Siren

by Sophia Elaine Hanson

  “This way,” Paxton said, jerking his thumb to the right. Ronja followed him around a corner, turning sideways to avoid an oncoming knot of Tovairin boys about her age. Their eyes stuck to her like brambles. She ignored them, unsure if they were leering or simply curious. When she looked up, it did not matter.

  “Whoa.”

  “Welcome to the trié,” Paxton said. “I think you would call it a mess hall.”

  Ronja nodded mutely. Just when she thought the temple was out of surprises, it had stolen her breath again. The trié was massive, easily as large as the entry hall or the library. The walls were painted with breathtaking murals. Towering mountains, charging armies, cityscapes littered with domed rooftops, and rolling ocean waves. Stalactites dripped from the lofty ceiling. Beneath them were three long tables big enough to seat hundreds. The air was thick with the delicious aroma of sizzling meat and an unfamiliar spice. Her mouth watered. Focus, her subconscious prodded her. “Where is Roark? You said he would be here.”

  Paxton shot her a withering glance. “Last I heard he was touring the temple. He should be here by now.”

  “Should be?”

  The Kev Fairlan sighed, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. “Have you always been this impatient?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ronja!”

  The Siren spun on the familiar voice. Her heart jolted. Roark strode toward them with his trademark confidence, dressed in fresh clothes not unlike her own. “Where have you been?” she snapped as he arrived.

  Roark frowned. “Do I need to get your permission before I go out?”

  Ronja put her hands on her hips, drawing herself up to her full height. “When we’re in a volcano full of armed strangers, yeah, that would be nice.”

  The boy heaved a sigh. It was then she noticed the violet shadows pressed to his eyelids, the tightness at the corner of his mouth. Her anger fizzled like a match in the rain. She pulled him into a tight embrace, burying her face in his chest. He drew her ever closer. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her words muffled by his sweater.

  “Me too,” he said into her hair.

  Ronja pulled back, clasping him by the forearms. “Where were you?”

  “I was—”

  Paxton coughed. Ronja flushed. She had all but forgotten his existence. She released Roark to glower at him, but she was more embarrassed than annoyed. “I assume this is your partner,” he said, unruffled.

  “What gave it away?”

  “Roark Westervelt,” Roark cut in, saluting him in the typical Tovairin fashion.

  “Paxton,” he answered, mirroring the gesture. “Advisor to Commander Easton. I was just showing Ronja around the temple. You had a tour as well, right?”

  “Yes. It was . . . enlightening.”

  Ronja eyed him sidelong, wondering at the subtle hitch in his tone. He reached out to take her hand, his eyes still on Paxton.

  If the Kev Fairlan noticed the silent exchange, he did not let on. “Will you be all right without me?” he asked, directing the question at Ronja.

  “I’ll manage.” Pressure around her fingers. She cleared her throat. “Thank you for, uh . . . ” Wasting my time and scaring the shit out of me. “Everything.”

  “Of course. If you have trouble getting back to your quarters, just ask. Most of us speak the common language.”

  “Perlo,” Roark said politely.

  Paxton nodded, his gaze bouncing back and forth between them. “Pevra. I’ll be seeing you soon.” With that, he spun fluidly and started back across the vast room. Ronja and Roark watched him go for a moment, then turned to face each other.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” Ronja asked.

  “Sorry,” he muttered as a blush crept up his neck. Genuine regret bloomed in his eyes. Still, she cocked an incredulous brow at him. “I am, but they showed up around five and you slept through it. They told me not to wake you.”

  “Where did they take you?”

  “Various spots around the temple, the hangar where they keep their autos and aeroplanes. I think they were trying to show off.”

  Ronja snorted. “I like your trip better.”

  “Why? Where did Paxton take you?”

  “Later,” she said, waving him off. She was not in the mood to discuss her bizarre experience in the Contrav. “Did you learn anything useful?”

