Chapter 12
Audra craned her neck, searching the long stretch of beach, but it was empty, save the tree, a sentinel in perpetual frozen agony, and its ravens.
She shivered—there was nowhere the figure could have gone in the brief moment she’d looked away.
Probably for the best, as she was missing something important.
Turning back toward the platform, she leaned forward to hear the speaker better.
Wait. Audra recognized him—the male from the inn—Lord Khari.
Rage seethed through her body, almost enough to warm her. If he were here, then Vrenn might be as well.
She couldn’t afford to let her temper get in the way. She inhaled a steadying breath. Forcing herself to pay attention, she homed in on the lord’s voice.
“If you so much as take one unauthorized step into the lake behind you, the sirens living in these waters will consider you a defector. Escaping allegiance to your queen is an act of treason punishable by death. You had better hope the cold gets to you first.”
Allegiance? “Your” queen? What had she missed?
As of two weeks ago, her nation had a king—a human one.
Though any shred of “allegiance” she’d held for the monarchy had dissipated when the king sanctioned the abduction and expulsion of hundreds of his subjects.
Why should any of them consider this queen as theirs?
“There isn’t time to adjust or air your grievances.
In fact, discussion about the lives you’ve left behind will not be tolerated.
Your past is dead. Think of today as your nameday, the first day of the rest of your life …
” Lord Khari cocked his head to the right, pausing.
“Ah, please welcome the Chorus of Echoes.”
“The chorus of what?” Callum muttered behind Audra.
Audra pointed a trembling finger toward the winding road. “I think … them.”
A parade of priestesses filed down toward the beach.
Soldiers moved to flank them as they approached.
Sweeping swaths of golden vestments covered their bodies.
Cream, sheer veils obscured the lower halves of their faces; above the veils, she could see their eyes, which shone white as if lit from within by moonlight.
It was clear why the priestess who’d come to the inn had chosen to conceal her eyes—if anyone had seen them, the way they glowed luminescent even in the daylight, the situation would have been so much more chaotic.
Soldiers and townsfolk dipped their heads in deference and muttering prayers as the veiled females, the Chorus of Echoes, passed them by, the trains of their vestments leaving patterns in the mud.
The priestess at the front stilled just before she reached the pebbled shore.
Lord Khari bowed his head to them, before returning his attention to the scroll. “You must forget your past, your friends, your family. Those standing beside you are now your siblings. Your parents. Your children.”
At the word “children,” Margaryte, who stood with her sister, Camyle, farther down the beach, seemed to jolt out of the slack-jawed stupor that’d possessed her for the last few days.
The woman dropped to her knees, wailing.
Her hands clawed at the pebbles beneath her, scooping them up and cradling them to her chest. As if, if only she could fill her empty hands with something, the pain of their vacancy would end.
Lord Khari’s stoic expression did not waver as he looked for the source of the interruption.
Camyle knelt beside her sister, attempting to block her from view, begging her to hush, to stop. She began singing snippets of songs that had worked to hush her cries only that morning.
But this was all too much for Margaryte; she was inconsolable.
A soldier, one Audra recognized from their ship, stepped forward and spoke quietly into Lord Khari’s ear.
His chest swelled with a measured breath, and his brow furrowed, gaze never leaving Margaryte.
At last, his expression shifted, and Audra’s stomach twisted as she recognized it. She’d seen him wear it before.
Pity.
He was complicit in the very reason Margaryte had lost her mind and was currently screaming in anguish on a strange beach in a strange land—and he dared pity her?
Just as he’d pitied Audra, her father, and their patrons when he’d stormed into the inn and demanded they relinquish their autonomy.
Knowing that if they were chosen, then they would be forced to relinquish more than that, their families, their homeland.
Or maybe Audra gave the lord too much credit.
Maybe he felt none of that—possibly, he just pitied them for the unfortunate circumstances of being born human.
Lord Khari leapt gracefully off the platform. The humans on the beach parted like minnows, until none remained before him but the weeping Margaryte, still scrabbling at the pebbles, and her terrified sister trying to coax her to quiet—to be still.
The male crouched before them until he was at eye level with Margaryte and spoke quietly to her. Even the wind seemed to still, holding its breath along with Audra.
Margaryte’s constant wailing had kept them all up for days on end during their journey—but she didn’t think any of them wished harm upon her. She was one of them, after all, and she had more of a reason than most to be distraught.
One priestess broke free from the Chorus and glided toward the lake’s edge; her vestments covered her feet, and she seemed to descend upon the huddled group like fog along the shoreline. Khari stood when the priestess arrived, bending toward her as she whispered something to him.
Khari frowned, as though he disagreed with whatever she said.
The priestess spoke again. Margaryte continued to wail.
Audra leaned forward, trying to hear, but they spoke too quietly.
Khari nodded. The priestess waved a gloved hand toward the soldiers farther up the beach. Khari turned away, looking out toward the cliffs.
Audra waited, her breath hitched in her lungs, though she didn’t know what she was waiting for. She watched as Camyle, who had fallen silent at the approach of the priestess, suddenly shifted, all blood drained from her face as she shook her head furiously. Camyle mouthed please and then no.
Just as an arrow flew into Margaryte’s eye, piercing her skull.