I regained consciousness sometime before dawn. The cool air had worked its way into my bones, and my muscles were tight and trembling, trying to create some heat within my body. My skull and shoulder blades ached, and my arm burned. Overhead, the stars were giving way to a purple sky.
Christ, I hurt.
Carefully, I rolled onto one side and pulled my knees to my chest, giving myself time to adjust, time to think and come to terms with what I’d done.
I didn’t enjoy ending someone’s existence, didn’t enjoy the kill, and didn’t seek it out unless it was absolutely necessary. At heart, my goal was to protect. If that meant engaging a foe, defending others, or stopping a murderous creature, then I would. I loved a good fight, sure. I loved feeling like I made a difference, and knowing that I helped people who couldn’t make a stand. But there was no thrill in what I’d done.
I’d defended myself. In moments like those when shit is coming at you faster than you can process, you do what you have to do to survive. I acted on instinct, which wasn’t anything new—my response had been the normal Charlie MO. It was the way I’d killed him that I had a hard time with.
Eventually, I got up and shuffled stiffly into the bedroom where I cleaned up the ashes of the siren and then dumped them over the balcony into the sideways breeze.
I needed to get out of the palace and away from the reminders of last night, so I dressed slowly and then attempted the maze of hallways beyond my room until I found myself outside. The guards gave me a nod of recognition, which I returned before proceeding down the steps toward the sea, not stopping until I came to the market.
I bought a small loaf of warm spiced bread and took it past the dock to the beach, where I walked for a while, taking in the fresh air, the views, and the sunlight. I climbed the path to the cliffs beneath one of the towers and found a good spot to eat.
I needed this . . . peace, this solitary time, and the mindless distraction of the sea as it splashed against the tall, jagged rocks below me. I watched the birds dive from the cliffs and into the sea for breakfast. I watched the sky change colors. And eventually all those things helped clean away the darkness inside me.
My gaze turned to the tower across the bay. The obelisk’s pointed top caught the first rays of the sun and sparked bright enough to make me shield my eyes. And then I saw it; the rings of power that made the wall of Fiallan impenetrable. Just a glimpse, like a shimmering mirage and then . . . gone.
I drew my knees in, wrapping my good arm around them, and rested my chin on top. No matter what had happened last night, my goal hadn’t changed. The siren had come in secret, of that I was sure. But his disappearance would be noted at some point. They’d start searching, they’d be alert, and eventually they’d make their way to us. The outsiders. But we’d be inside the inner sanctum long before that happened. I hoped.
I stayed a few more minutes, and then headed back toward the palace to attend the Panopéic rites.
“I really don’t see why I have to be bare-ass naked in front of everyone!” I whispered vehemently. “You’re the one who was invited.”
Sandra had neglected to mention that being invited to the Circe’s Panopéic rites also involved a cleansing—a nude, arctic, freeze your fucking ass off cleansing. I didn’t appreciate the non-warning, nor did I appreciate the fact she hadn’t stopped flaunting her amazing night of lovemaking ever since I’d returned from my morning walk. In reality, if I thought parading naked through Fiallan whistling “Dixie” would get me closer to Hank, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I didn’t have to like it or the company.
Sandra and I were the last of the all-female procession to shed our clothes and step into the sacred spring. I was allowed to keep my amulet, but I worried about the mark on my shoulder blade and the symbols on my arm being visible. But more so about the mark, as it was identical to the one on Hank’s chest. We had squabbled at length with the priestesses, trying to forgo this part of the ritual, to the point they threatened to bring the Circe to back them up. We’d considered Sandra going in alone and then reporting back, but then we learned once the procession was over, no one was ever permitted inside of the sanctum. Sandra felt sure she would not be invited back again, and I might miss my chance to get inside.
In the end, we decided this was our moment. We had to take it whatever the risk.
“You can’t come unless you’re purified in the spring,” Sandra sang over her shoulder.
I shot daggers at her back as a gazillion icy goose bumps swept up my legs and arms. A siren attendant filled a bowl with water and lifted it to my shoulders. I braced myself as cold liquid hit my skin. “Sweet Baby Jesus!”
The only good thing about that moment was watching Sandra get the same treatment, though it was hard to really enjoy her shock since I was in the process of becoming a human Popsicle.
The group in front of us received their gowns and began walking down the shallow stream that led out of the pool.
The grotto and spring tucked into a high rock was, according to Alessandra, supposedly the sacred spring where the deity Panopé had appeared to the Circe and given them the vision of how to save the city from the Adonai. Panopé was also called the Witch of the Sea, which I thought appropriate given her association with the three hags I planned on killing.
