by Mary Weber
ACCLAIM FOR MARY WEBER
“A touching and empowering testament to the power of true love and of knowing who you are, Siren’s Fury is a solid, slightly steampunky follow-up to the fantasy-driven first book that will leave you with a sigh—and a craving for the next volume in the series.”
—USATODAY.COM
“There are few things more exciting to discover than a debut novel packed with powerful storytelling and beautiful language. Storm Siren is one of those rarities. I’ll read anything Mary Weber writes. More, please!”
—JAY ASHER, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THIRTEEN REASONS WHY
“Storm Siren is a riveting tale from start to finish. Between the simmering romance, the rich and inventive fantasy world, and one seriously jaw-dropping finale, readers will clamor for the next book—and I’ll be at the front of the line!”
—MARISSA MEYER, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF CINDER AND THE LUNAR CHRONICLES
“Intense and intriguing. Fans of high stakes fantasy won’t be able to put it down.”
—C.J. REDWINE, AUTHOR OF DEFIANCE, FOR STORM SIREN
“A riveting read! Mary Weber’s rich world and heartbreaking heroine had me from page one. You’re going to fall in love with this love story.”
—JOSEPHINE ANGELINI, INTERNATIONALLY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE STARCROSSED TRILOGY, FOR STORM SIREN
“Elegant prose and intricate world-building twist into a breathless cyclone of a story that will constantly keep you guessing. More, please!”
—SHANNON MESSENGER, AUTHOR OF THE SKY FALL SERIES, FOR STORM SIREN
“Weber’s debut novel is a tour de force! A story of guts, angst, bolcranes, sword fights, and storms beyond imagining. Her heroine, a lightning-wielding young woman of immense power and a soft, questioning heart, captures you from word one and holds tight until the final line. Unwilling to let the journey go, I eagerly await Weber’s (and Nym’s) next adventure.”
—KATHERINE REAY, AUTHOR OF DEAR MR. KNIGHTLEY, FOR STORM SIREN
“Mary Weber has created a fascinating, twisted world. Storm Siren sucked me in from page one—I couldn’t stop reading! This is a definite must-read, the kind of book that kept me up late into the night turning the pages!”
—LINDSAY CUMMINGS, AUTHOR OF THE MURDER COMPLEX
“Don’t miss this one!”
—SERENA CHASE, USATODAY.COM, FOR STORM SIREN
“Readers who enjoyed Marissa Meyer’s Cinder series will enjoy this fast-paced fantasy which combines an intriguing storyline with as many twists and turns as a chapter of Game of Thrones!”
—DODIE OWENS, EDITOR, SCHOOL LIBRARY JOURNAL TEEN, FOR STORM SIREN
“Readers will easily find themselves captivated. The breathtaking surprise ending is nothing short of horrific, promising even more dark and bizarre adventures to come in the Storm Siren trilogy.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS
“Fantasy readers will feel at home in Weber’s first novel. . . . A detailed backdrop and large cast bring vividness to the story.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY, FOR STORM SIREN
“Weber builds a fascinating and believable fantasy world.”
—KIRKUS REVIEWS, FOR STORM SIREN
“This adventure, in the vein of 1980s fantasy films, has readers rooting for the heroes to smite the wicked baddies. Buy where fantasy flies.”
—DANIELLE SERRA, SCHOOL LIBRARY JOURNAL, FOR STORM SIREN
“Mary Weber’s debut novel reflects an author sensitive to her audience, a stellar imagination, and a killer ability with smart and savvy prose.”
—RELZ REVIEWZ, FOR STORM SIREN
“Between the beautiful words used to create this fairy-tale world, to the amazing power of the Elementals, to the aspects of slavery and war, I’d say this book is a must-read for any fantasy lover. It’s powerful and will keep you turning pages faster than you thought possible. I can’t believe this is Mary Weber’s debut novel. Congratulations!”
—GOOD CHOICE READING BLOG, FOR STORM SIREN
OTHER BOOKS BY MARY WEBER
Storm Siren
Siren’s Fury
© 2016 by Mary Weber
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Author is represented by the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920, www.alivecommunications.com.
Map by Tom Gaddis
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-4016-9042-7 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Weber, Mary (Mary Christine) author.
Title: Siren's song / Mary Weber.
