Page 194 of Brimstone
“A welcome dirge,” he answered. “A traditional song of the satyrs. Nuanced. It’s the song you would sing to a family member of a dear friend you’ve lost. It’s . . . like a promise. That you will show the love and respect you can no longer give to your friend to the living who still share their blood. It’s complicated. The satyrs have a song for everything. They’re too dramatic and flowery for my tastes.”
The satyrs’ voices were thunderous, the tone so droning, that I couldn’t separate one word from another. Despite Lorreth’s less-thanfavorable critique, the music still made the hair on my arms stand to attention. The song was moving.
“What should Ido?” Carrion mouthed over the tops of the satyrs’ heads.
I performed a one shoulder shrug, unable to answer that question for him.
Carrion scowled and then set out toward us, gingerly picking a path around the kneeling satyrs, who didn’t seem to notice he was on the move at first. When they did notice, they hurriedly spun around on their knees so as not to give him their backs.
Carrion looked a little unhinged when he pitched up at the top of the steps. “I bet you’re loving this, Fane.”
“I was actually just thinking how inconvenient this is. Not to mention how disappointed they’re all going to be when you tell them you won’t be challenging Belikon for the throne.”
Carrion went to speak, about to volley back a tart response, no doubt, but then the satyrs’ singing cut off. The femalewho’d addressed Lorreth lifted her head, fixing a potent gaze on Carrion. “We welcome you to Inishtar, sire,” she said. “We would usually have arranged a festival to celebrate your arrival, but given the current circumstances, we hope you’ll understand . . .”
Lorreth angled his body slightly, so that he could speak without the female, Galwynnian, seeing. “Be careful,” he cautioned. “If you say anything to acknowledge youarethe heir to the Yvelian throne, it’ll be public record. You won’t be able to take it back. It’ll be tantamount to declaring war against Belikon.”
A tight, unhappy smile contorted Carrion’s features. “Well, fuckme,” he whispered through clenched teeth.
“Will you address us?” Galwynnian requested. “It would be an honor to hear the son and heir of Rurik Daianthus speak.”
Carrion bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes traveling over the crowd. Above us, the birds’ cries cut through the air, haunting and lonely. There were even more of them now, dancing gracefully on the thermals above the cliffs.
Thirty seconds passed.
A minute.
“Well, you’d better saysomething,” Lorreth muttered.
“All right, all right. Give me a moment. I’m trying to come up with something pithy.”
Gods alive. “Forgetpithy,” I hissed through my teeth. He was going to cause some sort of political incident at this rate. “Aim for short and sweet.”
“Great idea. Yes. Short and sweet,” Lorreth concurred.
The satyrs held their breath when Carrion opened his mouth. He swung left, then right, eyebrows creeping higher and higher toward his hairline. “My name is Carrion,” he said. “Nice to meet you all. I really like your horns.”
There were historians among the crowd.Someonewould record this moment—the day the satyr community received theDaianthus heir—and when they documented the first thing their Forgotten King had said to them, it would be this:
I really like your horns.
Lorreth groaned. I managed to hold my own groan back, but it was a close thing. I sent my gaze upward, unable to look upon the confused frowns the satyrs were exchanging while keeping a straight face. My eyes caught on a bird, pinwheeling down toward the ocean . . . and the second I saw it, it struck me: the memory that had eluded me earlier.
It had been right there, a millimeter from my fingertips. It was soobvious! Gods and martyrs, how stupid I’d been.
I’d missed something.
And now I knew what it was.
I retreated from Carrion’s side, pulse like lightning in my veins. Lorreth’s head snapped around, his nostrils flaring, his pupils contracting to pinpoints as he sensed the sudden change in me. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s—it’ssomething.” A horrible answer, but I didn’t know how—or have time—to explain what had just occurred to me. “Imightknow how to find Fisher.”
“Wait! Let me come with you, then!”
“No, I’m sorry, Lorreth!” I called, running down the steps. “Please, I need you to watch Hayden. Where I’m going, you can’t follow, anyway! I have to go alone! I’ll come back and make those relics, I swear!”
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