Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
QUINN
I ’m only left standing on an empty beach for a handful of minutes before swells of sirens spill from the waves. Tails become legs hidden beneath the scale-like robes they wear in colours that match their fins. I knew Marein’s numbers had dwindled after our last encounter with Lunae’s forces, but there are far fewer people gathered around me than I’d hoped.
The scene is a stark reminder of my first hour in Marein. Exhausted from the journey, Aurelia had led me down to an arena of sorts where these very same people took turns throwing punches my way. Which isn’t all that dissimilar to the reason I called for this gathering.
“Thank you all for coming,” I say as Abby flashes me an encouraging smile. She doesn’t know what this is either, and I’m certain that smile will fade once she understands why I’ve called for this gathering. “I’m sure most of you would rather be doing other things, so I’m just going to get right to the point. Who here still sees me as an enemy?”
A quick count shows about twenty-five hands in the air, which is less than I expected, considering there are about two hundred sirens here. If I’m right, that number is about to grow.
I move to Abby and slip my hand around one of the many daggers tucked away in her belt. These blades have served me well over the years before they found a new home with her. “Can I borrow this?” I ask, a mere whisper in her ear.
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Not one bit, but I need you to trust me.”
I expect her to argue, but instead she grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me in for a quick kiss. I don’t deserve her.
Dagger in hand, I move to the closest siren who’d had their hand up and offer it to them. “Killing me won’t bring back the ones you’ve lost, but if you need to draw blood—here.”
They take the knife and eye the cool steel of the blade for a long moment before tossing it into the dirt. “Spilling your blood will not bring them back either.”
Well, that was unexpected and not entirely helpful. Bleeding is the whole point. I collect the blade and move along the line of sirens until someone steps forward to claim the knife. It’s a woman with long, brown hair and eyes as grey as a storm cloud. She cuts deep into the flesh of my arm with one swift motion, staining the sand between us.
Good .
I continue moving through the sirens until six more have taken their turn with the blade. That number is a lot lower than I’d been expecting—especially considering how many of these same people were so eager for a chance to knock my teeth out upon my arrival.
On the off chance I’ve missed someone, I move back to the center of the gathering. “Anyone else?”
My arms are sticky with blood, but it looks a lot worse than it is. These gashes will heal quickly and the disapproval I feel wafting off of Abby has a far worse sting. A part of my training while growing up in Rosewood wasn’t unlike this. My father firmly believed that I couldn’t strike a blow unless I could take one, just as spilling blood would be undeserved unless mine had first been spilled.
That was one of the first lessons I had to learn, and many of the most faded scars that decorate my arms, legs, and torso are evidence of his handiwork. He cut me every single day, until he could do so without sparking a reaction from me. It took a year and a half to master the pain, and the very last time his blade sliced into me—outside of training—was my twelfth birthday. He’d cut deepest then, just to be certain that I no longer feared the sharp bite of steel. Because, as he liked to say, a warrior who feared injury was destined for death.
I’m about to return the dagger to Abby when the crowd parts and Erwyn strides through. Because of course he does.
“I do not draw blood unless it is in battle.” To emphasize his words, he unsheathes his sword and holds it out at the ready. I didn’t have much time to analyze his skill the last time we sparred, but out here, on the sand, I can see it all too clearly. His stance is good, but he’s grown too used to hurtling spears at fish in the ocean.
I tuck the dagger into the leather strap at my waist and draw my sword, holding it more relaxed than Erwyn seems to be. I can’t decide if he’s just angry or if those are nerves shining through his facade. “And I’m to just trust you won’t kill me?” He wouldn’t get close, but I want to see how he fights when his mind isn’t clouded with rage. Pointing that out wouldn’t work in my favour.
“You have no right to lead anyone into battle if you cannot best me. In Marein, we earn our ranks. We are not born into them.” He swings his blade in what I imagine was an attempt to catch me off guard, but mine was already moving to deflect the impending blow.
“I was born into nothing,” I say as we make contact. My eyes never leave his, but I don’t miss that his left foot slipped ever so slightly on the uneven ground. This could be over now if I desired.
“You were labeled the prince of a kingdom that should never have existed.”
“And trained to lead its army from before I could swing a sword.” I push him off and unleash a swing of my own. He manages to dodge it, but it was closer than I’d intended. So much for dragging this out a bit.
The near-success of my attack seems to have sparked the rage I was hoping to avoid, and Erwyn lets out a roar. “Then hit me!”
I duck low under his next strike and sprint towards him, closing the distance between us in the blink of an eye. He wasn’t expecting the speed. The last time we fought, I was injured. To be fair, I’m not exactly uninjured now, but a few scratches are easy to ignore.
