Chapter 6
6
SAOIRSE
T he moment Saoirse passed through the threshold of her chamber and collapsed onto the bed, she called for the deep tub in the corner of the room to be filled with saltwater. She stared absently at the gauzy white curtains that draped from the four-poster bed, utterly exhausted after their week-long expedition into the Shujaa Desert.
When the servants finished filling the tub and departed, Saoirse peeled off her sweaty, sand-roughened clothes and tossed them on the floor in a heap. Fortunately, they’d packed clean clothing to change into once they returned to their campsite beyond the Soundless Oasis, so she hadn’t needed to travel all the way back to Bezhad in blood-soaked garments. But even with fresh clothing, the four-day trek back to the Clay City had left her desert robes stiff with sweat and her skin smarting from the rough sand that irritated her dry scales.
She crossed the room to the ivory tub, staring at her rippling reflection in the water. A brackish smell wafted up from the tub and Saoirse hungrily filled her lungs with the familiar scent of it. The smell of the saltwater didn’t fully encapsulate the bite of briny seawater, but it was close enough to the scent of the Maeral Sea that Saoirse wanted to cry. Her bleary reflection blinked up at her. Although she had done her best to keep her face covered, Saoirse’s cheeks were flushed with color and blistered from the desert wind. With a hollowness in her cheeks and bruise-like splotches under her pale blue eyes, she looked just as exhausted as she felt. But a light that hadn’t been there before they’d left Bezhad shined in her gaze. Hope, tentative though it was, had begun to root itself in her heart.
Saoirse stepped into the tub with a hiss. She lowered herself carefully, bones and sinew groaning with fatigue as she sank deeper into the saltwater. Her parched scales absorbed the water as she inched under the surface, the grime and stale sweat that coated her skin dissolving into mere memories. Saoirse leaned her head back against the smooth rim of the tub and felt the snarls of hair at the nape of her neck begin to ease apart. Her feet were aching and stiff. The knots of scar tissue that splintered up her ankles and calves were still tender, made more so by the tight desert boots she’d worn for days on end. She wistfully touched the torn webbing between her toes, eaten away by Avgi spider acid in the Tournament. She half-expected the burned flesh and membranous scales to be magically repaired after drinking the enchanted waters of the oasis.
The tub sat drenched in sunlight under an open window, the soft afternoon haze drifting in through diaphanous curtains rustling in the gentle breeze. Outside, palm trees swayed in the wind. The distant smell of warm spices from the city markets and sweet florals from the hanging gardens suffused the air. Saoirse stared at the ceiling and watched as the shadows from the palm trees oscillated along the terracotta roof. As she sat quietly in the tub, she tried to memorize the peaceful moment and mute the cacophony of thoughts in her head. This was likely the last time the world would feel still around her, and she wanted to soak it all in. She sensed that this fleeting moment of sunlight and warmth would have to sustain her through the darkness about to unfold.
She sank deeper into the water and let it wash over her head, running watery fingers through her tangled curls. She took a deep breath and filled her aching lungs with the briny water. Fully ensconced and finally at a place where she could process everything in peace, Saoirse looked back on the events of the afternoon.
When they’d returned to the palace an hour ago, they’d been greeted by a flurry of activity in the grand courtyard. Flowering lemon and orange trees lined the perimeter of the sandstone courtyard, the citrus blooms mingling with snowy white jasmine blossoms that crept along the latticed walls. Colorful geometric stonework adorned the floor in symmetrical patterns, tiled with rich greens and blues that mimicked the flow of the streams running through the hanging gardens. But the splendid courtyard was filled with more than just flowers and mosaics. With war upon them, members of Hasana’s resistance had made camp in the breezy courtyard. Rows of tents were crammed into every open space and soldiers milled about, sharpening weapons and cobbling mismatched pieces of armor together in anticipation of the coming war. Other volunteers ferried crates of food and other necessities beyond the palace walls, heading toward the harbor that skirted Bezhad and the merchant ship that would bear them to Terradrin. A bright sense of purpose that had long been missing from the people of Revelore hung in the air. It moved Saoirse to see people from all parts of the continent working in tandem, the hostilities of the last century abandoned in the blaze of rebellion. There were still too few soldiers compared to the combined imperial armies of Aurandel and Terradrin, of course, but what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in determination.
Hasana had been waiting for them at the front gate of the courtyard, a wide grin on her face. The Tellusun princess had been surprised to see Tezrus with them, his hood drawn so low over his head only his colorless eyes glinted in the light. But she’d welcomed the weary old man with a warm smile and ordered a private chamber to be prepared for him. After he left, Hasana had turned to the three of them, her golden brown eyes landing on Noora first. She had pulled the archer into a tight embrace as if she hadn’t quite believed she would return safely. Hasana was always the very picture of a composed leader, with her chin held high and her words confident, but under her veil of cool pragmatism, Saoirse could see the desperate relief that allowed Hasana’s rigid shoulders to fall as Noora hugged her back.
