by A. K. Koonce
Contents
Prologue
1. Hunting Her
2. The Queen’s Court
3. Witches and Mothers
4. A Brave Death
5. Ripples of Riddles
6. Cold Pie
7. Finding Answers
8. Realizing the Truth
9. Just a Child
10. A Prisoner
11. Coming to a Realization
12. Fixing Failures
13. The Storm
14. Fate
Also By A.K. Koonce
Also By Rebecca Grey
About A.K. Koonce
About Rebecca Grey
This series is dedicated to all the beautiful, badass Syrens of the world who are strong and fearless but also . . . a little bit unsure. Bravery is built on fiery and drowning emotions. It’s made of hard emotions as well as soft.
Never be afraid to show your softer side, Badasses.
Prologue
Bear
“Fucking help her!” My roar is a lashing thing that tenses the entire room into a splintering thin glass.
The Chaplain’s little eyes shift this way and that as he places yet another useless wet cloth to her pale head. “She’s healing, my King. She’s healing. Just . . . give her time. I said she needs time.”
Fucking time.
My jaw clenches so hard, a cracking sound accompanies my pounding heartbeat in my ears.
“Get out.” I fling the bedroom door open so hard, the handle breaks.
Again.
It’s the second one I’ve broken in two days now.
Chaplain scuttles from the room with his robes sweeping around his fast-moving feet.
“I’ll continue to pray for her,” he yelps on his way past.
Fucking useless prayers.
I fling the door shut in his wake, and then…
Then it’s just her and me.
And the awful silence that hangs in the air around us where bantering and bickering used to fill the void.
A weak breath slips from my lips as I stare at her deep blue hair spread over the pillow and her all-too-white face. She’s still pretty.
Of course she’s still pretty. Her soft features are vacant now, though. Empty of laughter or anger. Reckless, beautiful fucking anger.
What I wouldn’t give to hear her tell me to go fuck myself right now.
Seconds pass, and in those few short moments, my knees give out and with a hard thump, I hit the ground. My hands hang at my sides, and I think about every fucking wrong I’ve ever committed in this life.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Not to the Goddess. Not to my father who’s long dead.
Just to her.
“I’m so sorry I failed you, Syren.” Emotion cuts my voice in half, and I have to swallow the harsh feeling back.
Even as I crawl to her side. On my hands and knees, I crawl over the papers and broken lamps I’ve thrown to the floor in the past two days. Pain slices my palms, and all I think about is her—how she feels nothing.
My fingers skim her blankets as I lift to kneel at her bedside.
She’s healing. She’ll pull through. She’s strong.
All the things Miranda and Chaplain have promised me for days are a feeble whisper in my mind as I look at her peaceful face.
“My Queen,” I whisper, letting my fingers brush through the softest hair I’ve ever touched. “My Queen, I need you. I need you so fucking bad. I don’t know how to do this anymore. Not without you . . .” Once more, weakness shudders through my voice, and I can’t even stop it. “Syren, I need you. I need you to scream at me when my mind’s too far gone. I need you to ground me through all this hell. I need you to remind me life is good. I need—”
I need . . . I need . . .
My heart stops.
Because her lashes flutter open.
1
Hunting Her
Syren
I squeeze my eyes shut to keep out the guilty wave of thoughts. The sun hides lazily behind foggy, gray clouds still half hidden by the horizon. Morning is coming whether or not I ask for it.
Every decision I’ve ever made led me to this path. Seeking the truth, only to be lied to. I can’t spend a moment patting myself on the back for being right about the goddessdamned curse, not when I was also so wrong about who was behind it all.
So much has crumbled and broken to bits in my life. The one good thing is, the tiny death scare I had seemed to be enough to cause them to cancel the royal wedding. Not that we aren’t technically already married by our own right…
But I can’t handle any headdresses, gowns, and flowers while one single person is all that’s on my mind.
Below me, the tree limb bows and threatens to break as I lean forward, straining my ears to listen to the night. My lungs burn from the way my breaths fall so frantically. The wind plays dirty tricks on me when it blows snow from the jagged limbs of the towering trees. Sometimes it sounds like the rustle of Aisha’s dress as she climbs out the window, and sometimes it sounds like her sprinting feet.
She betrayed me. She betrayed the entirety of the Northern Kingdom. She deserves to be strung up by her toes and hung until beetles feast upon her rotting flesh.
An awful, yet satisfying, image.
Sour and tart, the smell of winterberries growing under the frosted leaves of the brush makes my stomach growl. I will have to eat sooner rather than later. Which ruins my plans for hunting down that wicked, lying wench early this morning.
Winter claims Nalerpera with its harsh storms and coats of fine, icy snow. Fat and lazy snowflakes float down leisurely, hiding any tracks made. Strands of my blue hair, crystalized into long dreadlocks, lash across my face as I thrash toward the noise of fluttering wings. A bird taking flight.
