Wicked Song (Wicked Evermore #2)

Prologue

Not so long ago, in the deep blue sea…

The water shimmered like liquid obsidian near a tangle of coral.

Bioluminescent fish flickered around the plant life, their pale glow casting eerie, shifting shadows against the reef.

The sea was calm, a deceptive lull that stretched in every direction.

Its gentle undulations betrayed none of the conflict simmering beneath its surface.

Ursula's hand brushed against something slick and foreign.

She recoiled instinctively, her lip curling in disgust as a half-submerged human bottle bobbed past her fingers, its label peeled and curling from salt and time.

A cloud of murky residue trailed from its broken neck, polluting the water with its filth. She exhaled sharply, baring her teeth.

Humans treated the sea like their personal waste bin, discarding their refuse as if the tides existed to swallow their sins.

She flicked her wrist, sending the bottle spiraling away, but her annoyance remained.

It clung to her like a second skin. Ahead of her, a bright shape flitted through the current, darting between drifting debris.

"Ariel," she called out, "stay away from that ship."

But like any guppy who thought they knew every current, Ariel ignored her aunt's warning and swam ahead, undaunted.

Ursula clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the simmering resentment that had become as much a part of her as the pulse of the tides. Ariel had never been told ‘no’ in her life, and it showed in the way she ignored warnings like they were merely inconvenient suggestions.

It was something Ursula couldn’t get away with.

Her father had forbidden her from attending the upcoming diplomatic summit, claiming it was a meeting for kings and commanders—not daughters with “strong opinions.” Ursula hadn’t pouted or wept.

She’d done what any cunning strategist would: gone around her father’s trident and whispered her ideas directly to her older brother.

She’d told Triton that the real solution to the mounting tension between the sea and the surface didn’t lie with the Inland King—whose claims over the Enchanted Forest were mostly ceremonial, given that the Forest Guardian and the faefolk ruled the roots and wilds.

Nor was the Frost Queen of the northern mountains the true obstacle, despite her glacial disdain for coastal expansion.

The crux of the issue, Ursula had explained, lay with the Coastal Kingdom—their docks, their refuse, their overfishing.

If they wanted peace, Triton had to secure an alliance with the Coast King, whose subjects were the ones dumping nets and poisons into their waters.

Ursula had even devised a clever trade system—ocean routes in exchange for coastal protection spells to ward off sea monsters and access to rare herbs in the sea's depths in exchange for proper waste filtering at the border harbors. It was a plan that could have changed everything.

And what had her brilliant older brother done?

He’d swum right into the meeting chamber with a proud flick of his tail and presented her ideas as if they’d emerged from the coral crown of his own head.

From what she'd heard from her spies, their father had clapped his son on the back, praising Triton’s initiative, while Ursula’s seat at the table remained empty.

Worse still, her whale of a brother had attached his little barnacle to Ursula, placing Ariel as Ursula's responsibility for the duration of the talks.

If only Ursula had treated that request like the inconvenient suggestion it was instead of obeying like some dutiful, exiled aunt.

Ursula kicked harder, propelling herself forward.

The pressure of the water squeezed against her ribs as she narrowed the distance between her and the princess.

A burst of bubbles reached her ears before the sight of red hair did.

If an onlooker didn't know any better, they would say Ursula and Ariel were twins.

They favored each other not only in hair color and skin tones but also in the eyes.

The difference was that Ursula had the curves that came with one approaching womanhood, while Ariel still had the gangly fins of a guppy.

The girl twirled in delight, her grabby hands clutching a tiny trident of tarnished silver.

She opened her mouth, and more bubbles burst forth, carrying a high-pitched sound.

It was a language woven from notes that could vibrate through the bones of anything that swam near.

Had Ursula walked on two legs instead of fins, the sound of her niece's voice could compel her to do anything the siren wanted.

But a siren's call didn't work on another siren, or on that siren's true love.

Ariel had been born a true siren. She had no voice box to shape words or twist around syllables.

Instead, she produced sound the way whales and dolphins did—sonar pulses that rippled through the water in piercing, melodic waves.

A school of fish nearby flinched at the sound and veered away, sensing a presence more powerful than themselves.

Predators lurking in the dark would also recognize the unmistakable pitch of a siren and keep their distance.

Look at this stuff! Ariel sang, holding out the human object. Isn't it neat?

Ursula scoffed, crossing her arms. She didn't need to send a note back—her silence was answer enough. Ariel, ever stubborn, let out another rippling pulse, this one insistent, prodding.

You're such a jellyfish, Aunt Ursula.

Her? A jellyfish? Ursula let out a low, almost imperceptible hum. The kind of barely there response that wasn’t words but a feeling: annoyance.

I can take care of myself. You don't have to fin-sit me.

