Page 1 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter one

Nahla

The sun’s not up, and I’m already breaking the rules.

My sister’s rules, in my defense. Not mine. Silly rules like be prompt for your royal duties , and no loud mouth noises at the table , and princesses do not way-make in the wee hours of the morning , and, her worst one yet, princesses shouldn’t way-make at all .

But I can’t help myself. Especially when Winona said no so loudly.

Unladylike pastime, my golden-scaled ass . There’s nothing more refined than strapping myself to the head of a giant paddledrake and taking the city by its reins. Nothing more regal. Elegant.

If she wasn’t the beloved Queen of the Brine, I’d tell her to fuck off.

“Bring her westward. Steady, now,” Keen cautions.

The old way-maker shifts next to me, his hand extended to test subtle changes in the current.

Despite his weathered hands, silver- streaked hair, and the audible creak in his spine, Keen doesn’t act a day over forty, with more than twice the time under his gills.

We barrel through the water together, tethered in place where our mount, Ramona, tucks her head beneath the waterline. Keen makes the pose look effortless, his amber tail steady as he perches in the saddle, one hand resting against the colossal reptile’s slick skin to guide her path with his magic.

My tail slips and flutters as I fight the current, the system of leather straps saving me yet again from a tumble into the expanse.

Water ripples above us, parting where Ramona’s shell crests the surface like a living island.

She’s the largest beast in the Sea of Adria—with a firm beak mouth that can crush mountains, four paddle fins each the length of several dredgebeasts, an armored underbelly as thick as a palmwood is tall, and a poisonous lashing tail at her rear.

The Brine City of Ramona, my home, is built on the back of an ancient paddledrake of the same name. Where she goes, we all go. As way-makers, it’s our job to direct our living vessel.

Travel is slow, but it keeps the city dry. We could submerge Ramona, as we sometimes do for stealth, but that requires securing several districts to prevent loss of inventory in the open ocean.

The horizon stretches in all directions, isolating us in the center of the sea.

Why should we hide? No other kingdoms dare swim this far into open waters without a protector as formidable as the Brine’s.

They hitch a ride on fleetwhales, keeping to the safety of the Intercurrent, or they never venture out at all.

The Coral Kingdom clings to their colorful beaches, Estuary to their kelp forest. Frost hasn’t shown their faces in a generation, and the Abyssals rot in the depths of the Drink.

The Kingdom of Sands—if it exists at all—only appears in whispers.

But I belong to the Brine, the Kingdom of the Brave. I won’t be caught land-bound until I’m dead and dissolved.

I nod to Keen, acknowledging his direction. There’s a swarm of sunfish to the west. We’ve been tracking their scent all morning. In the murky blue water, I spot the glint of their golden scales.

Magic unfurls in my stomach, coiling at the command of my Voice.

I activate my spell with a clear alto note and reach with my mind.

Ramona’s conscience is as ancient as the sea—vast but chaotic.

It feels like swimming through jelly. Her thoughts are slow and emotional, untainted by the lesser worries of merfolk.

I weave through her psyche until I locate the center of her being.

She grunts, and her great eye rolls to stare at me. I smile at her, pressing my hand to her flat brow bone.

Westward, Ramona.

Her thoughts color with understanding. She tilts, and my stomach dips at the shift in position. The sunfish center in my line of sight, their sailfins cutting through the water.

“Excellent,” Keen says. I can hear the pride in his voice. “Now, lure the swarm. They should be close enough.”

I alter my song, reaching farther this time.

Part of my mind lifts from my body and spirals forward through the water.

The farther I push, the weaker my connection to the spell becomes.

But the swarm is close enough now. I brush the simple minds of each sunfish, and they obey my command without fuss: Come .

With a flick of their tails, they turn. I strengthen my spell, drawing them toward Ramona for our hunters to collect.

If that wasn’t royal enough for you, Winona, I don’t know what is.

This power—my style of Voice magic—is unique to way-makers.

It lives in my veins; it’s mine to command.

I can conduct a sea of thought with the fluctuations in my song.

My sister may play politics and parades, but this is real talent.

I’m an integral part of the system that keeps our society churning forward. This is important . Beneath the waves, I matter. Sunfish don’t care if my hair is askew. I call, they answer; and the entire city feeds from my efforts.

I move the ground Winona walks on.