Past the sound of flapping wings is the drum of boots across the uneven terrain. Snow crunches, and my heart beats louder. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as the steps near. Every sound, every animal, every distant roar or muted cry of some winged beast is, in my head, Aisha. No stone will remain unturned while she runs free, and the good people of Nalerpera continue to suffer.
As the steps pass under me, I swing myself down from the branch, legs stretching out to wrap around the throat of the passerby. Impact is like hitting an old, very solid, brick wall. Air rushes out of my lungs, but I push to swing myself around until the two of us fall into the dusty white.
Instantly, I recognize the chestnut-brown hair fanning over my stomach, and the scent of falling, burning stars before Bear rolls over and pulls himself over me.
Snow sizzles and hisses as it melts away under his palms resting on either side of my head. “You have to stop this. My men will find her.”
You’ve been at this for days, my Queen. He speaks into my mind.
I turn away, watching the glitter of ice along the leaves glisten in the breeze, trying and failing to focus on the lacework of crystals so I can avoid the searing gaze of my mate. Worry seeps through our bond. Bear’s worry for me. I do not need to see the longing, pleading look in his yellow eyes.
Bear stands and dusts off his brown trousers before offering me his hand. The neatly ironed, white, buttoned shirt is untucked from his pants and bunches along his lean waist, a sight that catches my eyes.
You’re so wound up, you can hardly hear my calls. Your mind is distant. This isn’t good for you.
Or me. His thoughts echo.
Gritting my teeth togeth
er, I take his hand, finally making eye contact. His harsh, narrow gaze stirs up guilt, leaving my chest feeling tight with regret. It isn’t right for me to shut out my husband like this. I know this. Yet with Aisha still out there and people still dying, how can I stop? We will have more days to love each other, to explore each other, and to open up. Many more days than the people in Nalerpera.
Bear opens his mind so I can feel the aching pain of the hollow place in his soul that remains when I pull away. His steady hands cup my cheeks, holding me in place as he sends warmth traveling through the veins of my body. A string of heat curls through my abdomen, tightening and twisting in a lustful way that makes my cheeks flush.
I know better ways you could be spending your time. His voice is a husky whisper, seductive and pleading.
My lips twitch into a sly smile only briefly before I right myself. Nuzzling my face into his grasp, I close my eyes.
“I can’t let her get away, Bear. I won’t let this injustice continue.” My breath clouds between us, taking the words away with them.
“Syren, what good is this? Do you think Aisha, of all people, would be trotting about the woods? If it wasn’t me, you would likely have caught a hunter or a traveler.” He blinks slowly, his thoughts churning. “And I’m not about to let some other man get caught between your thighs like that.”
Both of his large hands slide down my cheeks, traveling down my shoulders, waist, and hips until he reaches around to cup my backside before scooping my legs up. I welcome every inch of his heat, warming my cold and tired bones as he pulls me tight against him.
“These are my thighs. My mate.” He snaps his canines once before kissing down my jaw and brushing them near the soft spot of gills along my neck.
I stifle the moan that means to escape me.
Oh, don’t be like that, my Queen. You may not make those noises out loud, but I can hear your want inside your head.
Carefully, I press my lips against his. I pull away, only to watch his face as his honey eyes try to memorize every detail of my features. Really, I don’t need to memorize his. It’s already engraved in my memories.
Flashing images of his skin on my skin and the sounds Bear makes when he cums travel through my mind as I send the thought to him. A rumble, akin to a purr, travels through his chest.
I bite my lip. Tauntingly, I run my fingers through his hair, only grabbing ahold of a handful, and pull his face back to mine. He smiles as he kisses me.
A loud growl breaks the kiss. Both of us looking down at my rioting stomach.
Surely, my hunger can wait. I roll my eyes, leaning back in.
No, my Queen, it cannot.
He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t speak it to my mind either. Dropping my legs to the ground, we walk together toward the castle. I can tell his thoughts are rattled. Bear is worried. Worried about me more so than his people. When Aisha left, he thought he was losing me.
Too much time is missing. There was darkness for a long, long time. And no one dares speak of what the Cruel King went through during that darkness.
Cruelness isn’t all that he’s made of.
I see that now.
Bear takes my hand, leading me through the dense forest growth. My gaze travels back and forth, taking in every shadow, every moving creature.
Bear is right. Aisha wouldn’t be out roughing it in the cold winter woods. She’s staying somewhere.
The sun peeks out over the top of the castle, illuminating it in a heavenly glow. Nothing remains of the jagged broken stone or the burned wooden doorway. Any clues that the people had once tried to take over the castle have been wiped away, cleaned and polished, or rebuilt from scratch until they no longer exist.
However, the memory still remains. Fear still remains.
Fear lives within the people outside of these castle walls. And without a doubt, it lives inside of me. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth even as I chew on the finest meal that the Northern Kingdom, possibly even the Fae Countries, has to offer.
