Shadows Before the Sun (15 page)

Go, Sandra.
Schmoozing with royalty was apparently no problem for the oracle, but then she’d been around for two thousand years, give or take, gaining influence, respect, reputation. If nothing else, she’d definitely earned the outrageous confidence and ego.

Her words pleased the siren king. “Then this shall be a memorable occasion for you.” The music began.
“The Song of Panopé commemorates the primal goddess of the sea gifting us, her creation, with the Source Words. It is a dance you won’t see anywhere but here in Fiallan.”

While sirens could manipulate energy, heal themselves, and have extraordinarily long lives just like most races of Elysia and Charbydon, their true and unique gift lay in their voice, and in speaking words of power. But I’d never heard of Source Words before. The only time I’d ever witnessed a siren using a word of power was when Hank had used one on the roof of Helios Tower. It had flattened everything and everyone, but it had cost him a week’s worth of recuperating time.

The dancers twirled around the fire, their movements fast and frenzied, in sync with the loud drumbeats. “It begins with Panopé waging war against the fire deity to claim the land around the sea. It was hers by right since it rose from the sea itself during the time of Chaos,” the king translated in between mouthfuls of meat.

The drums stopped. The dancers faced the fire, bent over, hands out to the flames, flames that gradually turned to water. The music turned soft and ethereal. They straightened, moving around the water as it rose and gathered shape into a vague semblance of a female. I had to admit it was breathtaking to watch.

“From the essence of the sea and the deity, we were then created to hold the land. She gifted us life, gave us her song, and won us this land. We are the true heirs of Elysia.”

“I’m sure the Adonai would disagree with that,” Alessandra said, neutrally.

The king spat. “This world existed long before the Creator chose it as the home for his . . .
experiments
. The sirens, nymphs, fae . . . we are all born of this world, all rose from it as children of the primal deities who resided here in the sea, the earth, the air. We, as their descendants, are the rightful heirs of this land. Just as the jinn are to Charbydon and the Neanderthals were to Earth.” He waved a hand, and it was pretty clear this particular tirade was a favorite. “Noble races. Ha! There is nothing
noble
about settling a land that is not your own with some master race designed to rule it.”

He proceeded to curse the Adonai.

All this was prehistory, of course. And some would argue that the Adonai had as much claim as anyone else. When they came to Elysia, the place was devoid of any civilizations. The beings that did inhabit the world were on par with cave-dwelling mankind, or so the story went. The Adonai had lived in Elysia so long that there weren’t many who’d consider them “settlers,” exactly.

“Here is where the deity gifted us with the Source Words,” the king said as the magically dancing water began to sparkle, small dots of light took shape, and they linked together to coil around the watery form in what appeared to be a long strand of starry pearls. Only the pearls I knew didn’t possess a burning inner light. “The words were given to us, inscribed on the
jewels of the sea.” I realized that the glow wasn’t coming from inside the pearly “jewels” but from small inscriptions on each one. “Had not the words been lost, we might have defeated the Adonai and ruled supreme.”

I waited for Sandra to inquire what had happened to the words, but she simply nodded; she already knew. I, however, was in the dark, so I couldn’t help leaning over my plate to ask, “What happened to the words?”

The king drained his wine and then set it down hard on the table, leaning past Sandra to pierce me with a cold blue stare. “Stolen.”

“Not all of them,” Sandra amended, glancing to me. “But the most powerful ones disappeared shortly after they were given. Many believed Panopé took them back, the words being too powerful to be in such young hands. Others believed the Adonai stole them.”

It was obvious from the king’s dark look which one he believed.

“Is that what started the war?” I asked.

“Not specifically, no,” Sandra answered as the king’s attention was drawn away by his wife. “The war came thousands of years later when the sirens stole a relic from the Adonai. Many believed the theft was in retaliation for the theft of their Source Words.”

“Long time to hold a grudge,” I said as Sandra bit into a grape. “If they knew the Source Words, though, why couldn’t they use them to defeat the
Adonai? Wouldn’t the words be passed down orally anyway?”

“To understand, you must know siren history. When the sirens were given their power and the Source Words, each family was given a specific word. The study of each word shaped the abilities and the contribution each siren family made to the community. As time passed, the words became embedded into the very essence of their lineage and power. Think of it in terms of the Greek gods. You have gods of love, war, hate, beauty, nature, air, thunder, wisdom . . . This idea came from the sirens, from their control of an attribute and the ability to wield it in all its varied forms.

“There are some who believe that each siren family was already preprogrammed to bond with the word given to them. It was built into their DNA, if you will. But with some of the words gone, certain families did not develop as others did. They did, however, triumph, becoming great warriors instead. They trained fanatically in physical combat and they employed mages to train them in the arcane. When war with the Adonai finally did come, they were ready, and they became instrumental.”

It wasn’t a leap to figure it out. “The Malakim came from those families.” And Hank was one of them.

Alessandra nodded.

“What were the words that were stolen?”

“Creation, Chaos, and Destruction.”

Goose bumps spread up my arms. I could see why
the deity might have taken them back. And, if they were stolen by the Adonai, their motive was pretty clear. Taking away the sirens’ most powerful weapons despite the fact that the Adonai couldn’t wield them was a damned good strategy.

I was betting on the Adonai. “So what do you think happened?”

She shrugged, her attention on the food and the dancers. “It’s not something I have foreseen.”

The dance ended. Applause filled the room. But it all seemed to fade into the background as my thoughts turned inward. Maybe it was a good thing the sirens lost their words. Things might be very different today had they not.

