Estelle is at my side, her arms folded. “I’m afraid I agree with the boy,” she says.
I meet her pink, faceted eyes. “I’m not leaving without him.”
“How sweet,” Gwynn mocks. “But I’m afraid Ren won’t be going anywhere. Nor Jomeini for that matter.”
“She’s still here?” I ask, glancing around.
Ren clenches, fighting against an invisible hand. Warwick watches with artificial boredom.
“Gwynn,” I say, stepping toward her. “Please. Be my friend. Come back with us.”
Her eyes skim to Estelle. “I don’t think your sister there would like that very much. Besides, everything I want is right here.” And with a ferocious scowl, Gwynn extends the glove in my direction.
“Ambry Csille!” Estelle cries, shoving me aside.
I dive. Estelle rolls with me, gracefully landing to a kneeling position. With us out of the way, the darts sink into the back of a beautiful chair with floral padding and wooden armrests.
“Warwick—again!” Gwynn shouts.
Warwick fiddles with some kind of chamber in the machine. Ren stands at the head of the table, speechless, motionless, and looking more haggard than I’ve seen him in some time.
“Find the tears!” I tell Estelle. Without a word she heads for the wardrobe near a painted tapestry. Meanwhile, I make for Ren, ready for Gwynn to stop me, or to order Warwick to intervene. But Gwynn whirls around and snatches a red gemstone from the table.
Ren’s face dips skyward. With a soundless wail, he begins to fade. Feet from him, I reach for his arm. But my hand slips right through him. “What the—no! Ren!”
He vanishes like he did on the cot back in the safehouse. I break to a stop, standing right where he stood. Fear rattles my bones. “Where is he?”
“It’s the machine,” Estelle calls, unearthing pillows, throwing back the blankets, peering beneath the bed and rifling through drawers in the side table. Behind her, the wardrobe doors hang open, clothes spewing from its depths.
“What have you done with him?” I demand.
“He’s my portable prisoner,” Gwynn says with glee, holding up the red gemstone. “And see? So pretty.”
“He’s in the jewel?” I can’t help the stark shock.
“Here’s Jomeini’s,” Gwynn says, flicking an emerald in the air and catching it. “I’ve got one for you too, you know. And your siren friend over there.”
Any traces of hope I’ve held onto snuff out. I watch Gwynn, waiting for the mask to come off, for her to turn back to the quiet, sweet person I used to know. But Ren and Talon were right—this is who she really is.
“I didn’t want to see it,” I mumble. My heart thuds dully in my chest. I stare openly at her, at the jewels in one hand and the glove on the other, and I wheeze a final, resigned breath.
Hope fades if you let it. I didn’t want to give up. But I can’t go one denying what’s right in front of me. She really is gone.
“You’ve left me no choice,” I say sadly.
Gwynn smirks at this, rolling her shoulders and fanning the fingers of the glove as if preparing for a fight. “Good,” she says.
She shoots the glove’s spines at me once more. I slide beneath them, quickly regain my footing, and head straight for her.
Ren’s in that gem. And I’m not about to let her keep him from me.
Gwynn reels against the table. A vase tips over, spilling flowers and shattering on the ground. I grip her wrist. Magic flares in her palm, streaming a deep purple and sparking a shock straight into my teeth.
The moves Talon taught me eke forward, added to by the magic licking through my bones. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Estelle scavenging through cabinets and drawers, still keeping her word to help with whatever I needed.
Gwynn’s movements are dodgy at best. The streams shooting from my hands meet with hers, silver to purple. She bends at the waist, blocking herself from my advancing hit, and aims the glove at Estelle.
“Estelle!” I call out.
The siren whips back against a set of built-in cabinets. All the darts but one thunk into the wood. The other lands in her arm, but clearly one isn’t enough to facilitate the transfer to the gemstone. Estelle slumps her head back, weakly ripping the spine free.
Warwick loads a fresh vial of tears into the small chamber within the machine’s open door. With her attention on the siren, I bolt, knocking straight into Gwynn. I rip the glove from her hand and shove her to the marble. Heat spills down my arms. Keeping her pinned down, I release it, not at Gwynn, but at the machine near Warwick.
