Page 23 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter twenty-one

Aethan

This has to stop.

Every night for the past three nights, I’ve woken exhausted and wet, unsure where I’ve been or what I’ve done. Anxiety gnaws at my mind like a parasite, growing larger each day it feeds.

Still, no casualties since the day I injured Perrin. By what miracle of the goddess I’ve been blessed, I do not know.

I need answers. Now.

Lucas said he needed a few weeks to research my ailment, but I no longer have the luxury of time. Every day that passes is another that could end in bloodshed at my hands.

What if Deirdre is next? Perrin? Lucas himself?

Nahlani?

Pushing away the memory of her face, I shudder.

I skip breakfast, to Deirdre’s hearty disapproval, and head straight to the library, hoping to help the healer’s research move along.

The small library is practical, originally made for storing a bit of light reading and nothing more.

It pales compared to the grandeur I grew up with beneath the waves, but I prefer it this way.

It’s cozy. Bookshelves reach to the ceiling, lining every wall.

Sconces flicker, casting dark shadows on the books. I pick a table and light a candle.

The librarian approaches, scurrying to meet me with a feather duster in his hand. A short older male, Horace is as round as the spectacles that perch on his nose.

“Your Majesty.” He bows. “How might I help you this morning?” He runs the duster over my place at the table, brushing it clear.

“I’m hoping you could help me with a project I’m working on. Anything you have on royal ancestry. Or curses.”

Horace sucks his lips into a tight line. “Any particular curses in mind?”

I swipe my hand over the table, studying the dust that clings to my finger. “Nothing in particular. Just a curiosity of mine. I’m looking to pass the time, and I’m afraid I’ve read through all the books in my chamber.”

“I’ll see what I can find.” Horace’s frown deepens, and he makes another pass with the feather duster. “The tomes you require may be… inaccessible for the time being.”

Stuck in the old city of Doloch, he means. When I first gave the evacuation order, it took him several weeks to fish the current supply out of the depths, before the danger became too great to continue, and he abandoned the rest of the books.

Horace puts his hands on his hip, thinking for a moment, and begins singing his spell. With a soft tenor Voice, he summons the books he needs.

The shelves quake. Several flat stone tablets tilt forward and lift from their slots. They float toward me, bouncing through the air with the lilt of his Voice. He stacks them on the table until I can hardly see over their height, then cuts his spell.

“That should keep you busy,” he says, brushing his palms together.

I thank him and inspect the first tablet from the stack, titled A History of Everything: Secrets of the Sea .

The magic ignites beneath my touch, releasing its stored memory.

Images play in my mind’s eye. Faces from the past flick by, their mouths moving soundlessly as a monotone voice summarizes the contents of the book.

I skip to the Frost Kingdom and settle in as my great-great-great-something grandfather introduces himself.

As I read, I watch for signs of hysteria. Blue scales creeping, perhaps. Or a nervous twitch of the eye. But he seems calm. Smiley. His pale features remind me distantly of my father’s, his violet eyes set in my ancestor’s too-sharp face.

I read until I reach the chapter about my mother, then sever the spell before I can see her face.

This was a stupid idea.

I grab the next book, activating it to remove any possibility of her memory returning.

This one is a generic history lesson I’ve heard a thousand times.

A lyrical voice relays the formation of the Rime.

In the beginning, the Moon Goddess Audrina breathed over the sea, and the Frosted Plains stretched from her mouth.

She scooped the glacial bowl, pulled up the mountains, and carved the tunnels of Doloch.

Then with her fingertips, she painted the aethersky to remind us not all dark places are void of color.

Whaleshit, all of it.

I skip to the next book. Then the next.

I’m a dozen books deep when the door glides open. The quick, efficient footsteps announce Lucas before he appears at my side.

“Sire,” he grunts in greeting. Before I can respond, he plops a parcel onto the table.

I bristle. It’s fur, folded and bundled in string.

I recognize the creamy coat of a frostcat hide peeking through the wrapping—the cloak I purchased from the market the other day, the one I meant for the princess.

“Did His Majesty enjoy his shopping trip?” Lucas hedges.

A vein pulses along my neck. “No.”

The library is all but empty—Horace sits in a rocking chair by the hearth, his eyes unfocused as he reads a stone.

Lucas drops his voice to a whisper. “You were careless. That’s not what I meant by creating a kingly routine. What if you exploded among all those people? You barely kept it together long enough to get out of sight. And you have seen no one since. Once-and-done is not good enough, Sire.”

I flinch, fingers digging deeper into the fur. Wasn’t he the one who told me to try interacting with my subjects? “What do you want me to do then? Wake early, exercise, take my tea, study for twenty minutes, stretch for five. Go greet a guppy on the street. Rinse and repeat till I die?”

“That’s a start, yes,” Lucas grunts, sorting through the books before me. With each tablet, his frown deepens.

“And how goes your research? Anything useful?” I ask.

“It’s hardly been a week, Your Majesty. I’ll need more time than that. It may require forbidden access, you see.”

The books he needs are underwater. Goddessdamn. “I’m out of time, Lucas. Work with me here.”

“If I could have access to the original library, it may speed my research.”

Meaning, if I could stay out of the water for one fucking night, he might make some headway. My hands roam over the cloak, gripping the frostcat fur. Can I keep myself land-bound? What will it take? More locks? A numbing spell?

The Beast always finds a way out. Every. Damn. Time.

I speak around the knot in my throat. “I cannot promise your safety.”

“Understood, Your Majesty.” Lucas taps three tablets together, stacking them neatly. “As you were.”

With a whisper of wind, he leaves me to brood. I shove the cloak aside.

What was the point of bringing this to me? To remind me of my failure?

Freezing cold and locked in a cage. The princess’s accusation echoes as guilt stabs sharply.

I pick the next book and activate its spell, but I can’t focus on the words. All I can see is the siren’s pretty face. Her lips, quivering. Her skin, damp and cold to the touch.

No way to treat a princess.

Fuck. I wouldn’t know where to start. A chamber in my palace, three meals a day, and no more spy nonsense—that was her request.

It shouldn’t be too difficult.

Except then she’d be here . In my home. Taunting me with her very presence. Close enough to kill me in my sleep or slip poison into my tea.

My stomach gurgles, running on empty. Evening light streams through the windows. I’ve spent all day here without breakfast or lunch. I thank Horace for his time and hurry from the library.

When I find Deirdre in the dining hall, she flays me with her glare. “Your Majesty.” She forces a smile. “Ready for dinner?”

The rich smell of food wafts over me, floating out from the kitchen. Guilt stabs again, sharper this time.

Nahlani must be hungry. And I’m sitting here, about to feast like a cold-hearted jackass.

I’m not a good king. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a good person. My heart skips at the thought.

“Deirdre, send for the princess and alert the chef,” I say. “She will join me for dinner tonight.”