Description: Nashville : Thomas Nelson, [2016] | Series: The storm siren trilogy
Identifiers: LCCN 2015036284 | ISBN 9781401690403 (hardback)
Subjects: LCSH: Fantasy fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3623.E3946 S63 2016 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015036284
16 17 18 19 20 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Jeanette Morris, who is the queen of helping me find my voice in my writing and, even more so, in my soul.
And for Allen Arnold, (aka Allen the Fabler, Travelling Baronet). For stepping into my Story and changing it forever. And for providing big brother laughter and heart along the way.
CONTENTS
SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
; CHAPTER 45
MY POCKETFUL OF THANK-YOUS
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
THE ORIGIN OF THE BOLCRANE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For my shield this day I call:
strong power . . .
in the glorious company
of the holy and risen ones,
in the prayers of the fathers,
in visions prophetic
and commands apostolic,
in the annals of witness,
in virginal innocence,
in the deeds of steadfast men.
—FROM SAINT PATRICK’S BREASTPLATE
SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO
SHORT MEWING SOUNDS RIPPLE THE NIGHT AIR inside the thin wooden shack. The whimpers are soft and brand new, like the baby emitting them, and hardly muted by blankets the mum’s using to swaddle the tiny child against her chest.
“Thank the Creator it’s a girl,” a man’s voice breathes. “Let me see her.”
“She’s too chilled. Wait until morning.”
“Helena.” His voice is gentle, coaxing. “Let me see our child.”
The woman clings tighter, attaching the babe to her breast so the suckling takes the place of the cries.
“Helena,” he says again, but this time his tone is laced with suspicion. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just let us wait until—”
A slight brush of cold as the blanket is pulled back from the babe’s head. It’s followed by an exclamation—both from the suddenly cold child and the surprised man.
“She’s . . . she’s . . .”
“She’s like you,” the mum murmurs.
“Impossible.” But the man’s tone is more astonishment than annoyance. “What do you think it means?”
“It means she’s the miracle.”
“She’s Elemental.”
“She’s the one we have been waiting for. From the prophecy.” Her firm tone falls desperate. “She must be the one.”
The man lets the blanket drop back over the babe’s head with a surprised grunt. “But she’s from us.”
“Aye. And what’s wrong with us?”
A soft chuckle. “A lowly common-house maid living in an internment camp because she made the mistake of marrying an Elemental. And a half-crippled one at that.” He lifts the blanket again. “We can’t keep her. Our time here is already limited, and if they find her, she’ll be—”
“I know.”
“I’ll call for Delaney,” the man muses. “She’ll know what to do.”
“She’ll send her away.”
“Better that than the alternative.”
The woman pulls the babe from her breast enough to peer down at the snowy-white fuzz on her head and sea-blue eyes. “And if she doesn’t survive?”
“She’s not even supposed to exist. Whatever choice we make, she may not survive. So hold it all lightly, my love.”
The crying starts up again, soft and mewing.
For a moment it sounds like the notes of a lament coming from the babe’s mouth.
The babe who was never supposed to exist.
The babe who is not meant to survive.
CHAPTER 1
I PULL HARDER ON THE AIR CURRENTS WHILE STARING at the broad-shouldered black man beside me. I still can’t keep my focus off him—off the fact that he’s real and alive and truly here with me—feet planted firmly on the airship’s deck as he surveys the Tullan earth flying by beneath our small war-shredded fleet. The red dirt and rocks have long since changed with the landscape below to brown and green shadows, blending together like a muddy painting as the airship vibrates and the sound of the droning engine competes with his soldiers’ shouts.
Eogan doesn’t move to give orders or shout back. Just stands there in his torn red Bron suit in the same stance he’s been in ever since finishing his kingly duty of checking on his men and assessing the full extent of our losses. And, if my suspicions are correct, interrogating Lady Isobel and Lord Myles in the dining room where they’re being detained.
His handsome face barely shows the strain.
Even his skin and clothes, stained with the blood of wraiths and men from the battle we’re fleeing, only serve to make his twenty-two-year-old self look fierce as hulls.
I bite my lip and steady my legs, weakened from my aching chest wounds. And keep my gaze level on him. This king who spent the past few months as my trainer, stealing every bent piece of my bleeding soul only to break those pieces with his own confessions—before resetting them.
He is the choice I made over this world and the Tullan people.
He is the chance I took. And I’d take it again in a heartbeat.
For the hundredth time in the past four hours, the thought emerges that I don’t know if that makes me selfish or weak or daftly insane, but there is the bittersweet truth of it.