“No!” Gwynn shrieks.
Warwick staggers back at the influx of flame. Orange explodes across the silver mechanism, and he shields his face with his arms.
Gwynn’s magic hits me in the ribs, searing through my flesh. She launches herself toward the table, patting at the fire with a folded cloth until the flames die.
She lowers the cloth to reveal blackened edges and melted, warped metal sections mushed at the machine’s center. The door dangles from a blackened hinge.
Gwynn rakes her hands through her hair. “Fix it! Warwick, fix it!” she cries.
Warwick pants, the vial of tears still in hand. He was using tears to charge that machine. Tyrus threatened Bridar with my tears—tears with enough power to trap an army in gemstones and free the way to Angel’s Basin.
Angels, is this why he wants them?
I wanted to break the spell to free people and to stop Tyrus. But if this is what they’re using people’s tears for, more than anything I want to break the spell so the evidence of those few moments of emotion can’t be used like this.
It makes me wonder, if Gwynn could feel a few months ago, would she be like this now? Brandishing a look so heavy with hatred it should kill me on the spot?
My heart weeps at that look, at her plight and what she’s lost. What I’ve lost, what Ren and Talon, and even Shasa have lost. Solomus, Jomeini, all their sorrows pile in and my chest resonates with emotion few others can feel.
The teardrop heats as if absorbing it all.
Gwynn pants over Warwick’s shoulder. “Its central controls are fried,” he says, crouching to inspect the damage. “But that glove should have enough power until I can get it fixed.”
The heat at my chest urges me on. I inhale and channel the room’s energy. The canister near the door explodes, the magic contained in it spraying into glittering cinders and burning the wall beneath it. Thunder rumbles outside, quaking through the palace and making the floor tremble beneath our feet.
Gwynn shrieks, but before she can lose her balance, she shoots another set of darts at me.
The teardrop transfers its collective power, lighting me clear to my soul. The absorbed emotions, the magic from the ruptured canteen, the sizzling energy in the clouds outside the window, they burn and spread from me like an aura.
Her darts spear straight at me, but I don’t move. Instead, they richochet, tinkling to the ground.
Gwynn’s mouth gapes. I close in, cinching her wrists. She wrenches against my grip, but I hold fast and pry the jewels from her hand.
The moment they touch me, the teardrop bakes into my skin so hard it hurts. The ruby and the emerald shatter, tinkling to dust. Ren and Jomeini appear, hunched on all fours and coughing on the carpet.
“Ren,” I say. “Go to Estelle!”
Ren coughs, quivering like a wounded animal. He lifts his head and points to Warwick. “He’s her prisoner here too.” Ren says.
Warwick’s eyes meet mine, and he gives me a solid nod.
“Don’t you dare,” Gwynn says, but I stalk over and take his hand.
His palm meets mine, and the teardrop heats, spiking me with resolve. I face Estelle and give her a permissing gesture. “She’s all yours,” I say.
Estelle’s lips spread into a proud smile.
Fear slams behind Gwynn’s eyes. “Guards!” she screams, bolting for the door.
One hand nursing her arm where the
dart hit, Estelle swoops in. Her wings spread the length of the wall, barring Gwynn’s way.
Gwynn fumbles, arms windmilling. She loses her balance and crashes to the floor.
Estelle bows, taking the thatch of Gwynn’s hair in her fist. “It is a crime to drink the blood of a siren,” she says. “You have much to answer for, Gwynndol Hawkes. Though my song did not affect you the way it should have, I still saw into your heart. Would you like to know what I saw?”
Gwynn shrieks and claws at Estelle’s hands. Purple magic lights, only to puff away. I’m not sure how much magic she’s taken, but having just lost three subjugates is clearly taking its toll.
Chin high, Estelle lifts Gwynn by the hair to her feet.
Gwynn’s face is ashen, her movements jerky. “Please,” she whimpers.
“I saw darkness. Your heart reeks of it. And now you must answer to my sister for your crimes against her.”
