In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(67)

My hands pulled away from her, my body jerking from the shock of her movement, but I couldn’t take my burning gaze from her. Could a spell bring her back? Could Theodore? But as I wracked my mind for a way to undo what Eusia had done, I was struck by the look on Ligea’s frozen face.

Anguish. Torment. Perhaps her heart still beat, but she’d died a slow, brutal death in every way that mattered. Eusia had emptied her.

The Great Goddess Ligea—powerful, terrifying, mesmerizing—had ended like this.

The queen lies drained of her divinity.

I’d told Theodore that I couldn’t let myself have hope we might one day be together, but in truth, I’d lied. Despite how I’d fought to be rational, despite how I knew it was foolish and improbable, I’d clung to a scrap of that hope as tightly as a starving child would a stale crust of bread. The possibility of a future with him was the faint glimmer guiding me through the darkness, but seeing my mother like this… it extinguished that already weak light. It ground my meager scrap to nothing.

Tears clogged my throat as I took the dagger from my waistband. I tried to keep the questions from my mind—could she see me? Could she feel my touch?

The few parts of me that had somehow managed to remain soft were hardening with violent, blistering resolve. I would take everything from Eusia—the Gods’ power she’d stolen, the Sirens she’d hunted. She, and every one of her supplicants, would feel me like a coming storm. They would crumple from the force. Self-sacrifice was no longer enough. I wanted to watch the life drain from her with my own eyes. I wanted her to know it was me who killed her.

With my dagger held firmly in my grip, I set a kiss to Ligea’s stiff cheek, and then I drove my dagger straight through her ribs until I felt it pierce her barely beating heart.





21


Theodore


I stared at the rippling pool for a long moment after Imogen had gone in. It was strange water, an ill shade of green when the light caught it, but when it stilled it was as smooth and black as a polished slab of obsidian.

I gritted my teeth, unable to pull my gaze from the surface, regretting that I hadn’t taken the dagger from Imogen’s waistband when I’d had the chance. With a certainty, she would use it on herself if the spell failed.

Agatha winced, then shivered violently as she lowered her legs into the water, which rose all the way up to her knees.

Lachlan knelt right beside her, attentive and pallid. “Agatha,” he said, “You’re certain—”

She shook her head like she was trying to focus. “Hush.”

Agatha’s tenacity was as impressive as any soldier’s, but I could sense it was the last of her energy that she burned through now. I had every expectation that the spell she was about to perform would use up whatever remained.

She kept the hand that held the bit of flesh and blood close to her chest. A long exhale. Then she closed her eyes. “Lach?”

Lachlan leaned in. “What is it?”

“I might be too weak. When I finish, pull me out of the water.”

He positioned himself so he would be able to drag her away from the edge of the pool. “I’m ready.”

But it seemed Agatha wasn’t. Her breaths ticked up. Her hand began to shake.

“Agatha?” I lowered myself to her side. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She answered too quickly. Her eyes were still shut; her body still shook.

Lachlan reached for her. “Get out of the water, Agatha. This is too much. You can perform it out here on the floor.”

Agatha shook her head, just as I held out a hand to stop him. “Lach, no,” I said.

If the spell wasn’t performed as decided, and it failed, then Imogen would remain tied to Eusia. But Lachlan had already begun to pull Agatha out. He heaved her back, a hand under each arm, and when he did, she screamed so loudly that the whole chamber rang with the piercing sound. She shook and curled up on the stones, the blood in her hand spilling down her arm.

As Lachlan tried to soothe her, I raced to remove my boots and take my dagger into my fist. I’d watched intently as Imogen had taught Agatha the steps of the spell. I lifted my shirt, ready to slice off a piece of my own flesh, when something caught in the corner of my vision.

Halla.

Her face was slack, her body loose. The bodice of her white gown gaped, and blood still trickled down the middle of her chest from the cut she’d given herself.

“Sit back down,” I snapped.

She shook her head. “I have always obeyed,” she said in a voice so small it sounded like it belonged to a child. “I have always been so very good.” She took a step closer, forcing my back to the pool. “I thought it would earn me their love. But all it has given me is a cold, lying king as my keeper.”

“It’s not me that you’re angry with, Halla.” I held up my dagger, urging her to stop. “It’s your mother. And Eusia.”

She shook her head. Her eyes were unsettlingly wide. “What would you do to keep your power?” Her voice had dropped to a crazed hush. “That is the question chasing itself through my head. My mother gave everything and was willing to give more—to give me—to keep hers. Eusia ripped apart her own body to grow her might. Your darling Imogen is following Eusia’s example to hold on to hers.” Another step. “What would you do, Theodore Ariti, the good and noble God-king of Varya?”