Males were prohibited from taking part in the Panopéic rites. Good thing. As it was, my poor brain felt permanently damaged at having to see Alessandra in all her bare-naked glory. Like most Elysians, she wasn’t shy when it came to baring all; they often gathered in the baths naked as the day they were born, eating, conversing, as though nothing was out of the ordinary—though for them nothing was.
It made me wonder about her origins. Some race of Elysian, possibly? The fact that nudity didn’t faze her was a clue I cataloged with all the others.
Sandra took the gown offered to her. “Besides, Charlie, it wouldn’t kill you to let your feminine side out once in a while.”
“Uh . . . I believe my feminine side is out right now for all the world to see,” I grumbled. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean anyway?”
She laughed. “You’re just grumpy because I had fun last night and you didn’t.”
My glare was cut short by water over my head. I stopped myself halfway into spinning around and decking the attendant. Fuck, that was cold! I swiped a hand down my face. “I hate you,” I told the oracle with as much menace as I could manage.
She tossed a cocky look over her bare shoulder. “It was good, too.”
I rolled my eyes and pulled the gown over my head. Yeah, if only she knew the night I had. Hers obviously had been nothing but pleasure while mine had been . . . brutal. Whatever. I refused to let her bait me and tried to ignore her constant hints at her amazing night.
As I tugged the gown over my wet skin and arranged it correctly, I realized it left part of my mark visible. I glanced over my shoulder, trying to see how much was actually exposed.
“Charlie.” Sandra stood downstream, waiting in the bend.
For a moment I was struck by the scene: her wet black hair spilling down her back, the white gown with its hem floating in the water around her calves, the blossoms in her hand, the trees that lined the mossy banks with their thin, fragile-looking limbs and the delicate leaves . . . Like a painting, a scene straight out of some Renaissance artist’s dream of goddesses and ancient rites.
Then her eyebrow arched and one corner of her red lips dipped down, ruining the whole picture. The attendant handed me a bowl filled with white blossoms, which I was to carry down the winding stream, releasing them as I contemplated the gifts of the goddess, asked for her blessing, and offered her my gratitude. Blah, blah, blah.
I tugged on the shoulder of the gown with one hand and balanced the bowl in the other. Well, at least we were the last to go, I thought as I picked my way along the mostly sandy bottom of the stream. And I sure as hell wasn’t backing out now.
Once I caught up to Sandra, who looked as though she was taking instructions seriously, I poked her in the back to get her attention.
“What?”
“How well can you see my mark?” I asked, turning around.
“Fairly well. But I’m standing right by you. Don’t sweat it,” Sandra said, moving on. “You’re the least important person here, so you’ll be in the back where no one will notice you.”
Gee, don’t mince words, Sandra.
“Now, hush. We’re supposed to reflect on the goddess and the connection we make from us to the water and to the sea.”
The chant of Tibetan monks came to mind and I couldn’t help but say, “Should I start Om-ing?”
She tossed a flat, unamused look my way and then returned her attention to the procession. After a few minutes, Sandra said thoughtfully as she walked, “I want your word on something, Charlie.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure I was listening. “If anything were to happen to me . . . Promise to take me back home to Atlanta. Tuni will know what to do.”
The goose bumps that slid over my skin had nothing to do with the cold. Sandra was worried, which was understandable, especially for someone who could always see the future and now couldn’t. “I will,” I promised.
“You swear?” Her eyes narrowed as she stopped to look at me.
“I swear. Cross my heart and everything. Will you do the same for me if you can?”
“Of course.”
As we continued walking, I mulled over her request. Did she know something she wasn’t saying? Or was she just concerned? Neither thought was comforting.
Eventually, we came to a high rocky ridge topped with trees where the stream disappeared into the large opening of a cave. My feet were completely numb from the cold.
“We’re close to the sea now,” Sandra said over her shoulder, though it was unnecessary. As soon as we entered into the dark cave, I smelled the salt water and heard the faint echo of waves from some distant place up ahead.
At first it was pitch-black inside, and I was glad the sandy bottom allowed us to walk without much trouble. Light soon came, however, in the form of sunlight, which shot through random holes in the cave ceiling, making gossamer shafts straight to the water. The small waves our passing made reflected light in ripples on the water and along the caves walls.
The mood changed, taking on a quiet reverence. Occasional murmurs from the procession goers drifted back to us in solemn tones.
My senses sharpened. We had to be getting closer to the Circe now. I took the opportunity to scan the cave walls, looking for any passageways and hoping—waiting—for my mark to warm. We were entering the Circe’s lair, where they did their dirty work, where Hank most likely was being held.
