Chapter 63
Syrena
The throne room turned suffocating, the merlights seeming to burn hotter than ever, yet Syrena felt nothing but ice crawling under her skin. Her nails scraped against the arm of her throne, leaving grooves in the carved stone as her temper flared.
For hours she’d been trying to crack through that damn wall Esmyra built inside her mind—the wall she fucking taught her to create. And with each attempt, she was met with only silence.
And nothing on this day would be worse than silence. Syrena had plunged into Esmyra’s mind, seeing through her eyes as she swept through the battlefield the sea had become. But then her sister pushed back. She’d pushed back, entering Syrena’s consciousness before shutting her out completely.
Which meant Esmyra had figured it out.
Syrena stood suddenly, pacing like a caged animal across the dais.
This was never part of the plan. Esmyra was to remain in Maerinys, weakened and in the dark until the Moon of Malya. Syrena had spent a thousand years planning it below the tides, and she had no intention of it going to shit now.
Esmyra was supposed to be malleable; weak and easy to bend. But allowing her to slip away had ruined everything. Not only had she regained Kaelypso’s power, but her mind had become an impenetrable fortress.
“She knows—” Her voice cracked. Syrena dug her fingers into her hair, tugging at the roots. “She knows, she knows, she fucking knows.”
The bond was created so the weaker of the two would be lost. Kaelypso’s strength had always outweighed Naerysa’s, and now that Esmyra was aware that it could all be used to her advantage, Syrena could be fucked.
The connection between them shimmered in a taunt on her wrist.
“You must fix this,” Naerysa hissed. “You’ve already let her slip away. Do not fail me again.”
Syrena’s breaths grew sharp and frantic at the disappointment in her goddess’s voice.
A scream of fury tore from her throat, shaking the throne room’s chandeliers as their charms rattled high above on the vaulted ceilings.
The bond hummed faintly in her mind, and Syrena clenched her teeth.
She had tried to pull at it, to siphon even the smallest fragment of her sister’s strength, but every attempt recoiled against her.
She could feel it, even from miles away across the sea: the pulse of raw and unyielding power emanating from Esmyra.
Stronger.
Syrena’s chest tightened. And now, with the stakes higher than ever, that force was infuriatingly intact when she had done everything in her power to sever it—to cut her sister off at the throat.
Her mind raced, desperate to think of a way she could weaken her. She had to strip away that strength, find the cracks, and where Esmyra was vulnerable. And when she did, only then could she siphon her energy, only then could she reclaim what should’ve become Naerysa’s long ago.
Fuck, she must have some kind of weakness…
A violent crack of the door against stone snapped Syrena from her spiraling thoughts.
Her head whipped up, eyes narrowing on Azarian as he staggered into the chamber.
Her stomach twisted at the sight of him.
His armor was shredded, blood painting the edges of his jaw as one arm clutched tight to his side.
“My goddess,” he greeted, his voice weaker than she’d ever heard.
“How did this happen?!” she boomed, looking him up and down. “It should’ve been easily won! You were to take her from the elvens and bring her back here.”
“Her connection to Kaelypso is undeniable. We would’ve been successful if it wasn’t for Levaia.”
Syrena’s brows lifted in shock. “Levaia? The serpent answers to her?”
Azarian had searched and searched for that godsdamn beast since they rose from the depths, but to no avail. After months without sightings, she assumed the serpent had perished long ago. But of course, she was fucking wrong again.
“Indeed,” he grumbled. “And reinforcements came to aid them from Lephyrin. We tried to hold them but between the growing fleet, Kaelypso’s power, and the serpent, we were forced to flee. She is likely to follow.”
Syrena’s pulse hammered in her throat. “Now?” she demanded, her voice a whip. “You think she would dare to strike here? She would attack the kingdom she just liberated?”
Azarian’s bloodshot eyes flickered up at her. “Regardless of reasoning, she’s coming. So perhaps we can use that to our advantage. The Phoenix is at her side once again, and together they are a force. Both are unwilling to let the other fall.”
“I saw from the Veil,” she admitted, her teeth clenching to the point of pain. “It appears she now knows far more than we ever anticipated, including Naerysa’s attempt at Irah. But that’s no matter now.”
“If they’re both unwilling to let the other fall, that means she does have a weakness.” Naerysa’s words flowed through her.
Of course. She should’ve realized sooner.
Syrena’s skirts whispered over the floor as she moved past him, striding toward the great arched windows that stretched wide across the chamber, where crimson moonlight spilled over the world below.
Beyond the glass, her fleets gleamed in the harbor, row upon row of ships waiting, their fin-like sails furled but ready at her command. On the beaches, lines of guards stood firm as sirens were scattered in the sea.
Her lips curved as she rested her hands on the sill, gazing out at the kingdom. “Let her come,” she murmured, her voice dripping with venom.
“By the time she claws her way to me”—her smile deepened into something cruel—“she’ll be too weak to prevail.”
Azarian took a step up to her but said nothing as his grin grew to match hers.
“We’ll let the armies do our work for us,” she finished.