Page 7 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)
Chapter five
Aethan
There’s always a yet . Every. Fucking. Time.
A mutilated body lies on the rocky shore, icy tongues of seawater lapping at the leftovers.
The Rime has preserved what’s left of him—an arm, the sleek curve of the siren’s tail, three deep gashes across his torso.
In webbed patterns, ice clings to the wounds like lace, staving the blood.
He wears the mark of a hunter around his neck, but I can’t make out his face beneath the mess of silver hair.
Another subject is dead at my feet.
The Frost Guard pulls the stiff corpse from the water. They make quick work, keeping their feet low to the stones, careful to avoid splashing or submerging too deep. They eye the surf warily, as they should. According to legend, the clawbeast attacks in darkness, and the sun has barely risen.
“Your Majesty, we await your orders.” The captain looks at me. His eyes have sunk into his broad face, and the hook of his nose is speckled white with chill. This isn’t the first body he’s pulled from the Rime for me. Because of me.
Her face, pale as the morning snow, blooms with freezing blood. A gash on her cheek, tugging the corner of her sad, knowing eye. She reaches for me through a cloud of bubbles. It’s the last I remember of her, before my world went dark.
Pain twists in my throat, and I avert my gaze from the waiting captain, swallowing my anger.
This is why I ordered my people to stay out of the water. Why I invited them into my ancestral warm-season grounds to live ashore year round. No one swims, no one gets hurt.
It’s like telling a bird not to fly into a pane of glass. They won’t fucking listen, and they’ll never learn.
This is the second casualty this moon cycle; four in the cycle prior. Since the killings began, it’s always the same injury, the same three marks where the clawbeast’s talons cut deep. And the monster leaves his kill on my goddessdamn doorstep every time.
I scan the basin for signs of movement, knowing I’ll find none, knowing it’s an act—to deflect the suspicion. Let them think the Beast is out there somewhere, not standing next to them on the shore.
The clawbeast attacks in darkness, and I have no memory past midnight.
The floes bob in the soft current, undisturbed. Ice stretches toward the early morning sky, framing the cavity that marks the entrance to my dominion and shielding against the worst of the wind. Still, its sting penetrates the thin threads of my fur cloak, nipping my bare chest beneath.
“Take the remains to the healer,” I tell the captain. “Have Lucas identify the victim and alert the family. Condolences from the king.”
My voice is cold and rhythmic, the words a recitation. How many times have I given the captain this same order? It should be habitual by now. Another body on the shore? Clear the evidence. Condolences to the family. Done. He does not need to rouse me or pull me from my iron cage.
Anger uncurls in my stomach, icy hot. It slithers through my chest and tightens its grip. My teeth chatter as the ice moves through me, numbing my veins.
I can’t breathe. My lungs burn. Frozen. I stare at my feet, my snow-white skin marbling with dark blue scales. The color spreads, crawling over my ankles, then calves. With it, a burning chill.
Not now. Fuck no. Keep it together, Aethan.
I inhale, pushing the anger deep. I count to ten. Then twenty. I unfurl my fists. Drop my tongue from the roof of my mouth. The wind wicks the sweat from my palms. Finally, the color fades from my feet, and I exhale in relief.
The guards lift the corpse into a litter, the stones beneath their feet clacking as they carry the victim the short distance to the gate.
A handful of servants have gathered behind the frosted iron bars, craning to glimpse the scene.
As the gate parts to let the Frost Guard through, the servants scatter.
I narrow my eyes. Did anyone see? I keep a small staff for this reason; fewer eyes to notice oddities, fewer mouths to spread half-truths, and fewer bodies to wash up dead.
Deirdre pushes through the gate, dropping into a quick curtsy greeting when she reaches me. Her eyes are tired. “Shall I put together a gift basket, Sire?”
As if a gift basket could replace the life taken. I run a hand over my neck, massaging the tension before I speak.
