Page 64 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

“Arcane is single-focused, Pedr. Arcane is easy, painless. It is the servant. But a curse is the opposite. It is layered, and it is bound. It’s drawn from the Siren Queens out of a desire to exert control and despair.

But it, too, is not forever. It is not immune to the power of arcane within you.

You make the mistake of thinking they are the same, but the curse is different. ”

Her words twisted through his mind, warbling with intensifying speed and power. He held onto them. She offered . . . hope.

Himmel continued in her steady, constant murmur, “Whatever power the Siren Queens wove over you, all those years ago, there are layers. Layers can be broken. Most Arcanists assume that curses cannot be broken because of their power, but it’s false.

It’s the layers . You resist, one layer at a time, and gain your freedom. ”

Cool wind drafted across his face, stirring his hair. The tense muscles, painfully tight, protested the caress. The sweet scents of the sky swirled in his nose, lessening the horror of failing Britt and Mila.

I’m not enough, Himmel . I am Pedr. Arcanist of the Sea. Who I am inside is not enough for this.

“Your sheer defiance to the curse,” Himmel sang, “ is enough, Pedr. You cannot believe what the others have said about the Arcanist of the Sea. It is not true. You are stronger than the individual layers of a curse, and you can shatter their hold on you. You fight this. You will win. It is only a curse. You are bigger than that.”

Rage replaced the fearful sea in which he swam.

Himmel was right. He wouldn’t let this happen again.

He was the Arcanist of the Sea. He wasn’t a powerless lad with love in his eyes and hope for a fulfilling life any longer.

No, he’d learned better than that. The Siren Queens thought they were angry?

They hadn’t met this battle-hardened Pedr.

They had no idea.

Siren Queens bubbled in his throat, but the cursed locked them down. It strapped his ability to speak again. He groaned as bands restricted his chest.

“Haven’t you wondered why you don’t die from this, Pedr? It’s because you can’t. There is a breaking point. Press the curse to it. Find it.”

Curse , he shouted in his head. They’ve cursed me, the bastids!

Sweat poured off his face as he thrashed.

Mila’s scream of despair resurrected in his mind.

Her shriek when the Siren Queens took her.

The shrieks held sentences and the sentences held words and the arithmetic of those words was abandonment.

Separation. Failure. At the end of this curse was the night they took Mila.

He struggled against the memories. He shouted, I will tell the truth of the Siren Queens to all who will listen, until the song was tattooed on the inside of his head.

“Siren,” he gasped.

A gentle crack appeared in the restrictive ability. A hairline hope in the nether reaches. He noticed only because it stirred a ripple in the overwhelming pain. The twisting tension in his gut, stirring like a hot, winding poker.

He knew it because he sought it.

I will, he bellowed in his mind, tell the truth of the Siren Queens!

Tighter.

Tighter.

I will , he said, barely a whisper, until I die. I will. I will.

I.

Will.

The crack rippled through the globe of his mind. Himmel vanished. Rosenvatten vanished. His body, wrapped tight around itself, threatened to grind into dust. He tasted blood and fire.

“Queens,” he gasped.

You will never defeat us, hissed Amalia, the Siren Queen who cast his curse that horrid night.

You arrogant swine. You will live out an Arcanist’s five hundred years on the ocean that you love, unable to swim in the water, seeking your Mila, desiring revenge of which you cannot even speak.

You will never enjoy the things you love most. Not the sea, your freedom, nor Mila.

She will remain here, where she belongs, until the Arcanist of Souls takes her where we will never go.

This is your curse, you fool.

The words faded to a whisper. Pedr felt all closing in. His lungs compressed until each breath was a mere hiccup. Something warm pressed to his forehead. Amidst the haze, a voice.

“Come on, Pedr!” Himmel cried. “You can do this.”

With the last morsel of life, he screamed the name he hadn’t spoken in fifteen years.

“Mila!”

Then, a rending.

All fell to blackness.

Pedr floated.

Wherever he was, stillness permeated all of it until a retreating hiss broke the halcyon quiet. Air rushed into him, bursting with life and heat and blood all at once. The restriction dissipated.

