“Gods could not destroy me.” His voice thunders in the darkness. “It’s foolish to think you can.”
I leap back up into the air, claws bared. I attack darkness once more.
Let’s see if this thing has a heart.
I can’t see his body, but there’s something left of him in the darkness. My fingers tear into his strange flesh, digging for that organ of his.
He hisses at the sensation.
We will find his heart—we will find it and rip it out.
I feel bone and blood—
Euribios’s magic slams into me. Or maybe it’s his hand; impossible to tell when the world is so dark and he’s morphed into something that’s half human, half shadow.
“Enough!”
He throws me onto the ground, my bones cracking at the impact.
I moan.
Things are … broken. Wing bones, ribs.
Didn’t kill him. Didn’t even come close.
I can feel Euribios’s form, his immense, dark form looming down on me, his power pinning me in place.
I begin to drag myself away. My magic moves through me, mending bones and tissue as it goes. Now that I’ve drank the lilac wine, my body can heal itself. Not that it’s pleasant.
I grit my teeth as bones snap back into place, my body throbbing at the speedy healing.
All the while, my connection pulses.
I feel a foot on my back. A second later it kicks my side, flipping me to my back. My wings vanish, the pain and pressure of them too great.
I’m blind, and yet I feel Euribios’s soulless, empty eyes staring down at me.
“I will never stop fighting you,” I say.
“I count on it, enchantress.”
Familiar magic—Des’s magic—reaches out through our bond and brushes against me. A choked cry nearly slips out at the sensation.
Des?
… Ssshhh … The shadows seem to whisper.
All at once, the darkness peels back. Its smoky, shadowy tendrils fold away from the edges of the room. I can smell old bones and rot, I can see the pale walls and the Thief’s stolen throne. I take in a shuddering breath. The quiet humming from the pool behind me drifts in again.
… A trick …
… A clever trick …
The whispers are coming from all around me, and I feel as though I might be going mad.
Slowly, the Thief’s form becomes visible. One by one the stars on his body wink out, and then the darkness settles back to pale flesh.
… He doesn’t know …
Euribios still looms over me, his foot resting on my chest. His own chest drips with inky black blood that evaporates into the air like curls of smoke. A few final claw marks heal over as I stare.
… Don’t tell him …
Tell him what?
But then, as quickly as the whispers come, they’re gone.
Euribios tilts his head. “How to punish you for your transgression?”
I steel myself, swallowing thickly. I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that trying to carve out the Thief’s heart has probably earned my mate some form of punishment.
The shadows around us ripple, raising the hairs along my arms. Just when I expect to hear Des’s distant screams, there’s … nothing. No screams, no weakening of my bond.
The Thief sways, his foot leaving my chest. He glances away from me, at the doorway.
He turns back to face me, his furrowed eyebrows belying his confusion. “Hmmm … on second thought …”
Euribios lifts his foot from my body and extends a hand to me.
I stare at it warily.
When I don’t take his hand, he smiles down at me. “Fine.”
With one hand he reaches for my head; with the other, my mouth. Taking a thick clump of my hair, he begins to drag me towards the pool.
I scream, my cries muffled by his hand, and I claw at his wrist—anything to relieve the horrible pressure on my scalp.
“Tradition dictates that every Death King’s bride must be baptized in the Well of Resurrection.”
The closer we get to that pool, the more the humming becomes a soft dirge. That glowing, flickering water calls to my siren.
Right as we’re on the very edge of it, Euribios lifts me to my feet, so that I can see, first hand, the pool he means to baptize me in.
The surface of the water stirs, and then something from its depths moves.
I’m not going in there, I try to say, but my mouth is still muffled.
Another something moves, a bit of cloth catching my eye. The longer I stare, the more I see—first a delicate arm, then a face—then another face, and another. All fairies, all silently screaming in apparent agony.
Jesus.
They crowd towards the surface, their hands pressed against the water as though there were some true barrier preventing them from escaping. I suck in a breath when I see a familiar face among them. The fae woman who so recently passed through Euribios’s halls is now trapped down there with who knows how many other souls.
The Thief pulls me close. “You wanted to know what happens to the dead. Look no further.”
They reach for me.
My wings threaten to expose themselves, and the Thief must notice.
“Enchantress, are you frightened?” he asks, his lips brushing against my ear. “Because you should be. Once I throw you in, you will have to fight your way out.”
Going to carve him up from ear to ear and wear a necklace of his entrails, the siren hisses.
With a fierce push, Euribios shoves me into the pool.
I hit the water with a hard slap, but I don’t go all the way under, not right away. My head and shoulders are still above water.
Immediately, I feel them. The ghosts that live in this pool. Their phantom skin slides against me, and I feel their spindly fingers as they grab at my leathers, pulling me deeper into the pool.
“Let me go,” I command.
The hands that hold me don’t budge.
So much for that.
I begin dragging myself back to the edge of the water, towards the Thief who watched me with a treacherous smile. More and more hands grab for my legs, my ankles, and my torso.