Saoirse turned away from the embracing pair and scanned the courtyard, searching for a pair of pale gray wings and sapphire blue eyes amongst the crowd. She kept her gaze flat and her arms laced together nonchalantly. Her racing heart betrayed the casual stance, but if Rook was present in the courtyard, she didn’t want to seem too desperate for a glimpse of him.
On the return journey, Saoirse’s mind had been occupied with the logistics of their daunting mission. But in brief moments, a part of her had wondered what their reunion might be like. Would Rook appear before her in the courtyard, that dimpled grin she’d come to daydream about splayed wide on his lips? Or would he watch her from the outskirts with cold indifference, his eyes dull and his handsome face split with a frown? In the end, neither of those scenarios came to fruition. Something like disappointment and relief mingled in Saoirse’s heart when she couldn’t find Rook in the crowd. Would she have rather faced his detachment or even hatred over his ambiguous absence? She didn’t know. Either way, it was clear he hadn’t forgiven her yet.
Saoirse quickly moved on from the strange amalgamation of emotions when she saw Sune striding over to them. The male Mer warrior was dressed in his silver Torqen armor, a swath of a turquoise fabric peeking out between the armor plates. His dark brown hair glinted in the sun and his golden skin was more tanned than it had been a week ago.
“Princess Saoirse,” he said once he’d reached them, bowing slightly in her direction. He turned to Aurelia and gave a brisk nod. “Captain Eleni.” Ever the straight-laced soldier, Sune still maintained his austere countenance and rigid posture despite everything that had happened over the last few weeks.
Aurelia rolled her eyes, but her lips were slightly upturned. Even after Saoirse had discovered the two rival captains had been lovers for titans-knew-how-long, Sune still insisted on maintaining the neutral professionalism that had always infuriated Aurelia and sharpened his keen reputation as an uptight, no-nonsense leader amongst the Torqen. But while Sune’s stringent ethics had been a thorn in Saoirse’s side in the past, he had become a valued friend. Where she once saw arrogance, she now saw his unwavering, often inflexible, scruples as a sign of his loyalty to those he loved.
“You look… improved,” Aurelia observed, cocking an eyebrow as she surveyed him. Behind her fa?ade of wry humor, Saoirse recognized the glimmer of relief in Aurelia’s eyes. Before they’d left, Sune had still been healing from his wounds from the first trial. He’d initially pleaded to join them on their expedition to the Soundless Oasis, but Aurelia had deemed it too risky. She also argued that his presence was needed in Bezhad as he would be a familiar face for new Mer recruits amid so much upheaval. He walked up to them without any sign of pain, and healthy color had returned to his skin.
“Indeed,” Sune said curtly. “Hasana and her Healers have been most generous.” He paused, a muscle ticking in his hard jaw. After a beat, he said, “I’m glad you’ve both returned safely. I was worried.” It was probably the most emotion he would ever reveal in front of Saoirse, and she gave him a true smile.
“Me too,” she replied. “For a moment there, I wasn’t sure we would make it back.”
“I presume the mission was successful?” Sune dragged his gaze away from Saoirse and Aurelia to watch as Tezrus was escorted across the courtyard and into the palace, a swarm of curious onlookers following in his wake. “That is the scholar?”
“It went better than we could’ve hoped for,” Aurelia confirmed with a nod in Tezrus’s direction. “He’s going to come with us to help find Terradrin’s Relic. It feels like we’ve finally gained a much-needed foothold against Selussa.”
“Hasana will want a full report of your findings at the war council tonight. Preparations for the journey to Terradrin have been completed. The information gleaned from Tezrus is the final piece of the puzzle.”
Saoirse raked a hand through her sweaty curls, her bones feeling heavy with exhaustion. “When does Hasana want to depart for the Under Kingdom?”
Reading her exhaustion, Sune gave Saoirse a grim look. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Their successful return meant the sparks had been lit, sparks that would catch fire and couldn’t be stopped once set in motion.
“Good,” she answered. “We need to reach Terradrin as quickly as possible. We cannot rest until Selussa is defeated.”
“While that may be the case starting tomorrow,” Aurelia interjected, “rest would do you some good tonight. For now, you should take time to restore your strength.”
“You both should,” Sune charged, his voice slipping back into that stern captain’s tone Saoirse knew all too well. “The war council will convene this evening, and I suggest you both take the time to refresh yourselves as much as you can.”
As anxious as Saoirse was to execute their counter-attack against Selussa, she couldn’t deny she was drained. Resigned, she parted ways with Aurelia and Sune—leaving them alone to do whatever it was they did together—and made her way to the chambers Hasana had given her when they first arrived.