  Roark rocked his head from side to side. “Their soldiers are highly trained. Swords, hand to hand combat, you name it. Guns are pretty scarce, and I didn’t see any stingers.” He shrugged. “We knew all of that. Honestly, I think these tours were more about them studying us than us studying them.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Roark smiled, slinging an arm over her thin shoulders. “You as hungry as I am, Siren?”

  “More,” she answered. “No more sneaking off, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  19: Collision

  Roark and Ronja tracked the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling meat to a serving station at the far corner of the trié. Six women in plain clothes stood behind the table, ladling steaming mush into bowls and stacking meat and dried fruit onto plates. Hungry patrons formed a queue at the far end of the table. They ambled over to join the line, speaking in hushed tones.

  “Let me get this straight,” Roark said. “This guy takes you to a room of fire—alone—and you just followed him in?”

  Ronja herself blush. “What was I supposed to do? Deck him and run?”

  “Possibly . . .”

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Ronja looked around. The man was in his late twenties with black hair and soot dark eyes. He wore a thick leather coat lined with fur and a broadsword strapped to his back. Fogged goggles ringed his neck, and his cheeks were ruddy with cold. He smiled genially. “Sorry,” he apologized in a lilting Tovairin accent. “You are the Revinians, yes?”

  “Yeah,” Ronja replied with a backward glance at Roark. He moved closer to her, his shoulder brushing hers.

  “Kai,” the man said, laying a gloved hand on his chest. “You are called . . .”

  “Roark.”

  “Ronja.”

  He nodded at each of them in turn. Clearly, he was less formal than Easton and Paxton. “Why have you come here?” Kai asked. It was a loaded question, but his tone was not particularly accusatory.

  “Uh . . . ” Ronja cast her gaze sidelong to Roark, who gave a slight dip of his chin. “We’re here to speak to Easton about the war.” It was not a lie, not exactly. It was just a different fight than the one Kai was engaged in.

  He folded his burly arms, his brow crumpling. “You seek an alliance?”

  “It’s complicated.” Roark offered a charming smile. “But we’re here to help.”

  “This is what matters,” Kai said, his easy grin returning. He jerked his chin over their heads. Ronja checked over her shoulder to see the line had moved. They scooted forward. “How did you come here?”

  “Jonah and Larkin brought us,” Roark answered.

  Kai made a clicking noise with his tongue, something like envy rising in his eyes. “You are lucky to sail with them. It is a difficult journey.”

  Ronja stifled a grimace while her partner agreed politely. The line moved again, depositing them at the edge of the serving table where metal plates and bowls were stacked like cairns. Roark picked up three bowls and passed them out. Kai thanked him graciously. “You are rebels, part of the Anthem, yes?”

  “We are,” Roark replied.

  “What do you do for this rebellion?”

  “We’re soldiers,” Ronja answered simply.

  “Ah, same as me,” Kai exclaimed.

  The line inched up, dropping them off before the first server. Ronja turned to offer them her bowl. “Oh, Elise,” Ronja greeted the girl, a surprised smile flickering across her face. “How are you?”

  The girl did not answer, keeping her eyes downcast as she took the dish and began to ladle oatmeal into it.r />
  “Elise,” Kai growled, sidling up to stand beside Ronja. “She asked you a question.”

  “Oh, no worries,” Ronja said hastily.

  “No,” Kai barked. “She must learn respect.”

  Elise glanced back and forth between the two of them as steam curled from the ladle she held. She looked like a rabbit caught between a wolf and a snare.

  “You’re fine,” Ronja told her firmly. She reached out for her partially filled bowl. “Perlo. ”

  “Melai trist, pestre,” Kai snapped.

  Elise flinched, losing her grip on the dish. Ronja yelped as hot goo splattered across her front. She swore, wiping the mess off her new sweater. Silence flooded the trié, thick as oil. For the briefest moment, the two girls locked eyes, understanding growing between them. Kai drew himself up, violet rage creeping across his face. He cranked his arm back and backhanded Elise across the face. The sound echoed through the trié like a gunshot. The world swayed as Kai smirked, satisfied. Ronja did not think. She lunged and shoved him to the side. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the table. Righting himself, he rounded on the Siren, snarling.