A wail rips from Gwynn’s throat, but Estelle continues.
“Come. Elodia will decide your fate.”
Gwynn’s knees buckle. She grips Estelle’s arm while the siren drags her by the hair toward the window. Her wings, the emerald deeper in the yellow light of electricity, quaver up and down as if breathing.
With a nod back at me, she perches herself on the balcony. Gwynn flails, but Estelle carts her under one arm like a sack of flour.
This can’t be it. But Gwynn showed her true colors, the same colors Ren and Talon both tried to warn me about. Even so, the sight gives me pause. “Estelle,” I say.
“She must answer for her crimes. I will send my sisters to help you,” she adds before leaping from the balcony.
Gwynn kicks and flails, but Estelle’s wings flap higher and higher. Soon, the screams fade as she flies away.
I wait until Estelle becomes a dot in the sky. A breeze dusts over the balcony, pricking my pores. Ren touches my arm, and I jump.
“You okay?” he asks.
I shiver, staring up at the moon. “I can’t believe I feel sorry for Gwynn right now. But I sure as light wouldn’t want to face a horde of angry sirens.”
“Neither would I.”
The room is a disaster. Shelves once perfectly staged are now cluttered. Blankets upturned, bedding ripped from the mattress. Doors hang open, clothing and other miscellaneous items litter the floor.
Jomeini grips her hair, tugging it down her shoulders. “My fault, all my fault.”
“Hey,” Warwick says, kneeling beside her. “What about you? Are you all right?”
She shakes her head, swaying. But she doesn’t ignore his outstretched hand. He helps her to her feet, and she weakly leans against him for support, still wringing her hair in her hands.
“Did she find them?” Jomeini asks. “The tears?”
“Could you hear us in there?” I ask. “In the gemstones?”
Ren and Jomeini both nod. “It was as if from a distance, though,” he says.
The tears’ hum niggles at my spine, spiraling its way up and veering my attention toward the open cabinets near the balcony. There, amid a cluster of disheveled sheets and towels, is a familiar black box.
I reach for it, opening it to find my jar nestled on the blue velvet cushion within.
My fingers hestitate before closing around the glass. The same assurity I’ve always felt with them twinges now, twining up my arm and straight through the center of my chest.
“I’m here,” I tell them.
“What do we do now?” Jomeini asks, one hand on Warwick’s side. His arm cradles around her, and something tells me Jomeini isn’t the only one needing the support. I wonder how long he’s been held captive here.
A knock comes at the door. The four of us exchange worried glances before Warwick waves us down and crosses to answer it. “They’ll know me. I’ve been in here before. I’ve got this.”
I chew my lip, hoping we can trust him.
Fiddling with the lock, he opens the door, blocking it with his foot so it’s only open a few inches.
“Everything okay in here?” says a gruff voice from the hall. “We heard Miss Hawkes screaming.”
“It was at me,” Warwick says. “She does it quite a lot, actually.”
A pause.
“So…she doesn’t need us?”
“You know what we’re working on,” Warwick says. “She doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Let me speak with her,” the soldier in the hall insists. His voice elevates. “Miss Hawkes? Is everything all right?” The guard pushes against the door. Ren jogs forward, bracing his hands and helping Warwick shut it.
“Miss Hawkes!” the soldier continues calling, pounding fists on the door.
“That won’t last long,” Warwick says, dragging the chair still perforated with the darts Gwynn shot at me. He wedges it beneath the handle. The commotion continues, and one of the guards orders another to send for backup.
“Alert the general,” he adds.
Jomeini’s eyes widen in panic, and I don’t blame her. They can’t come in here and find Gwynn gone or we won’t stand a chance. I loosen my shoulders and call my magic, just in case, when movement catches my eye.
Four sirens land on the balcony. Even in the darkness their beauty is breathtaking. One with raven black hair and wearing thin, dark robes despite the cool air steps from the ledge and into the room.
“My name is Mirage. We’ve come to offer our assistance.”
“Your timing couldn’t be better,” says Ren. He lunges for one of the decorative statues, helping Warwick pile it against the soldiers hammering at the door.
