Page 5 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter four

Nahla

First, it’s sweetnut cake and a giddy string band.

Then a lavish dinner with Brine nobility and a dance that drags past midnight.

Flowers—flowers fucking everywhere. They hang from the ceilings, wrap around the banisters, and arch over every doorway.

Enough pink, swollen blooms to clear the florist of her stock for the rest of the season. Their scent cloys like stale piss.

Everyone smiles. Everyone stares. And when the spotlight finds me, I twirl in my glittering gown, perfectly poised and drenched in applause. What a strange thing, to celebrate the departure of a talented way-maker. Don’t they know they need me?

This is my sister’s show, performative generosity to cloak years of emotional estrangement. The lights burn, her booze is bland, and my cheeks strain from smiling. If Winona wanted to please me, she’d leave me alone. Or at least give me a choice.

Cheers, bitch. Cheers to your lonely empire.

When I walk into breakfast the next morning—on time and fully dressed—I brace for Winona’s next attack on my good graces.

I squint into the low-tide sun that streams through the breakfast room’s eastern windows. My head throbs with the remnants of last night’s rum. Bland as it was, drowning in it was the only way I made it past midnight.

The royal family sits around a handsome palmwood table, picking at overfilled platters of fruit and bread.

My aged father sits at one end; Mother beside him.

Winona’s unfortunate husband, Ferrell, reclines beside the queen’s empty seat at the head, fiddling with a tassel on his shirt.

A servant pulls out my chair in the middle, and I plop into it with a rustle of silks.

Winona stands facing the windows, posture straight. Completely sober. Her dark hair twists into a perfect coil atop her head, drenched with sparkling beads.

“You look beautiful,” she says without looking my way. Like she’s hiding eyes in the back of that hair. “The Coral Prince will be pleased.”

“You didn’t even look at me,” I mutter.

“Your hair could do with some brushing, Nahlani.” My mother sniffs. “What did you do, sleep on it?”

I busy my hands unfolding my napkin and resist the urge to touch what’s left of last night’s updo.

Half my heavy curls have fallen out by now, and I haven’t bothered to fix it in silent rebellion.

Shame nips at my ears. I should have let my handmaid tame it when she asked me this morning.

Why did I tell her no? I could have avoided this encounter.

Around us, the servants scurry to prepare the windows for submersion, securing the watertight panels and closing the curtains. I track their movements, avoiding my family’s eyes. I’ve been in this room for two minutes, and I’m already deflating, making myself small.

“She has plenty of time to get ready,” my father offers. “Submerging will take a while. It’s not like the prince will see her today , Geena.”

“And I thank the gods for that.” Mother picks up her tea and sips, narrowing her eyes over the rim. She stares at the space above my head—my hair—not my face directly. “Winona, dearest, you responded to his message, yes? I know how forgetful you can be with these things.”

“I have it sorted,” Winona says.

“And about the entourage. Have you selected who will stay with Nahlani once she gets to Coral? We can’t skip the details, Winona.”

“It’s Your Majesty ,” Winona snaps, whirling to face the table at last. “You forget your place, Mother.” She pins the former queen with a steely glare, and my mother bristles.

It’s been two years since Winona inherited the throne.

The tradition has stood for centuries in all of Adria—when the first-born heir marries, the throne passes.

I thought Mother would give up by now, but she clings to her old title like a bloodfish on her arm.

Pity swells in my stomach as Winona’s cheeks stain pink. Her left eye twitches, and I start the countdown in my head—ten minutes before she snaps.

“You should be thankful. I’m only trying to help,” Mother says. “Your sister is a handful, and you must be prepared. We can’t afford the embarrassment. That’s why they’ll wed as soon as possible. Less time for the prince to discover what he’s getting himself into.”

“An excellent strategy,” Father says. “That’s what worked on me. Mahelona females are a rare breed, and it’s best we keep him in the dark. He’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Mother reaches for his face and pats his fleshy cheek. “Exactly.”

After a deep breath, Winona steadies herself and returns her expression to a wan smile.

She crosses to the table, settling into her place at the head—an intricately carved chair too menacing for her narrow frame.

Her visible anger melts away as she grips the armrests.