I could hit him. Erwyn’s left enough of an opening to clip him right on the side. If I pull back at the last moment, I’d leave only a scrape, but then this fight would never end. He’ll keep challenging me. If I’m to earn the respect of these people, I need to first earn the respect of the man they consider their greatest fighter.
I make a choice in that moment, and commit to it. I make it obvious that I’m moving for the opening and Erwyn reacts just as I knew he would. He takes a step back in an effort to dodge the attack. He was expecting a swing, but instead I lurch forward again and kick out for his unbalanced left foot. That’s a weakness we once shared, but I had it drilled out of me by the time I was fourteen. I guess Erwyn never had that lesson.
He trips and falls backwards. He sends his sword up in a desperate attempt to be the first to draw blood, but the blow is too easily blocked by a flick of my blade. Not that it would have landed, anyway.
“Have you seen enough?” I ask, making sure to keep my breathing under control so not to reveal that the skirmish exerted me in the slightest.
“Why?” he grumbles. “Is that the best you can do?”
He doesn’t accept that he’s lost, which is fair since I technically haven’t cut him. He’s at my mercy now, but I’ve never been one to take the cheap shots. Instead, I take a step back and allow him to stand.
‘Trust me,’ I say to Abby before tossing my blade aside. The sting of her disapproval grows stronger, but there’s something else there, too. I have to stop myself from beaming at the thought of her being as impressed as she is annoyed.
One of the first lessons my father taught me was to never drop my blade, but in the time since his death, I’ve learned more than he could have ever shared. I can almost hear his voice in my mind now, chastising me and calling me a fool. Just as the Echo of Terranous once did. It’s easy to push aside the thought because I’m more than what he raised me to be. I’m stronger, faster, and not entirely human.
I use those instincts to sidestep Erwyn when he sprints in my direction. And then I do it again, and again, and again. Even in this form, my wolfish senses serve me well. It’s all too easy to predict Erwyn’s lumbering movements by instinct alone, and the change in his breathing when he thinks he’s about to land a hit is all the warning I need to step to the side.
“Losing your weapon in battle is not the end of it,” I shout to the crowd, as if this were a planned lesson for them. And, in a way, it is. Not a single one of them is ready to face Lunae’s forces on land, but I can make them ready—if they’ll let me. “So long as you’re quicker than your opponent—or smarter—you can buy time.”
That earns me a few snickers from the crowd and a growl from Erwyn. “You wouldn’t say that if we were in the water.”
“I absolutely would not. But we’re not in the water, are we? And we won’t be in the water when we bring the fight to Lunae.”
Snickers morph into mutters of approval. I should probably thank Erwyn for this. Without this match, my demonstration might not have won over the sirens, and a small part of me wonders if he knew that.
I can’t dwell on the thought because he’s moving for me again. This has gone on long enough, so I kick up my foot and the sword I’d dropped launches out of the sand and into my ready hand. I palm it with ease as Erwyn’s eyes go wide. He’d forgotten where the weapon landed and has no one to blame but himself.
He could pull back his attack, but he commits. I’m almost surprised, but it’s not enough to throw me off. My sword clashes with Erwyn’s and I throw my weight into it. His left foot slips again, exaggerated by the force of my blow. His eyes flick down, and when they do, I snatch the dagger I’d tucked into my belt and drag it across the back of Erwyn’s hand.
He eyes the shallow scratch and for a moment I think he might object to my use of a second weapon, but then he sheathes his own blade and offers the very same hand I’d cut. I take it in mine.
“I still think you are a prick,” he says as we shake.
“You sound just like my father.” He was a sore loser, too.
His grip on my hand tightens, and he pulls me in closer so that he can speak directly into my ear. “If I was your father, I would have treated you better.”
When he releases me, I’m left shaken. What the fuck does that mean? Until this moment, I’ve been convinced the man hated me. And perhaps he does, but that was something else entirely. Even if he truly cared for my mother, I’m still the son of the man she’d chosen.
I don’t have time to dwell on the thought because suddenly I’m swarmed by the crowd of sirens. Only this time, they aren’t fighting to get their chance to hit me. They’re laughing. Someone compliments my victory and another asks when I’ll be giving another lesson.
Because that’s what this was to them. And perhaps Erwyn, too.
I give them half answers as I weave through them to where Abby waits. She shakes her head before wrapping her arms around my waist. I want to hug her back, but I’m still very much covered in blood.
“Are you okay?” she asks, pulling away from me.
“Not even a scratch.”
She slaps my arm, landing the blow directly on one of the deeper cuts.
“Ow,” I say with a laugh, rubbing a hand over the spot. “I meant during the fight.”
She laughs too, and it’s a beautiful sound. This is how things are supposed to be, and suddenly I need to hold her. She doesn’t object as I pull her against me, and when she stands up on her toes, I press my lips against hers.