“Yes, and add extra blubberchips this time, Deirdre.” I tug my furs tighter as the wind whistles over the Rime, spraying frozen mist. “It’ll be cold tonight.”
“Excellent idea.” She follows me toward the gate.
Underwater, this wind was never a problem.
What’s left of Doloch is carved into the ice below my feet, the royal city abandoned entirely at my command.
My kingdom has been land-bound, hunkering two-legged inside our huts, for the past decade, merfolk separated from the sea.
But I’d rather them land-bound than lunch.
Some disagree. If I was a good king, I’d dive into the depths myself and wrestle the clawbeast into submission, they say. End this madness.
But I am anything but good , and I won’t set fin in the Rime again.
Not wittingly, anyway.
Not when it ends like this.
The wind cuts out as soon as I step into the hall.
“A bottle of wine as well, perhaps?” Deirdre says, brushing the snow from her gray hair.
I grunt. “If it will help you sleep at night.”
She ignores my icy tone and nods. Deirdre has always been a hopeful type; her lips curl warmly at me, her round face soft with age.
All these years, she’s served my wretched family, first as my mother’s favorite handmaid and now as my head of house.
She knows all our secrets, and she still finds reason to smile.
She glances over her shoulder toward the shore. “I’d sleep much better if this situation was—”
“I have it under control.” My tone cuts too sharply. Too loud as it echoes through the vast hallway.
I clench my fist to tamper the next flare of anger, but the energy builds and burns through my veins, and a cord of muscle twitches on my neck.
It’s not enough. Energy rushes through me, and my siren Voice erupts in deep, rattling bass.
The power of my magic is addictive, uncoiling in my belly as it grows.
I twitch my hand and, unable to control it, shards of ice sprout from the ground, cutting a line out the hall, through the gate, and to the sea.
Deirdre gasps, leaping out of the path of my magic.
The ice crackles and twists skyward as my spell continues to fall from my mouth.
Rage building. Power unfurling. The familiar darkness stirs deep within me, waking up as my hands stain blue.
A scream cuts the air, and my heart lurches. I wrestle the energy into submission, snapping my mouth shut. The shards of magic shatter and fall in glittering dust over the stones.
A young merman collapses onto the beach with a howl, his severed leg slick with blood. I recognize him as a Frost Guard trainee. Deirdre’s nephew.
And I’ve just sliced off his foot.
Deirdre screams and rushes to the shoreline, a sob ripping from her throat.
The family resemblance is clear—the spotted pattern on their dark blue cheeks, the broad brown eyes, the curly mops of hair, one silver, one sandy.
Deirdre said her nephew joined the Frost Guard this year, and he was proud to be in my service.
Perrin, he’s called, after the wandering glacierweed; her late sister’s favorite floral.
I watch in frozen horror as she kneels next to him. Perrin screams, hands coating with blood as he grasps his severed ankle. His right foot lies dismembered on the stones. Already, his foot mottles purple, the hoarfrost of my magic claiming territory.
“Healer!” Deirdre tears her skirt, tying a quick tourniquet above the wound. Her mouth moves again, but no words reach me.
All sound fades into a hush of panic. My ears ring. I clasp my head, staggering as the vertigo hits, and I catch myself on the cold bars of the gate.
Lucas breezes past, rolling his sleeves with four quick tucks. I blink. My hearing rushes in with a whoosh.
What am I doing? Standing like a dick in the doorway? I curl my shaking hands into fists and burrow them in my cloak.
Perrin whimpers as the healer prods the wound with a spell. The youngling’s head snaps back, his teeth bared, and Deirdre gives him a piece of cloth to bite. His foot can’t be reattached; my hoarfrost has spread too far.
I wrench my gaze away, turning on my heels. The hallway is silent. Empty. No one to see me flee the scene of my crime.
I grab a vase of flowers and shatter it against the wall as I pass. The shards cut the bottoms of my feet. But the pain is not enough.
When will I learn?
I’m the Beast who haunts the Rime.