  “This is just a misunderstanding,” Roark interjected loudly. Ronja scanned the room. Several Kev Fairlans had risen from their seats, their hands on their weapons.

  “I will discipline the pestre as I wish,” Kai replied tersely.

  “Pestre,” Ronja repeated. She knew that word. It was the same thing Jonah had called Evie when they first clashed back in Revinia. It meant whore. Specifically, Arexian whore. “Elise is Arexian.” She looked around for the girl, but she was gone. The other servers had drawn into a tight knot at the far end of the table.

  Kai rolled his eyes at the stalactites. “If you paid attention, you would see the difference between a Tovairin and an Arexian.”

  Ronja flushed, “I apologize for my ignorance,” she said levelly. “But Elise did nothing wrong. It was an accident.”

  “Was it an accident when her people slaughtered mine by the thousands?”

  “My friend back home is Arexian,” she countered boldly. “She said the same thing about you.” Whispers rustled through the trié. Roark drew closer to Ronja, his breath tickling the back of her neck.

  “Arexians are liars,” Kai spat. “You would do well to stay away from them, Anthemite.”

  “You would do well to stay away from Elise,” Ronja shot back.

  Kai took a menacing step toward her. With the grace of a dancer, Roark spun her behind his back. “Hey, we all need to settle down,” he said, raising both hands in surrender. His tone was even, but Ronja caught the edge buried within.

  Kai smiled, sending a chill down her spine. “I don’t think so.”

  “Triv, Kai.”

  All three of them looked around. He was a bit shorter than Roark, with salt and pepper hair. Stubble shaded his jaw, and faint freckles dappled his light skin. The lines on his handsome face placed him in his early fifties.

  “I was—” Kai began.

  The older man jerked his chin at the arched entrance to their left. “Go,” he said.

  Kai shot Ronja a loathing glare, then stalked away, muttering under his breath. Some of the tension leaked from the room. Conversation reignited around them. Still, the man lingered before the Anthemites.

  “Uh, can we help you?” Ronja asked.

  The stranger arched a gray brow, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Odd question coming from someone who narrowly avoided a fight with a soldier three times her size.”

  Ronja frowned as she attempted to place his accent. There was a hint of Tovairin there as well as something else. Something familiar.

  “We had it sorted,” she replied tersely. Roark nudged her in the ribs with his elbow. “I mean, thanks.”

  The man chuckled. “You’re quite welcome.” He crossed his arms loosely. “Kai is a particularly vicious young man. I think you will find most members of the Kev Fairla are more moderate.”

  “Moderate is still complicit,” Ronja said, mirroring his stance. “How many slaves are there?”

  “Fifty, give or take a few.” Muted shame rolled across his face. “On the whole island, many more. Arexis holds many Tovairin slaves as well.”

  Ronja swallowed dryly, dropping her eyes to her boots as a heavy weight descended. Somehow, she imagined that the rest of the world would be better without the influence of The Music. But this was just as bad as life behind the wall. Maybe worse, because people were making the conscious choice to enslave one another. Sickening claustrophobia wrapped around her. There was nowhere to go, nowhere that was not infected with injustice and suffering.

  When she finally lifted her gaze, the man was watching her with unabashed curiosity.

  “Can we help you with something?” she repeated.

  He scratched the back of his head. It might have been her imagination, but Ronja could have sworn he was blushing. “Yes, actually. I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”

  Hope ignited in her chest. “Did Easton send you?”

  He shook his head. “No, actually. He asked me not to come.”

  “Ro,” Roark said quietly.

  She ignored him, fixated on the stranger. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her pulse made her bones tremble. “What do you want?” Her voice sounded strangely distant, as if she were hearing it through a long tube. “If this is another skitzing tour, I swear . . . ”

  “Ro,” Roark hissed urgently.

