Page 33 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter thirty-one

Aethan

Three cups of tea, and I’m still not awake enough for this. I recline on my fur-lined throne, bracing my body against the wooden frame to keep from slumping over in my seat.

After minimal hours of sleep, I was dragged from my bed by an equally irritated Lucas, who so kindly reminded me I’d promised to hold court this morning. A fucking kingly duty, to endanger the masses.

An ache throbs through my temple, drowning out the complaints of my subject, who kneels before me in tattered furs.

He’s a hunter, by the looks of his garb and the haunted look in his eyes.

He’s middle-aged, gray hair streaking through his slick white braid.

Siren ears poke through the strands, smoothed by his magic.

From his neck hangs a bone pendant, carved in the likeness of a pikewhale. With rough hands, he grasps it, drawing upon its strength, and mumbles something under his breath.

“Speak louder,” I snap. The ache pounds, a dull roar in my ears. A flinch crosses the siren’s face, and my stomach sours.

Lucas is right. I’m the shittiest king to grace this throne. I itch to stand, to distance myself from my ancestral seat. But I grip the armrest, holding myself in place. I take a steadying breath, then add, “Please.”

He straightens. “Thank you for granting me this audience, Your Majesty. Hunter Leon, at your service. I believe we’re long overdue.”

He releases the bone pendant from his fist and lets it swing from the string. I watch the bone figure move, back and forth, until it settles.

“This belonged to my son,” Leon says. “Not two weeks ago, I retrieved his body from my doorstep. Or what was left of it. Along with blubberchips and wine, stamped with the royal crest.”

My memory flashes, and I spiral back in time to the beach. The silver siren hair. Mottled, frozen flesh, ripped by claws. The day I severed Perrin’s foot.

“Audrina rest his scales,” I say, the words like ice on my tongue.

“May I speak freely, Your Majesty?”

I spread my hands in invitation.

“Twelve years ago, we moved ashore on your orders. We’ve been careful to avoid the water, and we’ve learned to hunt the beasts of the land.

But it’s been hard. Joa, he…” He clutches the pendant more tightly.

“You couldn’t take the water from my son if you tried, and I tried, Your Majesty.

It was part of him. As it’s part of all of us.

Frostcats and woollygoats aren’t as challenging to hunt as pikewhales.

Where’s the thrill? Where’s the honor? And Joa’s not the first we’ve lost to the clawbeast. Now, we’re a dying breed.

Forty hunters dead, Your Majesty. And the killings have only increased in frequency. ”

I run the math. “Forty-two.”

His stare grows cold. “Too many. How many of our guppies must we needlessly bury before we act? Let me gather a hunting party and track the clawbeast. I’ll rid the Rime of it once and for all.”

The siren snarls, his face twisting with vindicated anger. Shame that his blame is misguided. The villain sits in front of him now, comfortably reclining on a throne of furs.

I sigh. “You will not win.”

“We must try.”

“No.”

“You deny my right to avenge the life of my son?” He tilts his face, giving me a clear view of his expression. If he knew the truth, he’d kill me on the spot.

I motion for the guards. “I deny you the right to decide for this kingdom. That is my responsibility to bear.”

“You are blessed with the siren’s Voice.

You built homes for us near the plains with your magic, and we are grateful for your generosity.

You are powerful, Your Majesty. Build a barrier beneath the waves.

Give us a portion of the Rime to hunt as we please, according to our tradition.

A fishing grounds. If it pleases Your Majesty. ”

I flare my nostrils. “It won’t work. The clawbeast can’t be contained. Tell your pod to stay ashore, hunter. My order remains unchanged.”

The guards lift him, and Leon shoots me a glare. “Thank you for your time.” He seethes. “I half hoped you’d respect mine.”

My pulse roars in my ears. Cold tingles my fingers, and the blue scales spread.

Leon follows my gaze. His brow puckers, forming a tight V.

The guards pull him from his stance and escort him from the room.

I clench my fist. With a sharp bark of my Voice, I shoot a stream of ice after the hunter. The shards embed in the closing door.

Keep it together, Aethan. You killed the male’s son. Let him go.

I draw deep breaths and wrack my brain for a warm memory—anything to chase the anger away—and plunge into the first one that arises.

I stand beneath a palmwood, sunshine burning hot on my back. My hands sting from the scrape of bark. My toes dig into the grooves, gathering sap as I climb. Higher. I’m sweating. My hand reaches out, aiming for a large, fuzzy fruit hanging in a bunch between broad green leaves.

But this isn’t my memory.

It’s hers.

When I look down, a female guppy stands with outstretched hands. She looks like Princess Nahlani, with a sharper face and stern brown eyes. Her sister. I grasp the fruit and let it fall into her waiting hands.

Whatever magic the princess has in her veins, it’s saved me more than once. My scalp prickles as I recall her face one more time, scrunched in a sassy smirk. I smile as the warmth eases my nerves.

A confused pair of guards stand several paces away, careful to avoid the shards of ice that part the room.

“Shall we invite the next subject, Sire?”

With a dry throat, I form a spell and melt the ice. “Bring them in.”

The complaints come in waves. A mother grieves her son who will never use his tail. A noble says the winds are too cold this year; I should build higher walls. A hunter reveals the lack of local game. Then another.

By the third hunter’s arrival with the same complaint, my stomach is in knots. I drum my fingers on the armrest. Is this an issue I can remedy, without opening fishing grounds?

“How far have you expanded your hunt?” I ask the hunter before me now, a tall female named Cyrene.

She runs a restless hand over the tail of her braid. “Two days’ ride across the plains. We haven’t dared to go farther. There’s no telling what’s out there, Your Majesty, and the hunters lose morale venturing too far from the sea.”

“And how have the mounts fared?”

“The wind is brutal, but the snowbears are better suited to it than we are.”

“I see.” I press my fingertips together, forming a pyramid before my chest. “When is your next excursion?”

“We leave in two days, but we’re struggling to gather recruits.” Her expression is grim. “The hunters don’t want to waste their time if there’s no game, Sire. They’d rather risk their time in the water.”

I close my eyes and let the guilt wash over me. I’m failing them all. Cyrene. Leon. The rest of the hunters. Lucas. Deirdre. Perrin. My entire kingdom.

They need leadership, encouragement, and vision. All the things I cannot give.

“I’m afraid, Your Majesty. If we can’t find a solution, my comrades will continue to face tragedy.” Cyrene shifts her weight, furs rustling.

With renewed determination, I meet her gaze. What is a king if not a symbol of leadership? A pageantry of hope—even if he has none?

I form my words carefully. “If their king would join them on the plains, would that boost morale?”

Her eyes widen. “Yes, of course, Your Majesty. It’d be an honor.”

My nerves clench at the instant approval. Was I rash to suggest it? Can I do this safely?

This curse requires I touch water before the Beast fully emerges. The Frosted Plains are a vast stretch of glacial ice, far from the reach of the sea. If I can’t complete the transformation, maybe it will keep the Beast at bay.

A bud of hope unfurls in my stomach, sweet and reckless. What if this has been the answer all along?

I don’t need Lucas’s research or routines. I just need to disappear in the vast, white north.

Cyrene awaits my response. “I will join you, then,” I grunt. “Ready a mount for me.”