Page 13 of Of Songs and Silence

He studies me for a moment, assessing me the way a predator would their prey.

“Easier, perhaps, but I could always just tie you up and drag you behind us.” Ari’s tone darkens with each word.

I meet his stare. Something in the grim set of his features tells me he would do it, but I don’t think he would particularly enjoy having to be that person for me. For anyone, maybe.

“Is that really who you want to be?” I think the words softly enough that I’m not even sure if he hears me, until his expression goes flat.

“You have no idea the things I am capable of, Kala.”

He isn’t bluffing. There is a ruthlessness to him, and I don’t doubt the things he would do or has done. I see, too, the barest edge of self-loathing that I have often spied on my sisters, something that is noticeably absent from both Mother and Damian.

“Perhaps not,” I allow. “But I know cruelty. I know evil. And you are not that.”

Whether it’s my words or the history they indicate, something incrementally softens in Ari’s gaze. I press my advantage.

“This way, we both get what we want. You, a compliant prisoner, and I, the reassurance that my sisters won’t die trying to find me.”

His eyes burn into mine.

“You don’t have the slightest idea what I want, Kala.” There is a long pause, his words suspended in the water between us. “But fine. You have your deal.” He turns around, tapping a somewhat stunned Kane to do the same. “Now get dressed. We are behind as it is.”

His acquiescence doesn’t feel nearly as much like a victory as it should when everything he says leaves me with more questions than answers.

It shouldn't matter.

I am nothing more than his prisoner, even if this strange pull tells me otherwise.

CHAPTEREIGHT

MELODI

Once they’ve moved a small distance away, I glance down at the materials that are supposed to pass for clothing.

My silk nightdress leaves very little to the imagination the way it’s plastered against me to reveal every curve and arch of my body, but the outfit Kane brought is even worse.

Metallic netting has been pieced together with shells and coral and twine in what I assume is a top and skirt. Though that’s an exceedingly generous term for the scraps of fabric. I arch an eyebrow at the two males who are silently waiting for me to don fishing tackle.

“Is this missing something?” I can’t mask the incredulous tone of my thoughts.

The gowns in Delphine are sleeveless and flowing, but they cover me from neck to toe.

“It’s what all of the villagers wear.” The muscles in Ari’s back grow taut as he raises a hand, presumably to pinch the bridge of his nose.

A huff of water escapes me like a breath and I glance pointedly at his pants—the ones made of solid scaled material, not see-through netting. Even though he can’t see me, apparently, my thoughts are enough to give me away.

“These are armor, Kala. For the warriors.”

Whereas I’m just a useless woman.

“There are female warriors, too.”

I could almost swear there was amusement edging his frustration this time. Briefly, I wonder if the female warriors are given shirts, or if they go topless like these two.

Kane’s shoulders shake and Ari hangs his head.

I suppose this is better than the alternative.

Resting my new clothes on a glowing algae covered rock, I try to undo the laces of my nightgown. Of course, that would have been easier if they weren’t soaking wet and tangled. It’s not enough room to stretch over my head, even if the fabric wasn’t sodden and twisted and impossible to wrestle out of.

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