Chapter 19 #2
She straightens haughtily, tossing her hair over her shoulder in an effort to hide her eagerness.
“The almighty Carrion King, Lord of Death and conqueror of the Everlasting? Now lowering himself to make deals with petty sirens?” Lisian lets out a delighted cackle.
“Why, the winter wind will have it as the talk of the kingdom in no time at all!”
As if in response, the wind howls over our rock, as if already planning where to spread the news first.
“I am in no mood for games,” I warn in a low voice, releasing a breath of relief as I allow one of my ribbons to unfurl toward her. Close enough that Lisian’s laughter dies in her throat and rage sparks in her eyes.
“How dare you threaten me, king,” she hisses, her gaze tracking the movement of my ribbons as if they’ll strike at any moment.
“It wasn’t a threat. It’s simply a reminder that though I may ask for a bargain like a mortal man, you would do well not to mistake me as one. I am the same monster I’ve always been.”
Lisian’s necklaces quiver with her shudder, and she grips her arms like the air has suddenly gone cold. She sniffs, an attempt to recover some of her power, and sneers, “What could we possibly give you that your cursed power hasn’t already taken and ruined?”
“I want my ship.”
Lisian’s eyes widen, the first sign of surprise she’s shown. “The Indomnitus?”
I nod.
She blinks. “We do not involve ourselves in the wars of children and men.”
“The indifferent just as often become the victims of such wars, Lisian, if not the perpetrators. You will have to choose a side eventually, and by then, it will be too late.” I meet her eyes gravely. “Your kind refused to choose before, and look where we all ended up.”
Lisian sucks in a furious breath, her skin turning a deep shade of purple beneath her furious blush.
“How were we to choose between a creator who despised our existence and an omen of death, Niko? Between a man who would destroy us or a man who would destroy everything?” Her talons dig into the rock, and her eyes flash.
“That is no choice at all. Not for the sirens and not for the island.”
I watch her for a long moment, a wicked smile drawing slowly over my face. “You’ve already chosen a side.”
It isn’t a question, and so Lisian doesn’t reply. Her gaze flickers away from mine, and she fidgets with the jeweled necklaces laced around her throat like they’ve suddenly grown too tight.
“Or rather, it was chosen for you almost a year ago…on that very beach.” I point to the black sands in the distance where Willa had begged me for mercy—not for herself, but for an unfortunate siren she hardly knew.
Lisian’s gaze follows mine, a deep sadness for her lost sister reflecting in the turn of her frown.
“You were a fair king to us, Niko, but you can no more help your nature than we can. The Queen of Dreams is a sovereign of freedom and possibility. We will not help you take what is hers, no matter what bargain you offer.”
My ribbons spear from me at the mention of Willa, and it takes everything in me not to scream as I draw them back to me. Inch by agonizing inch. Lisian watches them distrustfully, her disgust evident in every line of her face.
“I will give you a truth,” I tell her.
Her head jerks, her eyes flaring with desire and curiosity despite her attempt to hide her sudden eagerness.
It is what sirens crave far beyond any worldly treasure.
Contrary to centuries of stories, it was never their songs that lead sailors to leap to their deaths; it was what their songs revealed.
A man’s deepest truth. Rarer than any jewel, and far more dangerous, as more often than not, the truth is a terrible thing. Many who face theirs cannot live with themselves after.
It is not something a sane person would offer, but I’ve never had a claim to sanity, warped as I am by time and death.
“And what if I find your truth lacking, king?” Though her words are soft, they bear a dangerous edge. “I will not be tricked by duplicitous plans and seductive words, no matter how handsome the face.”
“Do not insult me, siren,” I snap, my weariness bleeding through my voice. “You know well what an offer this is. Take it or leave it, as I have things to do.”
Lisian inhales sharply and adjusts her bangles. “Very well,” she concedes primly. Then, with a dirty look at my ribbons, “Control your pets. I won’t be able to carry a tune with such filth so near.”
I roll my eyes, but do as she asks. A groan traps itself in my throat as I call my death to me.
It slithers over my bare chest, winds around my waist. It squeezes my ribs like an iron vise, piercing my skin like I’ve been tied with barbed wire.
My jaw locks as the beginning notes of Lisian’s song ring through the air.
Her voice is sweet and clear, and despite my death’s icy rage, I allow the melody to float beneath my skin once more. It is different than the song that drew me here; different than the harmonies that float through the island, and tangle with the breezes.
This one doesn’t only grip my heart, but every part of me.
The notes rove through past and present, stripping every piece of armor I’ve built around myself throughout my long life.
My pain; my loneliness; my vengeance; my rage—the song permeates through it all, peeling it away piece by piece, until nothing remains to shield myself with.
I am no longer bone or muscle or skin; I am an open wound through which the truth of my heart bleeds.
It spills into the air between Lisian and I, a twisted, desperate thing unused to the light. But I do not shy away from it, nor do I try to shove it back where it belongs in the recesses of my heart, even as Lisian’s eyes flare wide in shock.
Most men cannot face their truth because it takes them by surprise. They have lived their lives cloaked in their own delusions, so convinced of their own goodness, one glimpse of their true nature eats them alive.
But I knew the dark truth of myself long before this moment; I have drawn it up and faced it time and again over the past year. It is as familiar to me now as my own face, so when I gaze upon it, there is no weeping or arguing. It is as it is.
Lisian’s eyes flicker, and a moan slips between her teeth as she drinks in the truth of me.
It is a delicacy of the highest order as truth is a powerful magic, one that often heightens a siren’s own.
She doesn’t understand she will gain no dominion over me by knowing my truths for I do not hide them as vulnerabilities. I wear them as armor.
The song fades. Lisian’s eyes roll back, her body swaying like she’s drunk on spirits. When she finally opens her eyes, her expression is dreamy and dazed. But her voice is perfectly vicious when she says, “Long live the Carrion King. How can we serve?”