The Silver Siren (Iron Butterfly, #3)(60)

Feet pounded down the hall, and then an out of breath Sevril appeared. “Quick, let’s move her before Tomac gets up. I hit him hard, but he could wake up in a rage.”

“Where are the Elite when you need them?” I called out as I picked up my skirt and followed Sevril up a staircase and down to a landing. Xiven stayed right on my heels.

“They’ve learned not to deal in family affairs,” Sevril huffed as he continued to run. He went to the third door and pushed it open, waiting for us to pass through before he closed it. After locking it, he stepped away from it. After a second thought, Sevril pushed a large trunk in front of the door for added support.

I glanced around the room and was quickly able to deduce it was Sevril’s personal suite. A very large four-poster bed stood in the center of one wall, with curtains all around, drawn to keep the light out. A sizeable table covered with scrolls, quills, and journals was off to the side. Candleholders littered every space available with candles, long since burned out. A hefty plate filled with half-eaten food sat forgotten on a stool.

All of these were signs that Sevril probably slept through the day and spent many nights awake. Xiven ran his hands through his hair and took a deep relieved breath.

An animal-like scream erupted from the hall as a heavy body was thrown against the door, and Xiven jumped.

Laughter followed by a singsong voice carried through the thick wood. “Come out, come out! It’s time to play!”

I found myself stepping farther away from the door in terror, eyes glued to the rattling handle.

The pounding continued.

None of us spoke as we waited for Tomac to stop. It was a half candle mark later when we heard him call out to a passing servant.

“Hey, is that a cobbler I smell coming up from the kitchen?” Someone mumbled an answer. “It is? Oh boy! I love cobbler.” A few seconds passed and then he called out again to the servant. “You haven’t seen my brother, have you?”

Then we heard nothing.

“What was that?” I whispered, letting the fear show in my voice.

Sevril turned to look at me. “An episode. It seems that we all get moments of blackouts where we do terrible things and hardly remember them. It’s why we were desperate enough to turn to Xiven and the Horden journals for answers.”

Xiven moved forward, but I pointed my finger up at him. “Not you! You can sit over there, where I can see you. And you, Prince Sevril, can start at the beginning.”

Sevril looked taken aback, but he rubbed his chin and then asked. “Okay, so how much do you know about Sirens?”

“Gideon dumped that information on me a few hours ago. We’ve got Denai, Sirens, blah blah blah, and Sirens have no power and are going crazy. But that doesn’t explain what he’s doing here.” I pointed to Xiven again, who had moved the tray of food off of the stool and sat there, waiting patiently as instructed.

“I am kind of a mystery, aren’t I?” Was he trying to lighten the mood?

“Shut it.” I turned on him and he looked down at his hands and stayed quiet.

Sevril snorted in response. He moved to the table, picked up a cloth napkin, and poured water from the pitcher onto it. Then, he handed it to me. I stared at it with a look of confusion.

Sevril looked at me sheepishly and then glanced at the floor. “Uh, your neck.”

How could I have forgotten the wound? It had stopped bleeding, but now I was streaked with blood and my dress had stained a dark black. I dabbed at the bloodstain, but when I pulled the cloth away, it was still black.

“Blistering son of a scorpion, why is it still black?”

“It’s just you. It’s who you are.” Sevril stated. I wiped at my neck furiously, but the cloth kept coming away black.

I could feel myself start to panic. It was the dreams—the dreams were becoming real.

Xiven glared at Sevril in obvious frustration. He came over to me, grabbed a knife off the table, and made a quick slice down the palm of his hand. He held up his hand and I could see rich, red blood making a fine line across it.

Prince Sevril winced at Xiven’s actions, but held up his hand for Xiven to pass him the knife. A second later, Sevril mirrored Xiven’s actions and held up a hand lined with dark black blood. “Do you want any more proof you are not human or Denai? You’re Siren.”

“But it wasn’t always like this. You did something to me!” I tossed the wet and bloody napkin on the table and went and sat down on an empty stool. I made sure to turn just enough that I wouldn’t have to make direct eye contact with Xiven.

Sevril let out a rush of air and tried to explain, “If you had grown up in Sinnendor that would have always been the color of your blood. It would have eventually turned black like mine—a sign of royalty and a sign that you are indeed Siren. It was only because you lived in Calandry and away from our lands that you showed more human characteristics. There were rumors that the Valdyrstal clan living in Calandry weren’t exhibiting the same traits as us. The only thing we could think of was that maybe the trait had died out genetically. Or somehow, because they were living on Denai land, it balanced it out.”

There was that word again. Balance.

He shifted in his seat and continued. “Thelonia went looking for your father as a means of escaping her own curse. We don’t know if she found it or was ever cured because she died a few years later. But it seems she succeeded in raising an heir to the throne that isn’t…well, useless like me.” He smiled feebly and his hands started to scratch at his skin, like something was crawling under it.