A song had begun, rising softly over the sound of the waves, the natural acoustics of the cave giving it added volume and significance.
Finally, the proverbial light at the end of a tunnel slowly appeared and we came to an enormous chamber the size of a large department store. The main source of light was a massive opening at the far end of the cave that extended into the sea itself. A few stories high and wide, it provided plenty of light and allowed in the constant push and ebb of the sea. Rocks and ledges jutted up from the seafloor, creating pools within the cave that stayed filled with water. Time had eroded a small beachlike area where the floor of the cave met one of the large pools.
Some of the calmer pools were crystal clear and the bottoms glittered. The closer I came, I realized why. Gold, jewels, and other treasures littered the sandy floor.
Sandra tugged on my arm. We moved out of the stream where it met with the sea and onto the smooth flat rock that made up about half the chamber’s natural floor.
Tucked back against the wall was an altar behind which the Circe had gathered, but my attention locked almost immediately onto the narrow opening behind them. Without a doubt, I knew I had to get inside that passageway.
What followed next was a tediously slow sequence of events. First came a song—a beautiful long song. After the song, offerings were made to the deity, which explained all the underwater treasure. Alessandra and I tossed our flowers into the sea, and they floated with the hundreds of others, making a pretty web of white blossoms on the water.
Once the rites were over, the procession filed out of the cave, going back up the stream the way it had come. The Circe crossed the floor, heading our way.
“Thank you for coming, oracle,” Arethusa said.
Calliadne took her turn. “Your presence pleases Panopé.”
“Come. Let us retire to our sanctum.” Ephyra gestured toward the passageway.
“I am likewise honored to take part in the rites. Your hospitality is most kind.” Alessandra turned to me and the question not voiced was what they were going to do with me: invite me along or make me wait in the chamber?
The Circe exchanged glances, odd ones that made me wonder if they communicated telepathically. And then they stared at my arm and warnings fired through my brain.
“Your servant’s markings.” Their eyes didn’t stray from my right arm. “Where did she get them?”
“They are . . . unusual.”
Alessandra didn’t miss a beat—and after the whole “Carly Madison” thing, I feared what would come out of her mouth next. “They were given to her by the jinn who trained her to be my bodyguard. They are ancient jinn markings.”
Relief slid down my spine. Well done, Sandra. Well done. Using the jinn was genius because very few Elysians ever bothered themselves with Charbydon practices and rites.
“She may accompany you,” Calliadne said at length, “but must wait outside the sanctum once we enter.”
Alessandra and I bowed. “Most kind,” she said.
I followed them into the passageway. Finally. It took most of my focus to bank my emotions and aura so the Circe wouldn’t feel anything suspicious coming from me, and concentrate on my surroundings.
Dressed only in the gown, I was at a serious disadvantage. The length could easily get tangled in my legs. I had no shoes, no weapons, no power to draw on unless I wanted a visit from Sachâth. So that pretty much left my fists, my training, and my ability to think on my feet.
The passageway made a serpentine path through the gray rock. The air was cool and damp, but it warmed the farther we went back into the earth. I found it strange, if this was indeed the Circe’s dwelling, that there were no guards and no real security system—well, at least the kind I could see; crafting was another matter entirely. They could have this entire place protected with wards and traps.
Unless they had gotten complacent. In the thousand years since the Circe had risen to fame and control, there hadn’t really been any challenges to their power. Who did they need protection from? Everyone here adored them. And, maybe, the lack of guards was for a reason. Like the fact that they didn’t want anyone knowing the evil they did down here.
We walked single file until we came to a round chamber. There were three doors facing us. Calliadne opened the center door and motioned to Alessandra. “Our sanctum is this way.”
Ephyra turned to me. “You must wait here.”
I wasn’t surprised by this, but I was shocked at the level of worry I felt for Sandra. The idea of her being alone with the Circe filled me with a very real, very acute sense of dread. I made a step forward. She couldn’t go alone. I was her bodyguard, after all, and—
She stepped in front of me, pressing a hand into my shoulder. The smile of encouragement she tried to give me failed miserably. “I’ll be fine. There’s a bench there by the wall. Just wait for me here.” She was trying to hide it, but she was afraid. I knew her well enough now to know that, and I knew her well enough to care. And I felt very strongly about not wanting her to go. “Sit and rest,” Alessandra went on, squaring her shoulders and taking on an imperious tone. “There is much work for you to do when I return.”
