Josephine's voice kills any man who hears it-except for the assassin sent to capture her for the king that's been chasing her all her life...but what happens when he decides he doesn't want to hand her over and keep her for himself instead?
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The Sirens who had survived the attack gathered in the middle of the field where most of the killing had taken place.
The three Elders assigned tasks for the soldiers left standing to build pyres for their headless sisters.
I looked away.
I couldn't stare into Minna's lifeless eyes, or bear the sight of a little girl's mutilated, decapitated body.
I could only hope that it wasn't Sigrid.
If it was...
I couldn't bring myself to look.
Inala stayed close to me, clutching my hand tightly while her arm remained around my shoulders as I leaned my weight onto her.
Olesia was gone, nowhere to be found.
"Olesia's gone to get the book. For the Summoning. It's happening now."
"Now?"
My voice was detached, cold.
Something intrinsic had broken inside of me after the attack.
The storm had broken as well, a light misting of rain coating our hair and ears and lips with dew drops sent forth from the heavens in a warm spray, as if in penance for the deluge brought forth upon us that day.
Born from ashes, those that had dissipated into thin air from my shadows and those burning from the pyres set forth, Erinna was not on the list of the dead.
Nor was Warrick or Soraya or Yuni.
All three Elders had survived.
"Sigrid made it to safety."
Inala's words were hushed as ancient prayers were spoken reverently over the dead, their pyres singeing the verdant grass a deadened, ashy black.
Her voice bespoke of tragedy unfolded, and I clutched her hand just a bit tighter, even though my hands were frozen, soaked straight to the bone with what I knew was rain but my mind tried to tell me was blood.
She still hadn't told me how it happened, but as we stared at Sabira's body put back together by one of the soldiers as she burned, burned, burned...
She loosed a ragged, tragic bound sob.
It scraped my ears until they were raw.
And then it wasn't Inala holding me up, but Oren, because Inala had collapsed into a pile on top of herself, but before I could reach down to pick her back up—
Soraya was there.
Rubbing her back, whispering consolations into her ears.
But I knew it was only a minor comfort, because this was just the shock of it all.
The first sting of pain.
The needle of grief that would slowly morph into that of a dagger lancing through her heart until it magnified into a sword.