FOUR HOURS EARLIER
I reach up and push fingers into Eogan’s jagged black hair, then pull him closer as he studies me with a gaze that says he knows how unsure my heart is. And how heavily it’s breaking. For Colin’s homeland of Tulla and its people we’ve just abandoned to Draewulf. For the entire Hidden Lands.
The airship we’re being whisked away on lurches, then rises higher as Eogan’s green eyes pierce mine, and suddenly I swear he’s pulling back the lid on my soul, and in the process he’s accidentally exposing his soul. Which, if the flash of grief is any indication, is aching just as bad as mine. Even if he still doesn’t know how to acknowledge it—or what to do with it.
Next thing I know his mouth is present against mine, his lips searing, burning my bones, setting my soul to crash into his earthen heart like sea storms in winter. Bringing with it a hint of his calm to flow through my sliced-open, bleeding chest where I’d clawed my flesh open in my attempt to get the dark ability out. Willing me the belief that love can fix a multitude of worlds and souls and wounds—and promising to send my hope soaring for what goodness our world can still produce. And for the hundredth time around this man I am completely undone.
Blast him.
I have to resist turning back to survey the burnt sky and red rocks of Tulla, or look for Draewulf’s ships amid the smoke. Are they pursuing us? “What happens if Draewulf reaches Cashlin first?” I whisper.
“He’ll take over the queen and her Luminescent ability.”
“And then what—he’ll come for Faelen’s King Sedric?” Will his Dark Army come?
“Then he’ll come for me,” Eogan says.
My hand flutters to find his against the cold metal. “I won’t let him. We’ll hide you.”
His smile is soft as he shakes his head. “I’ve been hiding the past four years and it didn’t do any good. The only way to defeat him now is to fight.”
“And if he kills you next time?”
He falls silent. Enough so that I look up at him. “If he kills me, then he’ll come to Faelen,” he says quietly. “But not for King Sedric.”
I frown. “But the prophecy—”
“The right to rule was given to five Uathúils—five monarchs. And the line of Faelen’s royal blood was always the strongest. A lineage that belonged to the original rulers of Faelen.” He pauses and softens his gaze, reaching his words deep into my soul. “Sedric’s ancestors weren’t Uathúils, nor were they the original kings. The Elementals were.”
The airship shudders, and the sensation is answered by a matching quiver beneath my skin. In my veins. In my chest’s torn-open flesh that is threatening to make me feel woozy. I blink and frown harder at him. And swallow as the voice of the witch w
ho was Draewulf’s wife rattles in my chest. “And whatever you do, don’t let him take the final one.”
When I look down, my left hand is twisting even tighter into the crippled stump owner number fourteen made of it. As it squeezes, a tiny black line emerges through the vein beneath its skin, and for a fleeting second the feeling of dark hunger edges my lungs.
Like the distinct imitation of a spider testing my sinew before beginning to reweave her web.
Eogan’s voice emerges again through the wind and sea salt and snowcapped air. “When he comes to Faelen, it’ll be for you. Because you’re last in line, Nym.”
PRESENT
I inhale and open my mouth. Then shut it.
Eogan’s gaze shifts to study mine before it falls to my shaky fist. “How is it?”
I swallow and glance away and crush my fingers to give a fresh burst of wind. “It’s weak, but the power’s definitely there. It’s growing.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He nods at my chest.
“Still hurts, but it’ll be fine.” I hope. I haven’t looked at it since the sight of the shredded skin nearly made me vomit hours ago.
He slips a hand over my arm as if to test to see if I’m lying, because clearly he knows me too well. The span of a heartbeat goes by before I feel his soothing ability wash over me, and this time I welcome it, embrace it, allow my body to rest in it a moment.
His face turns the slightest bit gray and weary. “And without the dark ability, how is it?”
“Better. Calmer.” I allow a smile. “More myself.”
He snorts. “So, ornery as hulls then. Lovely.”
I’m debating smacking the arrogance off his face, except he glances away—so quick I almost miss his expression in the dying sun. It’s thick with tension and hope and something suggestive of attraction.
I smirk. Until two seconds later when I nearly jump out of my skin as the nearby airships sound their horns.
One,
two,
five airships altogether, counting ours. The captains alerting each other we’re all here. We’re all okay, and we’re all flying as fast as possible through the icy air to the strange kingdom of Cashlin, which we’ve never seen, to rescue a Luminescent queen we’ve never met. In hopes we’ll reach her before Draewulf is done ravaging the land of Tulla we’ve left only hours ago.