The dead are clinging to me!
I’m utterly spooked by the sensation.
They haven’t tried to do more than that, though. At least, not yet.
I want to reach for the Thief and beg him to save me. Anger and pride halt my hand and my voice. Instead, I settle for glaring at him.
He grins back at me, his form darkening slightly.
I can’t believe he’s a god. An evil, cursed god.
“You know,” he says conversationally as I’m dragged backwards, “I knew a siren once. She was beautiful like you. And mated, like you. But that is where the similarities ended.”
A hand jerks on my ankle hard, and I nearly lose my footing.
I don’t really give a fuck about story time right now. I just want these dead fairies to stop groping me.
Euribios frowns, his eyes softening as they grow distant. “But that was another life,” he says, still lost in his memories.
I shudder as phantom bodies swarm around me. They stare at me from below with agonized eyes. Piece by piece, they remove my gear and carry it off, leaving me in nothing but the shirt and trousers I put on back in Somnia.
Even that is not enough to satiate their interest in me. They rally around me, drawn to my life force or my glamour. I cannot imagine how many of them have been imprisoned in this pool. Not even death could release them from the Thief’s torment.
Euribios leans against a nearby pillar. As he watches me, he begins to move his hand, murmuring under his breath.
“What are you doing?”
He pauses his chants, but his hand still twists and flicks. “Removing a ward.”
Removing a ward? What ward?
“There are worlds where magic has no effect on me,” he says conversationally. “And worlds where it does. This is the l
atter.”
So he’s affected by magic? And the ward in question—is this something he placed on himself? Something he’s now lifting?
If so, that changes things.
“Why are you telling me this?” My voice wavers mid-sentence as an arm winds around my torso and yanks me back.
“I want to hear you sing,” he says as he finishes.
I feel the subtlest stir in the air as the ward dissolves away. It was so expertly crafted that I didn’t detect its presence, and now I barely notice its departure.
“No holds barred,” Euribios continues. “I want to feel what all those men felt when they died at your kind’s feet.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“You’re not immune to my glamour?” I ask, my skin glowing. It’s slow to process, partly because I have a horde of dead fae trying to drag me under—but holy shit.
He smiles a little, his eyes narrowing. “Enchant me, if you can.”
The siren surges.
We can enthrall him.
My wings protrude, my claws sharpen and my scales shift and resettle along my forearms. My glamour thrums against my skin and coats my throat.
At the display, the dead around me grow frenzied, grabbing me and dragging me down with greater urgency.
I fight against them, but it’s a losing battle.
And just when things were becoming halfway interesting.
Of course, that’s the entire reason why the Thief removed the ward. He wants to hear my glamour when I pose no threat.
If he can fall prey to us, then we’ll always be a threat.
My neck slides under the water, my chin skimming the surface. I part my lips. There are only two things I want from him: one, for the Thief to release his hold on Des; and two, for him to die.
He looks undaunted. “Any attempts you make on my life will be thwarted. I have my own tricks too, enchantress.”
Then saving Des it is. I’m trying to piece together the correct order when the spirits of the pool jerk hard on me. My mouth slips beneath the surface, and I have to tilt my head back to speak.
Time’s up.
“Come join me in the water,” I breathe, and then I’m dragged under.
The blood rushes through my veins, my siren singing as I call a god to me. To us.
This has been a decade in coming. This is what I was born to do.
Only now am I finally listening to the siren’s call.
Some of the spirits release me, swarming over to this new creature. Even with my glamour, I can tell the dead find him infinitely more interesting. He’s a god, which makes him more than just alive. He’s eternal.
It will make killing him interesting.
As soon as the dead’s hold loosens on me, I rise to the surface once more, just in time to see Euribios wading towards me, uncaring of the hands that grab at him. Curiosity and want war for dominance on his features. This is a creature who will take and take and take.
The spirits yank at me, redoubling their efforts, and it’s a struggle to keep my head above water.
“So defiant,” the Thief says, drinking me in, his eyes shining brightly, “even now when you know fighting is hopeless.”
I don’t know whether he’s referring to the ghosts pulling me down, or the more general problem of me being his captive.
My lips slip beneath the surface once more.
Euribios grabs my shoulders. “Let me help you,” he says, and I think for a moment he’s going to draw me up.
But then—
“I anoint you in the waters of the dead.”
I don’t have time to suck in air before he plunges me down into the depths of this pool.
Beneath the surface, a thousand different souls howl, their faded magic sparking against my skin.
He holds us prisoner.
Centuries of unrest.
Never ending.
The spirits drag me down deeper and deeper into the dark waters.
Need our tithe.
Give him to us.
They claw at my glowing skin.
“I am going to kill him,” I say into that cursed water. My voice rings true and clear, lilting eerily in the water.
I sense something sweep through the dead then, something besides their hunger and fury.
Excitement.