  “What?” she snapped. Her pulse faltered. He was staring at her with pleading full moon eyes. He looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

  “I never thought this day would come,” the man muttered seemingly to himself.

  Ronja turned back to the stranger. His expression was glazed, distant. “You have her hair, her nose.” His hand drifted up as if to caress her cheek. She flinched away. He recoiled, too. “Is it true?” he asked.

  “Is what true?”

  “Ronja,” he said softly. “My name is Darius. I believe I am your father.”

  20: Belly of the Beast

  Terra

  They came to collect Iris when her shirt and hair were soaked with blood. Two Offs grabbed her and hauled her from the room without so much as a glance at the other prisoners. Terra held Evie until they were gone, until all that remained of Iris were the red ribbons left by her dragging heels. Moments later, Henry strode into The Amp. He still wore his wireless headset. “Evie,” Terra muttered, holding eye contact with him. Evie did not stir, so she gave her shoulder a rough shake. “Get up. Henry is here.”

  The techi sat up immediately, her eyes brimming with almost animalistic rage. Good, Terra thought grimly. They were going to need that. The girls climbed to their feet. Mouse, who had secluded himself in the far corner of the cell, darted over to stand beside them. He wiped his nose with the back of his wrist, sniffling discreetly.

  “Iris will live,” Henry said, his monotone sliding through the intercom. “Though, I have never seen anyone take more than three sessions in The Amp.”

  “YOU SICK BASTARD!” Evie bellowed, jamming a useless finger at him. “IRIS LOVED YOU!” Her body was wracked with chills. Terra could feel them coming off her skin. “Do you really not remember?” she asked, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

  “I remember enough to know that I am better off without you,” Henry answered flatly. “I was weak, sick with emotion.”

  “No, Henry,” Evie said. She shook her head. “You were the strongest person I knew.”

  “I was not sent here to reminisce.” Henry slipped his hands into the pockets of his starched slacks, considering them. “Now, are you ready to tell us how to get into the Belly?”

  “Yes,” Terra answered.

  “What?” Evie and Mouse shouted in unison. Even Henry looked vaguely surprised.

  “But I will only speak to Maxwell.” Terra kept her eyes glued to the boy beyond the glass, praying that Evie would recall th
eir plan through her grief. Thankfully, the techi said nothing, though she could feel the weight of Evie’s disbelieving gaze.

  “Not possible,” Henry said at once. “The Conductor has far more important things to focus on than a few insurgents.”

  “Does he?” Terra inquired with mock politeness. “Because last I checked, he wanted to take the Anthem alive. Eventually, they’re going to run out of food or air.” She lifted one corner of her mouth. “Unless you want to take that chance, but I doubt your boss is in a particularly forgiving mood.”

  Henry did not respond at once. She could see the cogs of his diluted brain spinning through his eyes. Terra held her breath, clinging to her wits by her fingernails. Evie still stared at her intensely.

  Then Henry twitched. He blinked once, twice, and nodded. “Someone will come to collect you shortly. Wait on the floor with your hands behind your head.” With that, he swept from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  If Terra did not know better, she would have said he was angry.

  Evie grabbed her by the forearm, wheeling her around to face her. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded under her breath. “You think they’re going to just let us go if we play nice? Are you really ready to give up almost a thousand people, our friends?”

  Terra shrugged, exaggerating the movement so the camera would pick it up. “Maybe.” She leaned a bit closer to Evie, pinning her with her gaze. “What would Roark do?”

  “He would . . . ” The techi cut herself off. Understanding clicked into place on her tearstained face. Terra reached up to itch her remaining ear, praying she would get the message. “He would want us to save ourselves,” Evie finished.

  Terra nodded, relieved she was not alone in her plot.

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Mouse squawked indignantly, moving to stand before them with his hands on his hips. “There’s no way in hell Roark would ever—” Terra slammed her bare heel into his toes. The trader swore profusely, hopping up and down on his good leg and cradling his injured foot. “What the hell was that for?” he shouted.

  “Cockroach,” Terra answered.