“Yes, of course, Mother. I’ll arrange the wedding shortly after her arrival. ”

“I’m sitting right here,” I whisper. I’m twenty-five years old, not a fucking guppy they need to manage. My headache throbs anew, and I reach for the toast. My knife scrapes loudly against the bread as I smother it with jam. Winona’s eye twitches again. Nine minutes and counting.

Mother drops her gaze from my hair, and her eyes focus as if registering my presence for the first time this morning. “I hope you know we’re proud of you, Sweetfish,” she says, scrunching her face with forced affection. “You’re making the right choice.”

What choice? I can either accept the engagement or what ? There’s no other option. Forget way-making; I’ll be busy hatching guppies for a foreign family line.

“It’s Nahlani’s duty to this kingdom,” Winona says. “I’m happy we have a viable match this time. Coral is a strong kingdom; uniting with them will be good for us.”

Winona’s husband fiddles with that tassel, saying nothing.

The product of local nobility aiming too high and winning anyway, the quiet male got his title by happenstance.

When Winona couldn’t decide among the prospects our father presented, she ordered them to duel.

Ferrell won by default; he overslept the morning of combat and avoided a bout of poisoning in the ranks.

The suspect was flayed on the spot. As the last contestant living, Ferrell secured Winona’s hand.

Their honeymoon period didn’t last long. But married at last, Winona got her throne. And that’s all she really wanted.

“What if he’s awful, Winona? What if he’s a complete chumwad?

” I hear the desperation in my voice, and my throat tightens as I rush to get out the words before someone cuts me off.

“You’ve decided my fate for me, without consulting me for a moment, and you expect I’ll go along quietly? I haven’t even met him before.”

For just this once, I want her to stand up for me instead of following the protocol or caving to our mother’s demands.

I want her to say, You’re right, Nahla. I didn’t consider your feelings, and I’m sorry.

She’s the queen now. She can choose to do things differently and prioritize our relationship over her rules. No one’s stopping her.

Instead, she blinks at me. “You have the message stone. He seems handsome enough to me. Charming. Are you not pleased? Many would kill for a chance to marry that prince.”

“ I’d kill for that chance,” Mother muses.

I slouch in my chair. That’s it then. I have no argument.

Father clears his throat. “The sky is clear today, which should make for smooth waters.” He tucks his teacup beneath his gray mustache and sips. “Good for submerging. Ramona should have no issues.”

I nod mechanically in simple relief—an easy submersion means we’ll get there sooner, and if they’re going to pin my fins to the floor, I’d rather them do it quickly.

As my family launches into a discussion of the weather, I reach beneath the table and pull the message stone from my pocket. At my contact, its embedded magic awakens, replaying the Coral Queen’s message in my mind’s eye.

The image of the Coral Prince dances before the backdrop of my breakfast. Soren, he’s called.

My future husband. He is handsome, I’ll admit, in the breezy Coral style.

He stands two-legged in a white-washed marble hallway, dressed in linen pants.

Brown skin like mine. Bright eyes. Cocky smile. Sand stuck in his dark hair.

In the recording, he scowls as if irritated to be captured in his mother’s writing spell.

We might get along.

Or maybe I’ll be miserable, separated from everything I know and love, and resigned to never way-make again. My magic, unnecessary. My future, as fixed as Winona’s.

Gods.

I sever the magic and groan. This is my duty. I was born for a royal marriage. As the second-born female, I would never be a royal of this kingdom forever. That has always been Winona’s job: to marry a buffoon up to his neck in silks, like Ferrell, so she could secure her claim to the Brine Throne.

I’m happy we have a viable match this time. Was that sarcasm in her tone? Does Winona regret her decision?

Is she… jealous?

“What do you think, Nahlani?”

I look up into four pairs of waiting eyes.

Ferrell looks away, dropping three cubes of sugar into his lushfruit tea. He clinks his spoon, stirring, stirring. Tap, tap, tap. Winona flicks her gaze at him, her brow puckering with irritation.

Gods, their sex life must be awful.

“Nahlani Mahelona, are you listening to me?” My father speaks again, and his eyebrows twitch.

Shit.

Winona’s fingers rap on the table, her nails clacking one after the other. Louder. Faster. Two minutes and counting until she snaps. My head throbs again, and I curse last night’s rum into oblivion.

What were they talking about? The weather? All the ways I’ve failed them?

I swallow a lump of bread, and it slides down my throat.