Page 2 of Of Rime and Ruin
One by one, the fish disappear from my mental radar, and I close my mouth to withdraw my magic. Energy drains from my stomach as the spell ends. The water clouds with blood and the scent of iron spreads.
Keen grins. “You’re getting better, Your Highness! Impressive.”
“Thanks, Keen. I’ve been practicing on birds when the queen’s not looking.” We’re sirens—magic-wielders—but the Voice in our blood can take talent only so far. I must hone my skills through careful discipline.
“On birds, really? How resourceful, Your Highness! Though I’m not sure I’d like to spend much time in the mind of a bird, personally.” He claps my shoulder. “Does she know you’re here again?”
The siren’s blue eyes sparkle with mischief, clear as the sky. I look away, pretending to be engrossed by the tether knot as I trace the smooth leather. I’d rather be here, in the saddle with Keen and Ramona, than stuck in court playing princess for my queen sister’s approval.
Keen knows this too well. He’s watched me grow from a rambunctious guppy into a rebellious princess, and he’s been my best friend and secret keeper through it all.
When I look up, the old male smirks knowingly.
“Look, Keen. If Her Majesty got her way all the time, her head would swell like a blowfish. Someone’s got to deflate her now and then.”
“Was it princess lessons on your schedule this morning or political training?”
“Politics.” I sigh. “My maid is covering for me. I’ve got a bad case of paddledrake flu.”
“Clever girl.”
It’s an honored gift to be Voiced with the magic of a way-maker. Most Brine sirens can perform basic magic like controlling the tides, helping crops grow, or healing wounds. The ability to communicate with animals is special and necessary for this role.
But what does it matter? I’m second born, which means I’m politically dispensable. As the first-born heir, when Winona married two years ago, my parents passed the crown to her and her stuffed-shirt, worthless husband. And now all I’m good for is to become some other royal’s wife, a piece in Winona’s inherited game.
Around me, corpses float belly-up in blood, their once-golden scales a lifeless brown. We’ve harvested enough to feed the city for a few more days. Hunters collect the sunfish, hoisting the carcasses over the Rim, and I try to tune out the repetitive slap of their bodies against the shell.
When the water is cleared of the catch, Keen gives Ramona the next command. He hums a spell, placing his hand flat against the paddledrake’s brow. She stirs, her fins swivel and push, and we regain momentum.
Soon, a pod of glosswhales joins us. They thread the surface, gliding in elegant arcs as the rising sun glistens off their sleek gray hides. They call to one another in chirping tones, parting their bottle noses in approximations of a smile. Ramona responds with a grating chuckle that vibrates my body. I brush their minds with my magic, absorbing their emotions—happiness, friendship, freedom. My chest tightens at the sweetness of it. I’d trade my left tailfin to be as free as a glosswhale.
“I won’t get to do this forever, Keen.”
“Do what, exactly? Sneak out of your duties to hang out with an old witherfish? I’m not stopping you.”
“If Her Majesty has her way, I’ll be shipped off soon.”
He gives me an apologetic look. “No harm in practicing the craft, Your Highness. You never know when your Voice might come in handy.” When I don’t respond, he nudges me gently. “Who knows? You may get lucky. I hear the Abyssal King keeps a hoard of dredgebeasts. Perhaps he needs a tamer.” Keen winks.
I shiver. The Abyssal Kingdom, settled in the lowest trenches of the sea, is a place I never want to go. I can’t imagine a life away from the sun.
A shadow falls over us from the Rim, in the watery outline of a tall female with my sister’s elegant scowl.
Shit.
Before I hear her song, Winona’s magic wraps around me with a hard rope of water. She severs my saddle tether and yanks me skyward, suspending me like a fish on a line. My golden tail flops in the dry air until finally my bones rearrange and split into my two-legged form. Dangling naked for the city to see.
The air is warm and sticky, frizzing my hair in an instant. My scales lift at the rush of the sea breeze, nipples brushing the starfish that cover my breasts. The sun is brighter up here, unfiltered by seawater. I squint, adjusting to the abrupt change.
Winona tightens her magic around me and glares.
My sister is everything I’m not: tall, thin, and effortlessly graceful in her crisp morning robes. Our bronze skin and brown eyes match, but hers are sharper, somehow. While my dark curls dangle past my shapely ass, hers are slicked in a no-nonsense bun. There’s nothing soft about her.
And there’s nothing she loves more than taking time out of her royal duties to see to my embarrassmentpersonally.
The subjects stare at me, and I roll my eyes; it’s nothing they haven’t seen before. Still, their duties pause—nets half-folded, fish half-filleted, hair half-braided. A basket of sweetnuts spills on the ground. A guppy halts their game of hop-two, their lifted knee bent and mouth gaping wide. Only the birds ignore me, chattering from the high branches of the palmwoods.
I search the crowd for my empathetic favorites: the middle-aged florist waves from the half-propped door to her shop. The baker salutes me with his baguette. In the city center, a blonde guppy swings from a tree and screams out her greeting.