I’d actually been in the house of a Malakim family, one who had, despite the theft of their words, risen to become significant players in the history of their world. And the Circe had chosen them, or their children to be specific, to protect the city. Why them? Hadn’t they done enough? But I already knew even as the questions came. The Circe had chosen them because of what lay dormant inside of them.

The Malakim might’ve been lacking their own words, but inside they had to be extremely powerful, powerful enough to wield the stolen Source Words. If a choice had to be made, if all the warriors were off fighting against the Adonai and the city was threatened, who better to choose than the powerful sons of those warriors?

But why continue the practice? That was a question only the Circe could answer. Their creation of the towers secured them a spot as advisors to the royal family. But they’d continued to breed fear into the hearts of the siren people—always keeping the threat of another Adonai war in the forefront of their minds. And no one questioned this after all this time. The royal family had become nothing but figureheads with no real power at all.

Sandra had been preening for the last half hour, ever since we’d returned from the banquet wherein I did
not,
in fact, kill the Circe. My restraint, however, put me in a piss poor mood; I was more frustrated and impatient than ever.

“If you say I told you so one more time, I swear to God, Sandra, I will choke the words right out of you.” I propped my feet on the edge of the table in front of the couch.

“Touchy, aren’t we?” She dropped onto the cushion across from me. “But I did say so, didn’t I? They played right into my hands. It was perfect, and now we have our invitation into the Circe’s inner sanctum to take part in their Panopéic rites, an honor rarely granted, after which I will do my thing and read the leaves.” She stopped her self-adulation and pierced
me with a flat look. “You should be happy. Why aren’t you happy?”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to feel happy given the situation Hank is in. But I am glad we’re making progress.”

“
I
made progress,” she corrected. “You just gawked at the griffins.” After a long moment of silent regard, she asked, “You really care so much for this siren of yours, then?”

“Of course I do.” My response was immediate. “You should know.”

“I know you care enough for him to risk your life, but that’s not what I’m asking. The last time I read you there was quite a bit of baggage mixed with your feelings for Hank. A lot of desire, too. And struggle. And hurt. Do you love him? Romantically?”

That was a subject I wasn’t ready to think on, but her question stuck anyway. Did I love him? Yes, without question. Romantically? We hadn’t got that far. The newer, more potent feelings I was developing for Hank were tangled up in the feelings I already had for him, for our friendship, the loyalty we had to each other, the trust . . . But all that didn’t equate to romantic love and it certainly didn’t mean those feelings would develop into love, either. For me or for him. But knowing all that, there was an indefinable aura about this
thing
between us, like it was something bigger, more significant than simple lust and friendship.

“Charlie?”

I blinked.

“The question. Do you love him?”

“No.”
Not yet
. “There is something, though . . . I don’t know . . . But I want the chance to find out, whatever it is.” And to explain it all to Sandra would take forever and make me feel like a wishy-washy idiot, so I left it at that.

She considered my response. “You are so certain he lives.”

“I know he does.” I hadn’t told her about my run-in with Leander and now was as good a time as any to see what she thought about that. “What do you know about the NecroNaMoria?”

Her eyes grew wide and she straightened her posture. “How do you know of this?”

“Well, I don’t know much, but I know it’s happening to Hank . . . that the Circe are torturing him with it.”

She just stared at me for a long moment before sinking back into the cushions. “Torture is too mild a term. I think I need a drink.” She went to the side table to pour a glass of wine, then leaned against the table and gulped down three long swallows. “Gods, Charlie . . . I know of it. But first tell me why you think this is happening to your siren.”

I watched her carefully. “Leander told me.”

Her face went white. The glass slipped from her fingers and crashed onto the floor. And still she didn’t move. Her stunned expression finally shifted into one of intense thought. “When? When did you see him? Is he here in the city?”

“He was. I don’t think he stuck around. Why?”

“Because if he was”—her eyes turned cold—“I would kill him.” I went to speak, to question her, but she cut me off. “It’s none of your business, Charlie. Don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re friends, that we
share
. I don’t share my past with anyone.”

With that she stepped over the spilled wine and stormed out the door and into the hallway.

“Well, that didn’t exactly go as planned, did it?” I said to the empty room.

And, damn it, I never got my answer to the NecroNaMoria.

•    •    •

I was standing on the balcony, leaning against the stone wall that separated me from the cliffs below, when I heard Sandra return. The short clip of her heels on the stone told me she was still pissed, or at the very least intent.

The sound came through the main room and right up behind me, where it stopped. I supposed she wanted me to turn around, but I continued to watch the stars in the night sky and listen to the sea. “You know, all that negativity you’re throwing around is kind of ruining a perfectly good moment here.” I glanced over my shoulder.

Her eyes rolled. “Pot, meet kettle.” She took up a spot next to me and watched the stars for a long beat. “I’m not exactly good with people.”

I smiled. “And now you’re preaching to the choir.”

“Yes, that is true. Your people skills
are
exceptionally bad. Far worse than mine.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly.

We watched the sky for a while before she spoke again. “About what I said before . . . the friend thing . . . You see, it’s . . . well . . .”

“Don’t sweat it, Sandra,” I said with the bizarre realization that she and I were actually similar in a lot of ways—except when she was like Rex. “If you can’t let off a little steam with friends, then when can you, right?”

A soft sigh went out of her that sounded suspiciously like relief, but she joked, “Since when are we friends? I don’t even like you.”