Page 18 of Of Song and Scepter
Odissa takes one look at my loincloth and widens her eyes in feigned surprise. Neither of us thought this through clearly. “Now, certainly, Clio,” she says to the mermaid. “We seem to have left our manners in the deep.”
Clio sizes me up again, and this time, her gaze snags on my breasts. I square my jaw and lift my chin, daring her to continue her scrutiny. In the Drink, clothing is either a liability or a luxury, and I cannot afford either.
Clio snaps her fingers at the nearest guard. “Fetch our lady something to wear.”
The guard bows, then disappears through the gate, soon returning with a beaded contraption. Clio takes it, shakes it into the correct positioning, then holds it out for me. The strands hang in complicated loops, threaded with bits of shell and glittering stones. I narrow my eyes. Where do I even begin with this thing?
With a sigh, she gestures for my hand. “May I?” she asks, offering a flat palm. I place my hand in hers, and she lifts my arm, threading it through an opening in the knots. She ties the band around my neck, then maneuvers the piece until it drapes just so, two small white shells hiding the peaks of my nipples.
“That’s better, my lady,” she says.
“Thank you, Clio,” Odissa says, smiling. “You are too kind.”
“Now, it is my duty and my pleasure to welcome you to the Kingdom of Coral, and to our spectacular city of Aquisa. If you’ll follow me inside, I’ll get you situated with your accommodations.”
Odissa sidles closer to me. I can sense anger emanating from my master in waves. “Did you stab him?”
I pretend to be engrossed in readjusting my new garment.
“Enna,” Odissa whispers. “For goddess’s sake, pull your shit together.”
As Clio leads us through the gilded gate, I force my hands to hang limply at my sides and place one foot in front of the other. She turns back to us with a whirl and a clap of her hands. “Let’s get you settled in.”
Odissa follows Clio through the gate, but my feet stay glued to the path. The lump in my throat hardens as I stare up at the keep looming over us. What the fuck was I thinking, coming here?
I could refuse to enter that golden gate. I could turn around. I could swim back to the Abyss and crawl into my cramped hole in the comfort of the dark and frigid, compressing waters. Figure out what exactly Tephra means to do with a lost soul who’s broken a blood oath. The goddess may find me favorable. It could be easy.
I take a hesitant step toward the ocean, feeling its pull. Leaning into it. Wanting it.
“Miss?” Clio is still standing at the gate, gesturing for me to approach the palace.
I blink, surprised by the tears brimming in my eyes. One rolls down my cheek, cool against my scorched skin.
“Are you coming?”
I take a jagged breath and nod. Finish the job. The reward is everything I’ve dreamed of, and as much as I loathe Odissa, she needs my help. Without my Voice, she will certainly fail.
I’m not about to break my oath over a silly prince.
Chapter twelve
Enna
The inside of thepalace resembles the outside—white-washed floors and walls, lofty ceilings supported by large, smooth pillars of white stone. Marble statues of royal males line the hallways, each one depicting their two-legged forms. We follow Clio up a twisting white staircase, and I wonder if the Kingdom of Coral has been named incorrectly. I don’t see any color here, other than the servants who flit around quietly on bare feet, dressed in crisp white leathers.
I soak in the brilliance of the servants’ colorful skin—pinks, blues, greens, yellows, purples—some patterned with swirls and dots and stripes. Most of the mermaids have broad, fanning ears and soft, round faces. Sharp teeth, but no fangs. None of them are translucent or grotesque. None have pincers or extra legs. Their beauty is foreign compared to the mermaids of Vespyr, yettheir presence is the only familiar thing I’ve found within these white-washed halls.
Reaching the top, Clio steers us down a hallway, stopping before a door. She digs in her apron for a key, which, to my horror, is delicately carved from more white marble. The latch clicks open and the door swings inward.
Odissa sighs and rushes into the room, giggling. “Oh, it’slovely! Thank you, dear Clio.”
Goddess, where did she learn togiggle?
Expecting another white-washed room, I pause as the visual vomit of turquoise and coral assaults me. The room smells of sand and sun and sickly-sweet florals, and I gag a little, noting the open windows. Sheer curtains frame each one, lifting in the sea breeze.
Sunlight spills through, warming the rich pink rugs and the mammoth bed centered against the far wall. An excessive number of colored pillows perch on the mattress, the entire thing looking much too soft to sleep on. I would be afraid I’d sink into it, swallowed whole by fabrics and stuffing, never to emerge again.
I move to the window, surveying my escape routes. Odissa’s room is situated on the right side of the palace, opposite of where we entered—which was south, I suppose. Next to this window, a floral vine twists up a column of stone, the tendril ending with a three-foot jump to the next balcony down. Far below, the pebbled path meanders through the inner walls of Aquisa, leading to the gate and the sea beyond.