No sooner did the last note pass the princess' lips than a hulking, vast shadow drifted above them. A beast of wood and iron, its underbelly riddled with barnacles and ghostly strands of seaweed. The scent of oil and something acrid, something wrong, stained the water around it.

Ariel’s wide blue eyes reflected the flickering light from the ship’s lanterns.

Ursula knew that look. It was the same look her walrus of a big brother got when he was about to do something reckless that he'd find a way to blame her for.

"Ariel, don't you dare."

Ariel couldn't form words, but she understood them just fine. Except when she wanted to ignore them, to chase after her own interests. Ariel's response was a mischievous burst of high-pitched clicks, the underwater equivalent of a giggle. She turned and darted toward the surface.

Ursula cursed, loosing a sharp, urgent note—one meant to stop prey in its tracks.

Except Ariel wasn't prey. The sea princess was at the top of the food chain under the sea.

So while Ursula's note rolled out like a shockwave, commanding, undeniable, something that would have made any lesser creature freeze in place, Ariel ignored it.

With a quick flick of her tail, Ariel shot forward, closer to the ship, closer to the danger.

Ursula pushed off the reef in pursuit. The water swirled around her in a cyclone of frustration. Her powerful strokes carved through the deep. She surged forward, grabbing Ariel’s wrist and yanking her back with more force than necessary.

The younger girl yelped.

“You reckless little guppy. Do you have any idea what humans do to creatures like us?”

Ariel wrenched her arm free, stubbornness flashing across her delicate features. Can you imagine all the treasures up there?

"They have no treasures. They trade in junk, and they'll throw you in a net. Or worse."

They’re not all bad. Ariel jutted her chin toward the ship. Not everyone is trying to hurt us.

A splash overhead. A human voice, sharp and guttural. Then came the thunk of something heavy piercing the water.

A harpoon. It missed them by mere inches, sinking into the seabed below.

“Not all bad?” Ursula seethed, shoving Ariel behind her. “Tell me again, little princess—what part of that looks like it isn't trying to hurt you?”

A second harpoon cut through the water, closer this time. Ursula shoved Ariel downward, dragging her away from the ship’s shadow.

“Swim,” she ordered. “Now.”

For once, Ariel obeyed.

A third harpoon sliced through the water, its deadly tip a silver blur against the dark. It grazed Ursula’s arm as it shot past. A burning sting sliced across her skin.

A sharp thwip cut through the current. Then a sickening thunk. Ariel’s body jerked. Her song cut off in a choked, soundless scream. The harpoon had struck just below her ribs. Its wicked barbs snagged against soft flesh, and the force of the impact spun the child in the water like a broken doll.

Ursula lunged, catching Ariel before she could drift. Warm blood—too warm, too much—spilled into the sea, curling around them in ghostly tendrils.

Another harpoon shot past. Rage swallowed fear whole. Ursula opened her mouth and sang.

Her siren's song was not high-pitched and happy like her niece’s. Ursula's dark song tore through the ocean in deep, resonant waves, slicing through the water like a shockwave, a command, a summons, a reckoning.

Miles away, deep within a trench untouched by light, a massive eye blinked open, and the sea shuddered.

The shift in the current could be felt on the sea's floor, through the floorboards of the hulking ship.

Shadows raced across the surface of the waters.

Waves rolled outward as something enormous rose from the depths.

The ship's hull groaned. The sound was loud enough to pierce the veil of the waters. Then the shouting began. It was no use. Even though it was miles away, there was no way the sailors would outrun what lurked in the deep.

The kraken breached the surface. A monstrous limb, thick as a hundred ship masts, broke the surface in an explosion of white water. The sky darkened beneath its shadow. The humans screamed.

A single colossal tentacle slammed down upon the ship. The impact sent a crack through the air, louder than thunder, as the mast splintered like dry driftwood. The vessel tilted wildly, men and cargo spilling into the sea in a chaotic, flailing mass. Then the real carnage began.

The moment their fragile bodies touched the water, the ocean came alive.

Sharks.

Serpents.

Predators that lurked in the depths, drawn by the scent of human blood and panic. The humans did not stand a chance. Spoils of their trade—chests, barrels, metal, and glass—sank into the abyss, swallowed whole by the tides.

The ocean turned red. The seabed became a toxic graveyard as bodies and trinkets sank. Ursula didn't spare the scene a glance, but Ariel did.

Trembling in her arms, the sea princess twisted just enough to look back. The pain left her eyes, and wonder took its place. Not wonder at the carnage above her but curiosity at the items falling to pollute the seabed.

Ursula wanted to shake her, but she couldn't. It would probably damage the girl even more.

But not as much damage as she'd just done calling the kraken to aid her against the humans.

She'd saved Ariel, but she highly doubted her father or brother would ever save her a seat at the table for her troubles.