I dipped my head and moved back, not liking it one bit. It went against every single protective instinct I had. My fists closed tightly and I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t say anything out of character for an oracle employee. But, God, I wanted to.
Sandra couldn’t see her fate or mine; she had no way of knowing if she’d be safe. But we did know we were too close now to screw things up. With that thought holding me back, I remained silent. As the Circe ushered her through the door, Sandra glanced over her shoulder and the look in her otherworldly eyes gave me chills. Regret. Resignation. Friendship.
We’d truly become friends. And she’d just left with three of the most powerful creatures in siren history.
Fuck. I rubbed a hand down my face, eyeing the room and trying to figure out what the hell to do next. I paced. The absence of intel made me bristle. If I knew where Hank was being held, how many guards patrolled the area, I could make a plan. But as it stood, I didn’t have the luxury of schematics and intel. And I had to act.
The look in Sandra’s eyes had been haunting. What the hell had she been thinking? Or maybe I was hyped-up to the point that I was exaggerating things, seeing emotions that weren’t really there.
We’d worked hard to get here, and I wasn’t going to ruin it now by running after them. The Circe wanted a reading from the famous oracle, nothing more. Sandra was far too famous and loved; harming her would cause a three-world uproar, and the Circe were too smart to bring in that kind of scrutiny. They had a good thing going, after all.
Putting the worries aside, I turned my focus to the left and right doors. They were unguarded, but it could be quite different on the other side. And there was a very good chance that each door was warded. I should be able to tell once I touched them.
If confronted, I’d just lie my way through. It’d be perfectly reasonable to claim I was looking for the restroom. Had to be one around there somewhere. Even sirens had to pee.
I chose the door on the left, which did not exude any crafting signatures like a ward, but it was locked. “Okay. Door on the right it is, then.” Also locked.
Great. The only door that wasn’t locked was the center one. Enough time had passed that the hallway should be clear—at least from the Circe. I grabbed the handle and pulled it back slowly to peek inside. A long hallway with smooth walls and floor stretched out before me. I squeezed inside and eased the door closed.
I was pretty sure the farther I went, the more confusing this place would get. The Circe’s own labyrinth, I thought, coming to a fork in the hall. Muted voices echoed from somewhere down the left passageway, so I took the right.
About twenty steps in, warmth flooded the mark on my shoulder.
It was so unexpected that my mouth opened in a silent cry and I almost fell. Holy shit. Every nerve tingled. My heart skipped and then began to pound hard. I leaned on the wall.
Jesus. Hank.
He was here. He was alive. Hank was alive.
Leander had said Hank lived, but this validation, this knowing it, this feeling it filled me with relief.
He was here and close. All I had to do now was play a game of “Getting Warmer” to figure out where he was being held.
I straightened and made it two steps before I realized he had to feel it, too. His mark would’ve warmed just like mine. A grin spread across my face. Wherever he was, he knew I was coming.
Something had changed, he sensed it.
His body was healed enough to begin the lashes again, yet the whip master hadn’t returned. He must be close now to reaching the six hundred and forty-two lashes. Christ, it felt like he had endured six thousand.
Perhaps his sentence had been fulfilled, which didn’t mean shit. He might be going mad, but he knew enough to know they’d never be done with him, never let him go, never let him die.
Fucking bitches.
He couldn’t wait to kill them. He was going to bathe in their blood, decorate his cell with their entrails, and use their heads for footstools. He was going—
Warmth spread suddenly through his chest.
He lay there frozen, heart pounding, holding his breath for fear this strangely familiar pleasure would just as suddenly leave him.
No, he couldn’t take it.
Whatever new kind of torture this was, he’d rather be whipped than to feel this goodness and hope.
He roared in pain because, goddammit, he wanted none of it! No reminders, no marks, no dreams, no flashes of memory, of a life that could never be his!
“Circeeeee!” he bellowed. “Face me, you spineless old hags!” He started laughing until his gut hurt from it.
Then, he clutched the mark over his chest and began digging it out, ripping the flesh with his nails, wanting it gone, off of him so it couldn’t be used against him.
The deep yell thundered down the hallway, making me freeze in my tracks. It was too distant, and so ringed in echoes that I couldn’t understand the words, but the sound made goose bumps crawl along my flesh. It was a wounded, angry, maniacal sound.
Hank was down there somewhere. That was my partner, my friend, my . . . something. Didn’t matter if I was out of my element. Didn’t matter that I had no idea what I was walking into much less how to get back out. There was no conceivable way to formulate a plan until I knew where Hank was, the condition he was in, and how he was being contained; right now, nothing mattered except finding him.