“Open this door!” the soldier cries. “Miss Hawkes!”
The other three sirens follow in after, their wings tucked at their backs.
“You and your friends take our hands,” says a lovely siren with shoulder length curls. She glances at the commotion coming from the blocked door.
“Thank you,” I tell them.
Ren, Warwick, and Jomeini each loop their arms around a siren. The pixie-haired one who warned Talon and me to stay out of their battle takes me by the waist, and together, they rise. Their wings flap, gaining momentum, pumping us higher toward the stars. Ren lets out a whoop, and we sail through the sky, back to the safehouse.
***
Ren’s weightless gaze stares at nothing before he closes his eyes and tips his head back. Solomus and Jomeini have disappeared into another corner of the house. The wizard hugged her tightly the minute the sirens landed and released her to fly to her grandfather’s embrace. I’m not sure he’s let go of her since.
We explained everything, told him, Talon, Zeke, and Ayso who Warwick was and what happened to Gwynn. And now we sit, breathing a little easier than we did earlier tonight.
Warwick’s parked in the chair Solomus claimed during the dreamwalking debacle. He hunches forward, elbows on his knees, and taps the tips of his fingers together.
“Wow,” he finally says, breaking the comfortable silence we’ve been sharing. “So she was your friend. You knew her.”
Ren’s eyes glide to me before he answers. “Yeah. And she’s on their mountain right now, probably being sentenced to death.”
“Or being mercilessly tortured,” adds Warwick. “Not that I’d mind.”
“It’d only be what she deserves,” says Ren. He pulls his aud from his pocket and begins swiping across a certain batch of messages, deleting them one by one.
While their words are true, it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. I slope my head into my hands. “It was my fault you ended up back there,” I tell Ren. “We never should have—”
Ren touches my arm. “Hey, no regrets. I got the closure I needed.”
My eyes prickle. Closure. Gwynn’s claims were painful to hear. Her accusations, the claim that I never did anything to help her, the stabbing truth of her resentment toward me all the while I was missing her, her shameless lust for power.
I’ve questioned allowing Estelle to exact vengeance, but it was necessary. No ma
tter how I try to warp it in my mind, Gwynn did those terrible things to Elodia. She took Ren and Jomeini and trapped them in gems. She took my magic and intended on capping me in a gem as well. Whether I like it or not, she deserved swift justice.
Closure indeed.
“I did too,” I say. “I just wish it didn’t have to be so costly. I wanted so badly for her to be who I thought she always was.”
He leans forward, elbows to his knees. “Me too.”
I sniff. “How do I let her go?”
“She made her choices,” says Ren. “You did all you could, and sometimes that has to be enough.”
He levels his face with mine. Our eyes connect, and he cocks his head, waiting for my response.
I tuck my feet onto the cot and hug my knees. Much as I cringe at the thought of Gwynn turning to stone on that meadow, or of her punishment being exacted in some other way, it never would have happened if Gwynn hadn’t joined with Tyrus. I thought she was being forced or even coerced into acting against Elodia, against her own people—against me. But in that room back there, that was all her.
Warwick punctures our silence. “I understand it must be hard for you,” he says. “But I owe you both so much. If it wasn’t for you I never would have gotten out of there.”
His features are chiseled, the thin beard along his jaw only emphasizing how much. His brown eyes are guarded but sincere.
“We did what any decent person would do,” I say with a lukewarm smile.
Warwick inhales, fingers tapping together. “My only regret is that the machine got left behind.”
I rest my chin on my knees. “I didn’t even think to grab it. Is it still usable?”
“That one isn’t,” says Warwick. “But all my plans are in their lab. They’ll be able to recreate it.”
Ren shifts. “Does Tyrus know how to use it?” he asks.
“If he doesn’t, he’ll just subjugate someone else who will be able to figure it out. S’what he did to me.”
I’m curious about Warwick’s story. He explained about being a student, about getting spotted by Gwynn and Tyrus near the Station in Jienke. “What will you do now?” I ask him.
“You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need to,” Ren adds.
Such a Daring Endeavor Page 31