Honestly, I’m not sure when I made it from the steps of the castle into the dining hall or if I made my own plate or if it had just been provided. Blinking slowly, I bring a spoonful of oatmeal, artfully decorated with berries and chocolate, up to my mouth.
Yup, tart as fuck with a side of anxiety.
Miranda squints down at a large, weathered book opened right down the middle. He glances from the tattered, worn pages then back up at me.
Bear catches his questioning look, quickly shaking his head to dismiss whatever Miranda might be ready to say, and clears his throat. “Miranda has really been reading all of that material you have on the Bloodroot. He thinks it makes a lot of sense.”
Miranda’s squint narrows even further. If he tries any farther, he’ll make himself blind, I’m sure of it.
“Right, Miranda?” Bear says, his hands tightly interlocking before him on the long, polished table.
“Not exactly. No.” Miranda’s finger skims along the text, pausing only as Bear raps his knuckles against the wood. His lips part, then close, then open again. “It’s just, I can’t figure out how it’s being distributed to affect the entirety of the Northern Kingdom. But no one else is affected?” On either side of his face, Miranda’s curls, which have grown long in the past few weeks, are tucked behind his ears. The length and the curls give him an even younger appearance, as if his child-like demeanor didn’t already display everlasting youth. “And everything I’ve read says that you need dark magic to complete this. Aisha wouldn’t have access to dark magic.”
“Are you still suggesting that this really is a curse?” The berries in my mouth explode with juices as I mush the food into my cheeks and speak with my mouth full. A dribble of red juice slips over my lip. Leaning forward, I try to catch it before it drops embarrassingly onto the table.
I’m too late. Fat, red, and diluted with my own obnoxious saliva, the drop falls against the rim of my bowl. Promptly, I close my mouth, chewing and swallowing.
Bear sighs low and long as he leans back in his chair. Miranda’s face falls to an even deadpan as he watches me with mild annoyance.
“That was gross,” Miranda finally mutters, turning back to his book.
“If by gross, you mean endearing and charming, then yes, it was.” I crumple the cloth napkin beside me inside my hand and wipe the rim of the bowl.
That was not endearing or charming. Bear rattles inside my head.
Shooting him a dark look, a rumble of his easy laughter comes through the bond, making one side of my lips tilt up into a small smile.
“I already hate this.” Miranda points between the two of us. “You talk in your heads, and I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Bear was just agreeing with me, that’s all.”
Dirty little liar. He whispers only to me. Outwardly, he rolls his humor-filled eyes.
“As long as you aren’t thinking about me in my underwear, I guess.” Miranda wiggles his eyebrows.
“Now that’s a mental image.” Bear smirks.
Any trace of Miranda’s humor slowly melts from his face. It’s replaced with soft sorrow that wrinkles his forehead. “I’m not suggesting that the curse is real. I’m merely asking how. Though after reading about this Bloodroot, it does suggest that some people would have an immunity. Which explains how not everyone has died yet.”
How? How? How, How, How.
That is the question. That’s the fucking question that makes me want to rip out my hair. How did Aisha poison a nation? How did Aisha get away, and how have I not found her yet? How did she access dark magic?
Heat blazes across my cheeks and up over the tips of my ears. Bear leans forward, watching me closely. A few stray sparks ignite on the ends of his fingertips and fall onto the table, fading into nothing.
“There is time, Syren,” Miranda whispers, one hand lifting from the book to reach across the table and cup mine. “We have time to find Aisha and time to figure out how exactly she’s doing it, how she's doin
g everything.”
Underneath his comforting touch, my hand tightens into a fist. Rage fueled by despair bubbles inside of me. I want to bang my hands against the table. Or scream out in frustration.
None of that will do me any good.
“Miranda,” I whisper, the words strangled in emotion, “I’ll get you your answers.”
2
The Queen’s Court
Syren
Outside, the sun is heading for the horizon. The golden rays fade into blushing pinks and brilliant oranges. As the sun hides behind the smoke of the burning piles of fae lost to Aisha’s poison, the air feels more frigid.
I curl my fingers into the yellow shawl draping over my shoulders. Silky and hardly thick enough to keep anything warm, the fabric caresses my skin. Watching the carriages pull away, I suppress a smile as the figures, shadowed by the sun, take to the steps of my star-lit onyx castle.
One by one, they travel through the new wooden doors chatting amongst each other. The chatter follows them through the shifting halls and into the small meeting room, where they arrange themselves on the waiting plush furniture.
Purposely, I leave the curtains open. Not for the sunset that can’t truly be seen or for a glimpse of the hedges that were so carefully trimmed this morning, but so they could see the flickering light of the fire.
So I can see the raging fire.
My nose has grown accustomed to the scent of burning bodies. A thought that sends an uncomfortable shiver down my spine. I don’t want to be comfortable with the death outside these doors.
Glancing out into the hallway, I give Rigs a nod as I grab the handles of the double door and pull it closed, careful not to get the skirts of my gown caught embarrassingly.
