In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(8)

Eftan gave a huff, eyes darting over me, searching, studying. “You can try as you might to convince me of your indifference, but I know what a man in love looks like.” He turned on his heel. When he reached the door, he stopped. “If you will not listen to me, then perhaps you will listen to her. She did not want you and there is your proof.” His gaze cut to the dress, then back to me. “Whatever symbol that gown was meant to represent—hope or a promise, I’d guess. Knowing you.” He chuckled. “She rejected it, and she left. I praise the memory of the Great Gods that she did.” He opened the stateroom door. “Marry Halla properly. Bed her. Do your Godsdamned job, Theodore.”

The door slammed behind him and I stared blankly at the gown, fingers twitching at my side, until finally, I tried to smooth one of the deep creases in the skirt. “Fuck.”

I poured more wine. Took a deep gulp. I traced the ebony stitching on the neckline, my vines and her wings woven together. I couldn’t escape the ghostly refrain of Imogen’s voice, playing cruelly through my mind.

See to your duty and let me see to mine.

Another gulp of wine. Another attempt to quiet the memory of her, but she was strung through my body like sinew. However desperately I tried to understand why she’d severed our bond and left, to understand all that she had to do, I still couldn’t help but feel like I was now missing a vital part of my body—a limb, an organ—and she’d been the one who had ripped it from me.

The last gulp of wine didn’t keep my anger from swelling. I took the dress into my fist and made my way toward the armoire in the cabin wall.

Do your Godsdamned job.

I wrenched open the door, but as I balled the silk in my hands, I stopped.

A golden ray of light caught on long, waving brown strands of hair. I lifted it closer, inspecting the sparkling black button that had snared them.

Imogen had worn it.

She’d worn it long enough for it to steal a piece of her and hold it tight.

I let the strands slide between my fingers once before I forced myself to rest the gown upon the shelf. Releasing it felt like peeling my own skin from my body, but I told myself this changed little. She’d still left me. I still had no choice but to marry. My ears rang with Eftan’s threats. My duty felt like an unbearable weight.

For a king, one greater than the Great God himself, I marveled at how utterly powerless I’d become.





3


Imogen


The heat in the armory grew choking as I waited for Lachlan’s response.

He’d become pale and tense, fighting to keep his breaths steady. “Get to the ship and do what?” he finally asked. “I’ll say it again: Anthemoessa is inaccessible.”

“It’s not inaccessible for me.” Merely speaking sent a new jolt of pain through me. I paused and blew out a breath. “Eusia will permit me onto the inner island.”

Incredulity overlayed his grief, making his voice go harsh. “Eusia? Making bargains with monsters, are we?”

I met him with cool resolve. “For Agatha, yes.”

Luckily, he shucked his judgment and gave me the barest nod of approval. He didn’t need to know that I’d made the bargain for myself as well. I’d made it because there, alone in the middle of the sea, on my father’s ruined ship, creeping toward death, I’d felt that familiar spark of want. A foolish, ruinous sort of want that had threaded itself through me and grown so strong, so quickly, that it had eclipsed all reason.

The right thing to do would have been to smother it. To tear it—and Eusia—from my body in one swift pull. Even so, I’d not been able to let myself die in order to defeat her.

Lachlan began pacing the flickering armory, chewing the inside of his cheek. Three steps there, three steps back. Pauldrons clanged against his breastplate; the torchlight flashed over the gold with every thoughtful turn he took.

“You can sneak me out of here and onto the ship,” I urged. “We’ll kidnap Halla to force them to reroute it. We’ll get to Anthemoessa. We’ll get Agatha back. And once I’m there—where Eusia is—I’ll use Halla to help me unbind from her. She can perform magic. The bond I share with Eusia won’t let me perform a spell that harms her.”

“I don’t give a shit about Eusia right now, to be clear, but you really expect Halla will just perform this spell, willingly?”

I didn’t care about her willingness. Nevertheless, I clenched my jaw, fully aware her cooperation would be a hurdle, but my desperation didn’t mind my weak scheme, it simply wanted me to move. “We can work out the bumps while we’re making our way to the ship.”

“While I admire the cruel poetry in forcing Halla to kill her own saint, that’s not a viable plan.” When I opened my mouth, he held up a silencing finger. “Let me think.”

My head was going light from pain, so I lowered myself carefully onto a chair. “How long will this take? Isn’t it better to be enacting an imperfect plan, than waiting for inspiration that might not come?”

He still paced, breaths coming fast, and shot me a glare. “That is the best summation of your greatest flaw. And why you’re in the mess you’re in.”

I scowled. “I have greater flaws. And my impulsiveness is only partially the reason for my predicament.”