With a change in my tune, I coax Ramona to slow her pace.

She flares her fins, and the city decelerates to a slow tread.

The sunfish fill with curiosity as they approach the mammoth paddledrake.

Compared to her, their bodies are like glowmites, insignificant flecks of glitter.

Yet she hums in greeting—a deep rumble trembles the water—and they brighten with interest.

My stomach curdles, anticipating what comes next.

Around us, merfolk dive from their post on the Rim.

Bubbles trail through the water where their sleek bodies cut the current.

I see the hunters through each fish’s mind: stern faces and colorful tails.

The bone tip of their spears angled to kill.

The fish are wary, but not overly so. Ramona’s presence is too baffling for the fish to give the hunters any mind.

This is good. Meat tastes better when the animal never fears for its life. The hunters hit their marks with precision—kill shots through the eye.

One by one, the fish disappear from my mental radar, and I close my mouth to withdraw my magic. Energy drains from my stomach as the spell ends. The water clouds with blood and the scent of iron spreads.

Keen grins. “You’re getting better, Your Highness! Impressive.”

“Thanks, Keen. I’ve been practicing on birds when the queen’s not looking.” We’re sirens—magic-wielders—but the Voice in our blood can take talent only so far. I must hone my skills through careful discipline.

“On birds, really? How resourceful, Your Highness! Though I’m not sure I’d like to spend much time in the mind of a bird, personally.” He claps my shoulder. “Does she know you’re here again?”

The siren’s blue eyes sparkle with mischief, clear as the sky. I look away, pretending to be engrossed by the tether knot as I trace the smooth leather. I’d rather be here, in the saddle with Keen and Ramona, than stuck in court playing princess for my queen sister’s approval.

Keen knows this too well. He’s watched me grow from a rambunctious guppy into a rebellious princess, and he’s been my best friend and secret keeper through it all.

When I look up, the old male smirks knowingly.

“Look, Keen. If Her Majesty got her way all the time, her head would swell like a blowfish. Someone’s got to deflate her now and then.”

“Was it princess lessons on your schedule this morning or political training?”

“Politics.” I sigh. “My maid is covering for me. I’ve got a bad case of paddledrake flu.”

“Clever girl.”

It’s an honored gift to be Voiced with the magic of a way-maker. Most Brine sirens can perform basic magic like controlling the tides, helping crops grow, or healing wounds. The ability to communicate with animals is special and necessary for this role.

But what does it matter? I’m second born, which means I’m politically dispensable.

As the first-born heir, when Winona married two years ago, my parents passed the crown to her and her stuffed-shirt, worthless husband.

And now all I’m good for is to become some other royal’s wife, a piece in Winona’s inherited game.

Around me, corpses float belly-up in blood, their once-golden scales a lifeless brown. We’ve harvested enough to feed the city for a few more days. Hunters collect the sunfish, hoisting the carcasses over the Rim, and I try to tune out the repetitive slap of their bodies against the shell.

When the water is cleared of the catch, Keen gives Ramona the next command. He hums a spell, placing his hand flat against the paddledrake’s brow. She stirs, her fins swivel and push, and we regain momentum.

Soon, a pod of glosswhales joins us. They thread the surface, gliding in elegant arcs as the rising sun glistens off their sleek gray hides.

They call to one another in chirping tones, parting their bottle noses in approximations of a smile.

Ramona responds with a grating chuckle that vibrates my body.

I brush their minds with my magic, absorbing their emotions—happiness, friendship, freedom.

My chest tightens at the sweetness of it.

I’d trade my left tailfin to be as free as a glosswhale.

“I won’t get to do this forever, Keen.”

“Do what, exactly? Sneak out of your duties to hang out with an old witherfish? I’m not stopping you.”

“If Her Majesty has her way, I’ll be shipped off soon.”

He gives me an apologetic look. “No harm in practicing the craft, Your Highness. You never know when your Voice might come in handy.” When I don’t respond, he nudges me gently.

“Who knows? You may get lucky. I hear the Abyssal King keeps a hoard of dredgebeasts. Perhaps he needs a tamer.” Keen winks.

I shiver. The Abyssal Kingdom, settled in the lowest trenches of the sea, is a place I never want to go. I can’t imagine a life away from the sun.

A shadow falls over us from the Rim, in the watery outline of a tall female with my sister’s elegant scowl.

Shit.