash more violently with my fury. “Whatever you’re about to say—don’t.”
“I want you to understand.”
Kill.
I don’t want to hear his excuses. About how he decided his allegiance to the Resistance was worth more than his friendship with me.
I shove aside the urge to kill. “I don’t want to understand. I want my sister.”
“You might hate me right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Do you really not care about the state of this kingdom? Its laws?”
“I hate this kingdom.” Not as much as I hate you. “But killing Hayes isn’t going to fix it. You might not believe it, but he’s not like his father. He would change things. Fix what’s broken.”
Carrik shakes his head. “I’m not trying to fix Keirdre. It doesn’t need a patch job. It’s not broken. It’s working exactly the way it’s supposed to. Which is why it needs to be destroyed. Keirdre was built on one belief—that fae are superior. This doesn’t end with killing the Royals. This doesn’t even end with the barrier coming down. There’s an army on the other side. An army that will sweep through and annihilate this kingdom. Anyone unwilling to join us will be wiped out. And finally, we can get out of here. Start over.”
I gape at him. “Except for everyone in here who dies.”
“Casualties of war. Means to an end. A better end.”
“And me?” I’m furious at myself for the hurt that trickles unbidden into my voice. “You were going to leave me to die?”
“Never.” He pulls Rain closer to him. “I had a plan for you and Rain. You were supposed to join us. Erasmus and Laa’el gave you those notes so we could figure out how to take down the barrier. But I thought it would get you to hate the Royals. Want them destroyed as much as I do.”
“I’ve always hated the Royals,” I say.
“You hated them because of Rain. Because you had to hide. Not because of what they are. I thought if you saw what they were really like—how many people they’ve slaughtered, how they spread lies about your kind, the people they hurt daily—you’d want to fight back.”
He breaks off with a scowl. “But then I saw you with the Prince.” Carrik glares briefly at Hayes. “Or should I say, Hayes.”
My body stiffens.
“You were supposed to hate him,” Carrik says. “Imagine my surprise when you fell for him instead.”
My heart, already shattered with Carrik’s betrayal, shudders. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t try and deny it. I see it on your face. I just don’t understand.” His voice heats with frustration. “You’ve been living in hiding your whole life. He’s everything you hate. He’s evil, and lazy, and greedy—”
“He is not his father. He cares about people. He’s compassionate. He’s not a monster.”
“You think that’s enough?” says Carrik incredulously. “His parents destroyed any chance you had of having a family—”
“You’re wrong,” I cut him off. “I have a family. And you took her.”
“I’m not going to hurt Rain. I know you. You wouldn’t sacrifice her for anything. Not even for that sodding Prince.”
I want to argue further, but I’m so angry, I fear continuing will snap my thin hold on my control in half. “Why’d you return the money?” The question has been nagging me since Laa’el said she didn’t realize it was given back to me.
Again, Carrik tastes hurt. As if he has the right. “Saoirse . . . I never wanted to take anything from you. I never wanted to hurt you. You have to understand, the Royals killed my mother. Locked up my father. I didn’t have a family until I met you. You’re looking at me like I betrayed you, but I’ve always been on your side. You’ll see. We’ll start a new world where neither of us has to lie to each other. Start over. You and me. You weren’t—” His voice breaks. “You weren’t supposed to know it was me. When I slipped that first note into Rain’s bag, I used my left hand so you wouldn’t recognize the penmanship and suspect me.”
“You didn’t need to worry.” The crossbow is shaking. I want to lie down. Take a nap until it all makes sense, but I don’t have the luxury of exhaustion. “Even if the handwriting was a perfect match for yours, I never would’ve suspected you. You were my friend.”
“I still am.”
He’s not joking, but I laugh just the same. I’m fighting tears, so it sounds more strangled than scathing. “I don’t even know you. And I no longer want to.”
Before he can respond, I throw my crossbow, sending it clattering against the dock.
Carrik and Laa’el tense.
I kick the back of Hayes’s knee, sending him buckling into a kneel. From the pouch around my neck, I procure the vial of luneweed oil.
Laa’el squints at the pale golden liquid. “Is that . . . luneweed?”
“Yes.”
She crosses the dock. “Give it to me.”
I knew she would do this. She’d be foolish not to. Still, I resist. “Why?”
“I want to make sure it’s luneweed.”
I roll my eyes and hand her the vial. She unstops the cork and inhales. Frowns. “It smells like luneweed.”
“Because it is.” I snatch it back.
“Then try it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Try it,” she repeats smugly. “If it’s luneweed, it only affects fae. You’re a siren. You should be fine.”
I scowl. “Fine.” I raise the vial in a scathing cheers and take a gulp. I expected something bitter and disgusting, but it’s spicy and sweet. I raise an eyebrow at Laa’el. “Happy?”
“Not until the barrier comes down.” She smiles cruelly. “Give it to your Prince.”
I crouch and pull the gag from Hayes’s mouth.
As rehearsed, he immediately starts pleading. “You don’t have to do this, Saoirse. I know you don’t want to kill me—”
“She’s my sister. I don’t have a choice.” I tilt the poison to his mouth, but he twists away.
I roll my eyes. “Your Highness, this can be over quickly.” I snag his nose and pinch.
He jerks, struggling to get away as he purses his lips together.
I pinch harder.
He tries to inhale—a brief parting of his lips—but I shove the glass into his mouth.
Hayes meets my gaze, and I see my own terror reflected in his eyes. He holds the poison in his mouth.
“Swallow,” I order.
He shakes his head violently.
“Dammit, Hayes.” I pinch his nose again.
This time, he gives in quickly. He swallows.
I’ve never focused more intently in my life. I feel the liquid sliding down his throat and grab it. It’s there, caught halfway between his mouth and stomach.
