The name Siren followed Freya Helvar around like a curse from the moment her powers first manifested in a raid on her village. With the image of her father's charred corpse and her brother's disgusted face on her mind, she is hauled to the Little Pa...
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THE SCREAMING AROUND them didn't stop. It only got louder. Luca didn't tear his eyes from her – glazed over, confused, but still aware – and then he tilted forward and fell. Freya's knees buckled as she shot forward to catch him. Her arms wrapped around his torso, and she fought to keep him upright, but he was taller and bigger than her, too heavy for her to carry, and they both went down with him on top of her.
Hot blood spilt from his abdomen onto her, coating her in the sticky substance. Tears gathered in her eyes, and her mouth fell open in a soundless cry. She couldn't see the attacker anymore, and her mind whirled in a panic. Her hands were free, and she brought them together. If she made a loud enough sound with her summoning, the air would force the danger away. For such a loud sound to happen, she'd have to focus, and she couldn't do that with Luca bleeding out on top of her and gasping for breath.
A man stepped up to the two of them. The silvery glint of metal in his hand forced Freya to try and summon anyway. As the gun was aimed at them again, Freya was sure it would be her end. But then, a powerful gust of wind barged into them, and the man was sent flying away.
Barely a second later, hands on her and Luca, pulling him off her. The sudden absence of his weight was strange and not at all comforting. The floor beneath her was freezing, and the blood soaking her kefta was searing like fire on her skin.
Freya sat up as quickly as she could, ignoring the spinning of the world around her. Black dots were swarming her vision. She was kneeling now, twisting to look at Luca, sprawled on the floor with multiple people around him.
The General was among them, his eyes wild, unlike anything Freya had ever seen. One of his hands was beneath Luca's head, a soft surface for it to rest on. The other was pressed tightly to the bullet wound on his abdomen. The pressure did little to quell the blood loss. A torrent of red flowed between the Kirigan's pale fingers.
Luca's mother was kneeling on the other side of him, her hands clawing at her face as she sobbed, screamed, and wept. Luca was looking at her, babbling something unintelligible. And then he was coughing, blood spraying up from between his lips.
"The bullet went clean through," the Healer beside the General said, her hands working quickly. Still, they were shaking, and her Grisha power didn't seem to do anything. Freya inhaled deeply, realising she'd completely forgotten to do so when looking at the sight.
The crowd around them had dispersed as the nobles ran, and only guards and Grisha remained. A large circle was formed around them, those who remained looked on with grim expressions. The man with a gun – the assassin, attacker, drüskelle or whatever he was – was pressed onto the floor by Ivan's knee on his back, arms twisted in a painful angle. He was writhing beneath the Heartrender. It was the first time Freya saw so much emotion on Ivan's face, a twisted grimace of anger and helplessness.
"Freya, you're bleeding," someone called from beside her. She blinked and turned to look at the person. Zoya's raven hair was no longer impeccable but wild and unkept around her face. Freya, for but a moment, found herself thinking she still looked as beautiful as ever. Then Zoya's words registered, and she looked down at herself. Her stomach squeezed and twisted as she took herself in.
