Page 112 of Song of Her Siren

Tears welled in her daughter’s eyes. “Then what?”

“We’ll appeal to the white witches,” Frida blurted, then galloped to the next hill, the stronghold getting smaller the farther they traveled. She didn’t know if the goddesses would help, but she was out of options.

Angeline’s eyes widened. “What can they do?”

Frida stopped as she reached the top of the next hill and cast a woeful glace at the stronghold once more. “Help us defeat Cenric, so we can return.”

Gunnar sheathed his sword and crossed his arms with a scowl. “I don’t want to return after the way our tribe turned their backs on us.”

Angeline put a hand on his arm, giving him a pleading look. “But we belong with our own kind.”

Gunnar’s eyes softened as he grasped Angeline’s hand. “They’re not our kind. They’re cowards.”

How had Frida not noticed such familiarity between the two before? No wonder Gunnar had stood up for them. They were in love. Frida had never cared much for the young stallion, mostly because he looked too much like his older brother, with auburn hair and a smattering of freckles on his pale face, but that’s where their similarities ended. Gunnar had always been kind and fair. It was a shame he hadn’t inherited the crown.

Angeline visibly swallowed while squeezing Gunnar’s arm. “You’ll change your mind.”

His features hardened. “I won’t.”

A cacophony of bloodcurdling howls reverberated from the forest before suddenly going silent.

Frida froze, a jolt of fear zinging up her spine.

“Do you hear that?” Angeline cried out.

Frida stumbled back while staring at the trees as they turned blacker and blacker. Was her imagination playing tricks on her?

“We should go.” She spoke out of the corner of her mouth as the blackness leached off the trees like tar, spreading across the ground in front of the fortress like a lengthening shadow.

“Mother,” Angeline hissed as that shadow crept up the stronghold walls. “What’s that?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“It looks like a mudslide!” Gunnar blurted.

“No, not a mudslide,” Frida breathed. “Demon spiders as far as the eye can see.” Frida knew they should run, but she was paralyzed with fear, her hooves rooted to the spot.

Angeline’s hands flew to her mouth. “What do we do?”

Molten lava pumped through Frida’s veins, triggering her survival instincts. She grabbed her daughter’s shoulder. “Run.”

“But Itarian,” Angeline protested.

“They’re lost,” Gunnar said, his chest rapidly rising and falling, “and we will be, too, if we don’t hurry.”

Frida sucked in a scream when the shadow rolled over the centaur stronghold like a tidal surge, stripping the bark off the fortress’s logs until it looked like bones. The terrified neighs of its inhabitants were silenced within a matter of seconds. Then she turned tail and ran, her daughter and Gunnar flanking her. They ran all night until their sides ached and their chests heaved for breath. They didn’t stop to sleep or drink. They just ran until Frida feared her heart would give out from fear.

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