Chapter 56
Tears threatened to fall from Asta’s eyes as she continued fighting.
Her orphans had come. They had come to help her. Some of them were hardly old enough to form a fist, but they knew that Asta was their friend and she needed their help.
In a normal situation, she would have demanded they return to the safety of the orphanage, but this was not a normal situation.
These orphans were abandoned by the creatures they were attacking.
Birthed and planted to be used later when it was convenient.
This fight was as much for them as it was for Asta and her friends and family. She couldn’t take that from them.
However, they still needed something more to give them the upperhand. They were not getting pushed back as quickly now because of the orphans, but they were still being herded toward the castle.
“Asta! Behind you!” her father howled.
She spun, swiping her blade out in front of her to stop whatever was coming her way.
Maren was charging her, causing Asta to do a double-take.
Asta’s sword did not strike, her sister being far more skilled than the warriors that were sent.
Maren rolled out of the way and once she was back on her feet, she sprang into the air.
Asta raised her sword to block what she anticipated was coming her way, but Maren jumped over her, landing behind her and plunging her sword into a Ryktarvan warrior’s chest.
Maren withdrew her blade and locked eyes with Asta. “Mother’s comb! Asta, use it!”
Asta froze, baffled. What was she seeing right now?
Maren spun, slashing her blade and cutting down her own soldiers, her red hair flaring out like an inferno ring around her.
“Asta!” Maren gritted her teeth. “Listen to me for once in your life!”
Was this some form of a trick? Was Maren manipulating her somehow, coaxing her to reveal the comb and mirror for some nefarious reason?
But what good would the siren artifacts be to a finfolk princess? Unlike the trident, the comb and mirror could only be used by sirens.
Asta’s father continued his fight, but watched his daughters closely. Would he intervene if something happened? How would he choose a side?
There was one thought that brought Asta comfort—if she used the comb and mirror and Maren attempted any sort of trick, Asta could use the artifacts to control her sister. But would she be able to go through with it, if it came down to it?
Fuck it.
Asta pulled the comb and mirror from her satchel. She had always felt connected to her mother when she combed her hair with the piece of metal in her hand. Her mother. Maren had called her mother, also. What did she mean by that?
Everyone had naturally encompassed Asta in a circle of safety so she could use the items. Would there be any repercussions from using the magic within? She supposed she would find out.
The metal heated as Asta held the mirror before her, staring at her reflection. She was covered in dirt and blood splatter, her blonde curls a tangled mess. She brought the comb up and gently ran it through her hair slowly.
Her siren awoke within her, clawing its way to the surface. The voice that came from her lips was not her own.
Asta sang her siren song.
Listen, all who are near, Your leader is here
Do as I say, And it will only be play
Disobey, And it will be your final day
Though my song is done, It cannot be unsung
So long as I wield, You all will yield
Every Ryktarvan stood at attention, awaiting Asta’s command—apart from the orphans and Maren. Asta had been sure that her intentions as she sang were to only control those who were attacking them, which meant Maren must truly be fighting with her, not against her.
Halsten’s chest heaved as he caught his breath. King Botmar’s arms quivered from wielding the iron sword. Niklas shook, clasping his hands together. And Revna, ice warrior, was on one knee, her head down, bowing to Asta.
She lowered the mirror, being sure to not let go of either item. From her song, she understood that once she let go of the artifacts, her control over them would break.
“Return to your kingdom and withdraw from the war!” she commanded.
A handful of warriors immediately turned toward the sea and walked in, transforming and disappearing within the waves.
Well, that was easy, Asta thought.
But why were the rest of them not moving?
“They are disobeying,” Maren stated, reading Asta’s thoughts.
Right. Disobey, And it will be your final day. Would they all truly rather die than admit defeat?
The more Asta thought about that, the more she realized she would likely choose that option as well.
Asta waved to her orphans to look at her, then signed. “Close your eyes, little ones. Count to ten, then you can open them.”
The children nodded, closing their eyes. Asta knew that each and every one of them had killed today—that it was in their nature to kill—but they did not need to bear witness to this.
“I’m sorry,” Asta whispered, more so to herself than the Ryktarvans. “You have disobeyed. Today is your final day.”
With pained expressions, the remaining enemy warriors wrapped their fingers around their own necks, digging their claws into their jugular veins, gripping, and pulling.
The Ryktarvans dropped, the gaping holes in their throats leaking pools of blood into the sand.
Death’s kiss had returned, ready to release her fury on the world.