Their hold loosens on me just a bit.
Give him to us, they repeat.
The siren in me smiles.
“I will.”
Euribios jerks me to the surface once more. “Rise, my consort,” he says.
I’m shaken. Deep in those depths I heard the dead and I felt them. All those who passed during the centuries he’s ruled here; they’re not supposed to be languishing here in this tiny pool.
The defunct ship I saw earlier now comes to mind. The vessel sits unused at the castle’s dock, and beyond it, an entire ocean awaits. But the captain or ferryman or whoever moves souls on is no longer doing so, and the fae who have died are now suffering for it.
This must end.
The spirits have released me, but the Thief’s hands are still on my skin, his eyes following his touch. The human in me wants to pull away from him, but the siren beckons him closer.
So very arrogant to linger in the water with a siren.
So very arrogant … and reckless.
Save Des. Kill this monster. Those are the only two goals I have at the moment. Now that I know my glamour works on the Thief, these goals seem temptingly easy. But that’s the same thought I had when I sought to ambush Galleghar on Barbos. No doubt there’s a trap waiting for me here as well. Nothing is easy when it comes to the Thief.
There are two kinds of predators. One who chases after prey, and one who coaxes their prey to them.
A great god like Euribios must feel impervious to harm. He’s too great, too powerful.
It will be his downfall.
But I can’t be too hasty.
Let him think he has control of the situation. Beguile him softly.
I stare up at the Thief. “Am I the only one to be baptized?”
His eyes glitter. In response, he steps closer to me, his gaze fixed on my face. “You are … utterly singular. You always have been.” He looks awed by the affect I have on him. “If you want to baptize me, siren, then simply give me the order.”
He begs for death!
I take his hand. “Come, my captor king.”
My blood stirs as I tug him deeper and deeper into the pool. I can feel the ancient compulsion to draw my victim into the water.
Water …
Months ago, I remember thinking about the origins of my kind.
How sirens were known for luring sailors into the sea. That story never made sense. The perverse cruelty of it all. The seeming randomness of the victim and the manner of death.
But it’s not random at all.
The water is hungry for blood.
I am hungry for blood.
Vengeance and lust and bloodsport all call to me.
Have patience …
Maybe those sailors deserved their deaths. Maybe they didn’t.
I place my hands on Euribios’s shoulders. He’s watching my lips, waiting for my next order.
Patience …
“Let me anoint you in the waters of the dead.”
My clawtips dig into his shoulders, pressing down. Slowly he lowers himself.
Patience …
I lean in close, until only a breath separates my lips from his.
“Drown,” I breathe.
Our patience is gone.
The Thief laughs, looking disturbingly unfazed. “I warned you I had precautions put in place.”
My stomach tightens with dread and disappointment.
Too hasty. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.
The Thief’s form flickers and fades.
An instant later, he reforms from the shadows, and when he does, something in his face changes. Maybe it’s confusion, maybe it’s surprise. Whatever it is, it’s a dea
d giveaway that Euribios’s precautions are not working as they should.
He glances at the dark corners of the room.
“The shadows—” the Thief accuses.
“—have betrayed you,” a familiar voice finishes.
I jolt, my eyes darting up, towards the sound.
And there he is.
Des.
Chapter 44
Des.
My heart thumps painfully.
Dear God—Des.
He’s right there, a stone’s throw away.
The Night King has draped himself over Euribios’s throne, his back leaning against one of the armrests, his legs propped up against the other, lounging like he wasn’t all but lost to me only moments ago.
My connection throbs, just as it has since the Thief exposed his true power and identity.
It must be a trick, a cruel, calculated trick. Euribios holds Des’s life in the palm of his hand.
Only, the Thief is looking a bit startled too. He swivels to face the Bargainer, even as he still struggles against my command.
Never have I seen a creature withstand my glamour this long.
Des lifts his eyebrows. “Didn’t expect the shadows to fuck you over, did you?”
The Night King hops off the throne and saunters over to the pool. Briefly, his eyes touch on mine, and I see a thousand things in them. Most of all, I see yearning, so much yearning.
It matches my own.
My Bargainer.
I stare at him like he’s an apparition. All that pain I’d been working on overcoming just to function—it’s like the wound reopened. But now there’s hope to accompany the pain. So much hope I can barely breathe around it.
Maybe this is a trick … but perhaps I’m not the one being played.
The Thief fights against my glamour and the pull of the dead who still cling to him. It’s now his turn to attempt to escape this pool, wading towards the edge.
“You’re to stay in this pool, Euribios,” I command from behind him, the full force of my glamour folded into my words.
Beyond him, Des sways a little towards me, even as he stares at Euribios. I can tell my mate is trying hard not to look in my direction. He’s no longer immune to my glamour, and I’m no longer holding my powers in check.
Between us, the Thief’s progress slows.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “You will pay for this later,” he says, his voice laced with venom.
The room around us darkens with Des’s vengeance.
Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3) Page 34