Pedr shot upright with a gasp.

Blessed light and air filled his body. The tension in his muscles evaporated, and the bands that had been tightening across his chest ceased. His eyes flew open.

He stared right at Britt.

Britt .

Vapors dissipated from where he was vaguely certain Himmel once hovered. He panted, thoroughly exhausted, yet brimming with potent arcane. Britt grabbed his shoulders.

“Pedr?”

“Fine,” he panted. “I’m . . . fine.”

“You are not fine. What happened?”

He pressed his hands to the deck and attempted to stand. He listed to the side, not ready to hold his weight. She scrambled to hook an arm around his waist, and he was grateful, eternally grateful, that she didn’t waste time trying to convince him to slow down.

“Where’s Himmel?”

“Who?”

“Himmel.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

When Pedr grasped the wheel, Britt released him. In the interim, his boat had moved away from the mainland on a steady wind, preventing the hull from bashing into rocks. Himmel’s doing, probably. A weak current drifted them slightly south, angling away from the mainland on the east.

Britt’s hair trailed in filthy ropes around her shoulders. A torn sleeve on her left shoulder, a slight slash of blood on her cheek, hints of it around her nostrils, and dust all over her face. Rough day. She propped her hands on her hips and stared at him with such soulful eyes.

“Well, you’re alive,” she said.

He didn’t tell her that her high expectations, the bright eyes, looked just like their father.

Pedr saw him in Britt almost every day. He grabbed her into a hug and held her for too long.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. Her shoulders slumped.

She smelled awful—like dirt and wyvern. He didn’t care.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“I was terrified for you.”

“I know.”

“What happened?”

“I’ll explain everything.” She swayed. “I just need?—”

He shoved her back, studying her with a more critical eye. Alive, surely. Breathing, for certain. But definitely worse for wear. Weakness hinted at the edge of her smile. He pressed a palm to her cheek, as their father used to. But she wouldn’t remember that.

He did.

“Keelhaul, scalawag, and off of the locker for the mizzenmast!” he bellowed.

The string of nonsensical words activated arcane.

There’d be a full feast for her in the galley.

Well, hopefully. It worked about half the time, but a scent of something roasted and buttery filled the air now.

“There’s plenty at the table, and fresh water.

Clothes, too. Freshen up while I get the ship going. ”

She tilted her head back. “Going?”

“To The Isles. I need to feel the arcane first, see what’s wisest. Before that, we need to talk.” He cleared his throat, anticipating a gut punch from the curse. His intention to speak to her about the Siren Queens and tell her everything should cause pain.

None came.

Curiosity filled her features. “About what?”

“Siren Queens.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Siren Queens?”

He grinned. “Siren Queens. Siren. Queens. Siren Queens!” His shout startled Denerfen, whose wings rustled.

Pedr laughed, and it had a tint of madness about it.

“But . . . why?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“Does it involve Henrik?”

“Eventually, yes.”

Light illuminated her eyes. “Okay!” She shoved away, veering for the food. Denerfen, startled, popped off her shoulder and elevated. He chirruped to Pedr, head cocked as if to ask, What just happened?

“We’re in trouble, Den,” he muttered. “She’s a little too fond of that soldat, if you ask me.”

The dragul settled on Pedr’s shoulder. His affection and warmth slipped through Pedr with reassurance and love.

Despite the innate threat and instinct that reared up in protective older brother irritation, he calmed it.

Denerfen seemed to like Henrik, and the quiet soldat had given Pedr little reason to fear.

Still.

He didn’t like her attentiveness for Henrik.

Pedr turned his full attention to arcane, sea, and secrets. No more secrets, only revelations. Arcane to feel. Without the restriction of the curse, he felt more access to arcane. It stirred with greater truth. It wanted to flow.

He was ready to discover.

The Siren Queens had held him back in more ways than one.

Pedr planted his feet and reached for the ropes. Arcane met him halfway. He only had to tug. “Let’s go, Denerfen. We have soldats to track down, arcane to understand, and a sister to catch up. It’s been fifteen years of hidden secrets, and Mila, at that.”