Page 98 of Of Song and Scepter
“You cannot have him. If you want him, then bargain with me, Goddess, for his heart is mine.”
Tephra does not tolerate weakness, and I do not intend to show her mine.
I will chew through the last inch of tentacle muscle if I must, if it means Soren swims free. I didn’t come this far just to lose him in the end.
The goddess considers me for a long, agonizing moment. I tremble under the weight of her gaze, fear gripping me with its icy fingers. I have nothing left to bargain, save my soul.
But if that’s what Tephra requires for Soren to swim free, so be it. I look her dead in the eye. The cut on my cheek stings with new vigor. Yet I hold myself tall, ready and willing to accept my fate.
Her lips twitch, then smile. “I’m feeling generous this evening,” she says. “Take what is yours.”
Tephra’s tentacle lowers, releasing Soren. He sinks and comes to rest on the floor. I swim toward him as fast as my screaming muscles will carry me, and soon enough, his hands find mine, pulling me into a trembling embrace.
Odissa growls in protest. “Fuck you both.”
Tephra turns on her, raising her trident. “Odissa of Vespyr, you have failed your bargain. Accept your consequence.” Her voice booms like thunder. Odissa pales before her, scrabbling and kicking her tail as the trident lowers.
With a squelch of flesh, Tephra stabs her with the golden fork, lifting Odissa’s writhing body to meet her parted lips. With a crunch and a gulp, Odissa’s screams cut short, and silence settles over the room. Tephra’s black tongue swipes over her lips, licking up the remnants of her snack. She hums with pleasure, casts one final look at us, and snaps her fingers.
As quickly as it filled, the room drains of water, and the goddess disappears. The soldiers sink to the floor, flopping their fins until their bones snap and rearrange into legs.
Soren holds me in the descended darkness, the only sound our ragged breathing and the beating of our hearts.
His lips brush the top of my head, as he murmurs, “I would not have parted with you that easily, my queen.”
“I like the sound of that,” I whisper, my heart warming at the thought.His queen.I tilt my face up to meet his, and he rewards me with a kiss, deep and sweet and tainted with blood.
Chapter sixty-three
Soren
ONE WEEK LATER
The doors to the throne room open to reveal a sprawling velvet carpet. Voices murmur and bodies shift, the sounds of an entire kingdom showing up to witness the beginning of a new age. Coral subjects crowd together in the space, the colors of their clothes and scales vibrant against the white-washed walls. Flowers drip from the ceiling in cascading clusters, another of Lady Myrrh’s exquisite designs.
“Are Your Highnesses ready?” Hugo says, clapping a hand over my shoulder. He squeezes softly. I turn to catch his gaze, and he smiles at me with tangible warmth.
A tight knot forms in my throat as I look at him. “Thank you, Hugo,” I croak. “For getting me to this day.”
He squeezes my shoulder once more and releases. “I’m looking forward to seeing you on that throne for good. And you, too, my lady.”
Enna squeezes my hand, and I look at her, pulling strength from the affection swimming in her gaze.
“Thank you, sir,” she says.
I drink in the look on her face. She’s radiant today, glowing from the inside out. Her unruly short hair has been molded into a delicate array of curls on top of her head, woven with beads and diamonds. Her scars have all but faded by now, shrinking into a dreadful memory.She’s here, I remind myself.She's mine.
Since I was a guppy, I’d dreamed of this day, and I’d always hoped it would feel thisright.
“Are you ready, Your Highness, or are we going to admire your queenie’s face all afternoon?” The captain stands at the door, holding it open with a ridiculous grin.
Enna laughs, and I kiss her forehead. “Something like that.”
“Off you go now,” Hugo says, nudging us forward.
Enna tugs my hand, and we begin our promenade down the aisle. Her white silk skirts trail behind her in a long train, embroidered with silver thread to match my formal jacket.
My mother waits for us at the top of the dais, holding herself in perfect posture behind the wedding ritual items—one large, glass vase and two smaller golden jars. In her hand, she holds the ceremonial orb and scepter of my ancestors, freshly cleaned of blood after the incident in the vault. On a pedestal to the side, cushioned in pink velvet, rest two delicate crowns.
