Page 340 of Kingdoms of Night

If I had any say in it—I’d never be buried.

After searching the shore for a poor drunk sailor or villager, I came up empty-handed. Perhaps I’d have better luck in town.

It was risky—but worth it.

As I trudged up the dunes, sand poured around my black boots. I headed toward the village. The storm had blown out the torchlight, and most had ventured indoors for safety.

Those storm winds knew better than to test me. I began up the hill, where stone met sand, and I heard a loud thud.

I stopped walking, and straightened to my full height.

Shouts followed. Curses. Calamity.

Then, I peered up at the tavern at the corner. The noise seemed to come from there. Glass shattered, bursting from one of the windows as a chair crashed into the street.

Rolling me eyes, I began to walk by. It was just another rowdy fight between fishermen.

But—then I heard a familiar voice come from inside. It was my first mate.

What was he doing? We were supposed to keep a low profile this trip inland.

I turned my ear toward the calamity, focused in on my sensitive hearing. My heart began to thump louder in my chest.

Then, I coiled back and hissed as the magic affronted me with its intensity. I nearly stumbled backward. My blood ran cold.

“It can’t be.”

Sea-folk.

CHAPTERFOUR

A SIREN’S SONG

Siddhe

They’re going to kill each other.

The noise escalated to a deafening roar, and I couldn’t have the pirates killing my patrons. Or worse, the Imperial Soldiers snooping around.

Balling up my fists, I prepared to magnify my voice and command the men to stop. But just as I opened my mouth, someone pushed the doors open.

The ground vibrated beneath him. He had the presence of someone important—someone dangerous, and as I caught his eye, my body confirmed my suspicious.

There was murder in that man’s eyes.

Without pausing to speak a word to me, he rushed into the fray, pulling pirates and fishermen away from one another.

“Dear me,” I whispered as he tossed two pirates into the far wall.

When they crashed into the slick wood and dropped to the floor, everyone stopped. Silence swelled in the room as he stood in the center of the tavern, his sleeves rolled up over his tight muscled arms. At nearly six-foot-five, he was a tall and imposing man. His pants, vest, and shirt were soaked and his golden hair was oddly untouched by the rain.

He had to be a nobleman, if only from his expensive-looking clothes and presence alone. He stood out almost as much as I did in a sea of men.

Men picked themselves up from the floor, groaning with pain. I covered my mouth at the amount of blood shed. It wasn’t the first tavern fight I’d witnessed since the keys to the tavern were turned over to me. That didn’t make the idea of cleaning up other people’s blood seem any more appealing.

“Now, that’s enough,” he shouted. His voice boomed throughout the bar.

Everyone looked at him—sizing him up—wondering who he was to dare step into the middle of a fight.

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