Page 35 of Of Songs and Silence

“Commander,” King Cepheus’ voice is an order, and Ari freezes in place. “You are not dismissed. We still have business.”

Ari apologizes, and it stirs something inside of me, something primal and protective.

I can’t afford to think about it anymore with the king scrutinizing my every expression, though, so I clear my mind.

If I don’t have perfect shields, at least I can control my thoughts. I examine the room, focusing on the innocuous details—like the pale blue light that glows from the bioluminescent lanterns. The way my grandfather raps his fingers against the arm of his chair, just like Mother always does.

The delicate throne at his side sits empty. Was it for my mother? My grandmother? Is the king’s wife still alive?

I feel the weight of my grandfather’s stare, and I turn back expectantly to hear what it is that has brought me to him; what he wants from me. He is all but glowing with satisfaction, an expression so eerily reminiscent of my mother that it sends a chill down my spine.

He rises from his throne, picking up his trident from where it rests on the ground and sheathing it in a practiced motion. It is ornate to the point of being ostentatious, gilded and encrusted with jewels, but no less deadly for its excess.

Swimming artfully to my side, he waves a hand in the direction of the chamber door.

“It’s been a long journey, Melodi.” I try not to react to his use of my name. Or question how he learned it, and how long he’s been watching me. “You must want to rest.” There is no inflection in his tone and I wonder if this is a test.

Will it show weakness on my part if I agree? Will it be a challenge if I don’t?

I think about Mother, and how everything with her is a challenge of some sort. A game. A way for her to study you, to understand you, to find inventive ways to exploit you. I fight the urge to look to Ari for answers.

“As you wish, my king,” I say, dipping my head respectfully.

He arches a violet eyebrow, the corner of his full lips quirking up in amusement, or approval, I can’t tell.

“Grandfather,” he corrects.

My pulse quickens as he leads me out of the room, Ari following close behind.

It’s an effort to keep up as he escorts us down several halls and up one of the spiral towers. He’s watching me, taking me in as we go, and I can’t help but compare him to his daughter. I have seen rare glimpses of warmth from Mother, but something tells me that is more than anyone has seen from the king.

“All these years, and I never thought to look on land,” he remarks. “Clever girl, my Ursula.”

The words are more of a curse than a compliment.

I try to calm my racing pulse, and once again, gently reinforce my mental walls, sealing them tightly so that no stray thought can escape. When I remain silent he turns his head to better assess me.

“And you?” The question feels like another test, and I’m not at all sure if it’s one I will pass this time.

“I am nothing like my mother.” It’s a truth that will quickly be discovered, so I might as well admit it.

A slow smile stretches his lips, tugging at his beard.

“Good,” he draws out the word and I resist the urge to back away. “Your mother was too soft.”

Was?

He speaks of her like she’s dead. Does he want her to be? Is he planning to kill her?

I wonder if I would grieve her, in spite of all the things she’s done and the lives she’s destroyed. I hope that I would, that I haven’t lost the humanity I have spent a lifetime clinging to in the wake of her cruelty.

I start to tell him that I hadn’t experienced a side of Mother that was too soft, but compared to him, I doubt that’s true.

My silence doesn’t seem to bother him. If anything, I get the feeling he prefers it when he dips his head.

“Perhaps it’s a good thing she took you when she did. I might have disposed of you before you could be of use to me.” There’s a note of regret in his tone, like he is disappointed in himself for nearly passing up whatever opportunity he sees in me.

Not for his willingness to murder a baby, of course. It’s clear he has exactly zero qualms about that.

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