47. Enna
Chapter forty-seven
Enna
Odissa flutters her fingers, peering at the glowing shell in Soren’s hand. She grins, locking her gaze with mine.
“It’s beautiful, Soren,” she says. “A wedding gift? For me?” Her voice is musical, sweet. Loud enough she should be dead.
If this necklace doesn’t work soon, I’m going to kill her myself, slide my knife right through that pretty throat, and watch it bleed all over her cinnamon cake.
I clutch the side of the table. My claws dig deep, carving trenches in the wood. Is the necklace a fake? Did I misinterpret that old queen’s diary?
Odissa reaches for the necklace, fingers stretching. “I’m ashamed I don’t have anything for you—”
Time slows to a spiralfish’s crawl as several things happen at once. The shell’s glow, soft and golden moments ago, turns an angry shade of red. Odissa’s voice gurgles on the word you .
She shrieks, and her hand whips up to clutch at her neck. Glass shatters and water slides across the table setting, soaking into the napkins. Her face crumples with agony; her top lip rises into a snarl. Her eyes widen, the blue fire in them extinguishing into a bitter mist. The shriek morphs into a scream, raising the scales on the back of my neck.
The shell begins to hum, its tune an eerie echo of Odissa’s screams. The skin of her neck glows brilliant red and begins to smoke. She claws at her throat as she chokes. The smell of cooked flesh burns my nostrils. Her skin bubbles, black boils spreading. She eyes the pendant, eyes feral with fire.
My heart thunders a frantic beat, and I watch in horror as she lunges across the table, crawling through the shattered glass.
“Enna!” Odissa’s palm slices on the edge of a shard. “Do something!”
The command compels me to stand; I cannot disobey. The blood oath churns in my veins, seizing control of my body. My chair tips from the force of my movement, clattering to the floor. Blood surges to the tips of my fingers, and my hand lifts, reaching for her against my will.
It’s a game of war within my own body, and eventually I’ll lose. But I’m not going down without a fight. I pull against the magic, and my fingers curl into a fist.
Odissa shrieks my name again, and a jolt of renewed command tugs every string of my muscles. Help her.
I work my jaw, prying it open. With great effort, I swivel my eyes to lock onto hers. I see the moment realization dawns in her gaze: blue fire flickers, then roars.
I smile. “No.”
At the sound of my voice, Soren stiffens. He turns to me, searching the side of my face, but I ignore him.
The death-dealer’s borrowed mouth snarls. She reaches for Soren, fingers curling into wicked hooks. Dark sores ripple across the backs of her hands in a boiling current. Her skin hisses and curdles. It smells of burning fish.
HELP HER!
The impulse is strong, but I am stronger. I uncurl my toes, flatting my feet against the marble floor. I will not obey any longer. I will stand here, watching her dissolve inch by inch, until there’s nothing left but a pile of smoking bones.
But Soren slides the necklace into its velvet pouch, out of Odissa’s reach, and the hum of magic stops. “I believe that’s answer enough, Mother,” he says, cool as the Drink.
I shiver, dread twisting through my gut. This isn’t right. Why did he stop the spell? Why didn’t he finish her?
Odissa’s blistered hand closes around thin air. She squats on the table in a puddle of blood, glass, and strewn lushfruit, dozens of scratches along her knees and legs where she crawled through the shards. Her skin is bleeding and blotchy. Odissa clutches her hands to her chest, whimpering. When she coughs, blood splatters.
“You unworthy ratfish,” the queen hisses. “Tell me, dark-dweller, were you sent by the king to ruin us? Is that why he’s still hiding in the deep out of our reach? Or is this a plot of your own design?”
Several white-clad warriors rush forward, tridents bared. Odissa kicks and screams as the guards drag her by the ankles. She clutches at anything in her reach—the rolls, the lushfruit, the plate. It all falls to the floor with a clatter of glass. They wrestle Odissa off the table, binding her bloody hands behind her back. “Please!” she screams.
“Hold her fast. Let me look at her.” The queen places her hand under Odissa’s chin, tipping her face to get a better view.
Odissa sets her jaw, speechless.
“Dispose of her. Send her head back to the Abyss, a gift for the king.”
“Soren, please! It’s not my fault. My father mated with the nanny. My family has always despised me for my blood; that’s why the king sent me here, to get me out of their fins. Please, you have to believe me! I mean this crown no harm!”
Soren watches her struggle, his jaw flexing. “But you do wish me harm,” he says. “You just proved it.”
Soren steps away from me, into the fray. Closer to her. My chest tightens. “And yet…”
The guards hesitate, dangling a kicking Odissa between them on their way to the door.
Soren continues, “If intention is her only crime, it’s not enough to condemn her to death. She has not acted on it. She may yet change her life’s course, given time to think about it. I will not repeat the mistakes of my ancestors.”
Fool. He doesn’t know Odissa like I do. He cannot afford to let her go.
I lift my hand, stretching for Soren. I must let him know, somehow. But he stands too far away. My legs glue to the floor, caught in the weight of my curse.
The queen shakes her head, her expression softening. “My sweet son,” she says. “You’ve always had a heart for the bottom feeders. It’ll be the death of you.”
“So be it,” he grunts. “Escort the princess to the dungeon. May her time there show her the error of her thoughts. Perhaps we can strike a deal with her brother yet.”
This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. All of that, and he’s letting her live?
The queen smiles at his final words. “As you wish.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. You are most compassionate.” Odissa dips her head at the prince, then glares about the room, challenging anyone to speak against the prince’s order. Her gaze lands on me last. She flicks her eyes to the prince, then back again, those sharp eyes narrowing.
My spines flex from their sheaths as the guards drag her toward the door. Her bargain with Tephra ends in four days, when the full moon peaks. If Odissa walks free of this room, the kingdom will face her wrath. Soren should kill her now, before it’s too late.
At my malicious thought, the blood oath seizes my airway. I gasp. My lungs burn. I cough and stumble into the table, grasping at my own neck. I cannot sever its invisible hold. My tongue sits heavy in my mouth, working to form the words against the weight of deep, binding magic.
“Wait.” My voice rings like shattered glass. I refuse to look at the prince, even as my scalp prickles with painful awareness of his eyes on my face.
He steps toward me, sliding his arms up my arms. I cup his cheek as his eyes search mine, even as my vision blurs. His skin is soft, smooth. A parting gift.
This is it, then. This is how I die. So fucking be it.
I force the words with a choking gasp, “Soren, she’s not the real princess. Her name is Odissa, and she’s a death-deal—”
Before I can finish, the world descends like a heavy black cloak, smothering me with its embrace. The last thing I see is Soren’s eyes, tightening with fear.