Page 2 of A Sea of Vows and Silence (The Naiads of Juile #3)

H e called for help.

To the north. The east. The far west.

To the distant continents. To the deep seas.

He sent an envoy to every corner. Every colony in every ocean, lake, and river.

His couriers begged on his behalf. Pleaded. Urged the other nations for action, desperate for their support.

He sent gifts. Promises of trade; pledges of alliance.

None of them answered.

None of them cared.

The couriers returned to him one by one, all of them rejected.

With each one, a fire within him lit. A fire within him grew.

Slow at first. Icy, but controlled. Hot, but calm.

They came—an endless supply of answers to his plea.

No.

No.

No.

And each refusal fanned his flame.

Each one sent him back to that place. That place he’d learned he was defenseless against the Fates of Time, of Truth, of Love.

Powerless. Helpless. Weak .

A father staring up at his child, a butchered trophy hung at a ship’s prow .

His colony had sunk the ship and killed the men, but he’d climbed to free her body, to cradle her in his arms. The daughter who had always brought him peace.

The humans’ existence sent the sirens into hiding long ago. But they’d overstepped. They’d gone too far. They’d rent a hole through his world.

He vowed to do the same to theirs.

And he’d thought he’d rally the other Naiads against the humans. The Videres who also lived in hiding, caught under the humans’ thumb. But no one answered his call.

Instead, they’d offered condolences. They’d offered their pity. They’d offered their hope that he’d someday heal.

That he’d heal . As though it was merely a nick in his skin, a cut that would seal itself by tomorrow.

Each refusal sliced into him. A sharp slap to his face. A knife in his back. A vial of salt poured into an open vein, staining his blood with fury.

Of all the sirens he beseeched, he’d thought his corda-cruor would understand. He’d thought she’d remain at his side. He’d counted on her, the only one who might soften the blows of their dismissal. The only one who might quench the fire in his chest, the cold flames that devoured him alive.

But even she turned away from him.

Rejected him.

Abandoned him to burn alone.

He’d cast away his pride and sank to his knees to ask for aid.

Like an impotent beggar. An insect. A flea.

He’d called for help.

But none of them answered.

None of them cared.