I started running down the hallway, finally finding a door. I eased it open, ready to fight. But inside, it was empty. And then the smell hit me. Fresh blood. Dried blood. Urine. Sweat. Leather. I covered my mouth and nose with one hand, noticing the manacles chained to the far wall and the dark pool of blood on the floor beneath them. So much blood.
A rack of whips and barbs lined one wall.
But everything stilled inside me at the sight of the small, narrow door to the right of the rack. I was across the room in a second, grabbing the key ring on the wall with shaking hands and unlocking the door.
As the lock clicked and released, a deep voice beyond the door spoke.
“About time. I thought you forgot about me.”
For a moment, I thought he was talking to me, but his next words corrected that assumption. “Shall we bet again on how many lashes it takes to kill me this time?”
Oh God. Hank.
I pushed the door and it swung wide, bouncing gently against the wall. I froze in the doorway at the sight of him spread eagle, facedown, shackled to the floor by two ankle manacles and a collar around his neck, holding him down.
He was naked, and covered in blood and wounds. I’d never seen anything like this before on a living person, one who was still able to speak. I couldn’t move. My throat went thick and fat tears slipped from my eyes. His back was ripped open in clawlike slashes from his neck all the way to the backs of his thighs. There was hardly a clear bit of flesh to be seen. His wounds ranged from fresh to every stage of healing, which told the horrifying tale that this had been done to him over and over again, new wounds on top of old ones.
“God,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Hank.”
I entered the room on shaky legs. His hands were free, one flung out and the other tucked under his chest, fresh blood pooling on the stones. His hair was bloodied and matted and he’d gone completely still and silent at my voice.
I knelt down beside him. “Hank? It’s me, Charlie. I’m going to get you out of here. Everything is going to be okay.” My voice came out startlingly calm for all the chaos going around inside me.
I got up, intent on freeing him, intent on finding the fucking key. My hands shook. Christ, they had him chained facedown on the fucking floor.
Hank started laughing. The low, raspy chuckle grew until his body shook.
What—?
Before I could process his reaction, hands slid beneath my armpits and jerked me out of the room. The cell door slammed closed and locked. Manacles were slapped around my wrists as I came to my senses and tried to break free.
The amulet protecting me from the siren lure was yanked from my neck.
Arethusa’s face came into view and her smile gave me chills. “Stop struggling.”
And I obeyed.
Her voice . . . it was like a drug, an intoxicating, wonderful drug. Poisonous, a small voice inside my head said. But it was just a small voice, nothing compared to the rapture of the Circe’s power.
“Well, this changes things, sisters.”
“Oh, I do love a tragic romance. How marvelous!” Calliadne exclaimed.
I swayed.
“We must begin interrogations at once.”
Somehow, even in the fog of hearing them speak, I wasn’t surprised by Ephyra’s comment; she did seem the most brutal of the three, but her voice was so beautiful, like an angel, I didn’t care too much about what she said.
I was handed off to a male siren, barely noticing the rough handling as he pushed me out the door and down the hallway. I stumbled, disoriented by the Circe’s power and grief-stricken for Hank. I couldn’t seem to get my bearings and when the guard shoved me into a small room, I fell to my knees.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed that way on the floor, eyes wide open, tears leaking out, knees bleeding. The only thing I saw was Hank lying on the floor.
Eventually, the fog lifted and I moved off my sore knees and onto my rear.
Okay, Charlie. Time to think. I lifted my manacled hands and rubbed both hands down my face. You can’t change what you saw. You can only move forward.
I’d made it this far. They hadn’t killed me, hadn’t even harmed me, which meant they were saving that bit of fun for later.
Whatever the Circe planned, the first thing I had to learn was how to brace myself against their voices. I had to put the force of my will and my power behind keeping their voices from overwhelming my thoughts. I had to be prepared before they spoke because if I wasn’t they’d have me enthralled with the first syllable. My power was strong enough. It had to be. And though the Circe were far stronger than the siren who’d attacked me, I knew it was possible. I knew my power could, at the very least, lessen the impact of their power.
And I had to find out what had happened to Alessandra because if the Circe knew about me, then everything about the oracle’s presence in Fiallan was in question. I hoped like hell she was currently lying her heart out, telling them I’d tricked her, that she had no idea who I really was.
And lastly, and in keeping with my mantra, I had to kill the Circe.
“No problem. One step at a time, right?” I let out a hefty sigh and scooted so my back rested against the wall.
I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, at the hopelessness, and it made me remember Hank laughing. He’d sounded . . . like he’d gone insane.