Now, sitting alone in the tub of saltwater in her room, Saoirse finally allowed herself to think about Rook. She needed to unravel the conflicting emotions knotted in her heart like tangled seaweed. Would she get the chance to speak with him alone before they set off for Terradrin? Would he even want to listen to what she had to say? She wouldn’t blame him if he was still reeling from the truths that had turned their world upside down.
Against Saoirse’s will, the memory of her dream—the pleasant part before everything was drenched in Selussa’s blood and it unspooled into a nightmare—surfaced in her mind. She remembered the warmth of Rook’s touch, as real against her skin as it had been that night in her tribute’s tent. She recalled the hazy yearning in his voice, sweet as honey in her ears as he spoke her name and whispered against her skin.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine it: Saoirse. Saoirse. Saoirse.
Water clung to her eyelashes and trickled down her throat, every sensation heightened. A ruddy flush spread from the tips of her toes to her hairline. Despite everything that had happened, the mere idea of Rook returning her affections sent her stomach fluttering with nerves like a foolish youth.
Let him go, she scolded. The last thing she needed to worry about right now was his feelings for her. She forced her eyes open and abandoned the wanton vision, sitting up so fast water splashed over the gilt rim of the tub and spattered on the floor. Desperate to rid herself of images of Rook’s lips, she rose from the tub and stepped over the side, rivulets running down her bare legs. She wrapped a linen towel around herself and twisted her wet hair over one shoulder.
She found herself pacing the length of her chamber, her hands itching to do something useful. Saoirse cast her gaze around the room, searching for a distraction. Her scant personal belongings sat in a neat pile on a chest at the foot of her bed. Saoirse hadn’t had much time to pack anything of importance when Hasana had found her that morning in the tribute’s encampment. With her mind addled by the Sea Witch’s dark power and the bone-chilling screech of the hydra in the distance, she’d brought nothing to Bezhad save for the clothes on her back and the weapons in her hands. Nevertheless, she might as well take stock of what she did have before their journey.
She knelt before the chest and surveyed the meager pile. Her tattered tribute’s clothing had been cleaned at some point, the turquoise fabric leering at her in the afternoon sun. She ran her hands over the custom-made material, memories of the Tournament flooding back to her in bitter-sweet shards that needled her heart. Isme, one of her attendants, had given her the uniform on the morning of the first trial. Her heart lurched at the thought of Isme’s familiar face. The last time Saoirse had seen her attendant had been when she’d stood with Sune and Aurelia in an antechamber within the Stone Circle, donning their silver tribute’s cloaks for the first time. Isme had hand-stitched the crest of Elorshin onto the cloaks herself using glowing threads of bioluminescent algae. No one in that small room had any idea what was to come, nor how quickly everything would unravel. Hot guilt soured in Saoirse’s stomach as she fingered the soft fabric. What had happened to Isme? Where was Vangelis, the Mer Tournament Ambassador who had walked with them every step of the way? In the mayhem of the final trial, there hadn’t been time to find all those familiar faces in the panicking crowds that fled the arena.
I should’ve tried harder to find them . To save them.
She should have done many things differently that day.
As she moved the tribute’s uniform aside, she felt something hard under the folds of fabric. A chill settled over Saoirse as she felt the unnerving thrum of the concealed object, the fine hairs on her arms rising as though a spectral presence was in the room with her. She pulled out the obsidian vial with trembling fingers. The flask of Selussa’s blood glittered in the late afternoon light.
Hel’s teeth. How had she forgotten about the vial of the Sea Witch’s blood? When she’d made the bargain with Selussa, they’d exchanged vials of their blood as a seal of their arrangement. Saoirse had kept it close during the Tournament as a reminder of her true purpose in being there. In the chaos of that final morning, she had slipped the flask into her uniform pocket.
Knowing the oily black blood originated from the Underworld made her spine tingle. Saoirse wondered if Tezrus knew more about Selussa’s backstory than he was letting on. Was she a Titan herself, or merely one of the minor divine underlings who served the god-like tyrants? Had Selussa been involved in the war between the Four Kinsmen and the Titans, or had she remained in the Underworld for the duration of the conflict? Saoirse scrutinized the vial as if the murky liquid sloshing within contained Selussa’s secrets.
The Sea Witch’s distant words echoed through her mind: Blood is more valuable than gold. It can unlock doors and seal promises. It can bring great fortune and favor, but it can be spilled so easily . If Saoirse’s own blood had been used to free Selussa from her prison in the Fretum, what could Selussa’s blood do for her? What dark magic glimmered in the leaden vial, waiting to be tapped into?
Saoirse made a mental note to ask Tezrus about it the next time she had the chance. She set the vial down and sucked in a deep breath, already longing to return to the salty embrace of the tub. But weariness lingered in her bones, and despite the determination simmering in her chest, she finally heeded the call of the canopied bed and its silken sheets. Saoirse sank into the plush mattress without bothering to finish drying her damp curls.