Myla reaches into a pocket on the side of her vest, pulling out something wrapped in a black cloth. When she peels the fabric back, a warm glow is cast out from her palm.A flame gem. I had only ever read about them, the rock holding light from the sun. She walks to where there is a dry area of sand further away from the cavern entrance, setting the flame gem down before she takes a seat herself, her back against the wall. “L.V. stands not for my father’s name but for the last queen of Void Magic, Queen Lucia Vasiris.”
My brows rise as I follow her, taking a seat next to her, the gem now centered between us. “And how did your father come into possession of it?” I ask, pulling the tunic over my crossed legs to cover them as much as possible.
Myla’s face turns contemplative, a rare show of something other than anger. “My father was on friendly terms with the last mage queen prior to the war. It is said that as the war began to get closer to their kingdoms, Queen Lucia called for an emergency meeting with the fae under the guise of joining forces against the mortals, shifters, and sirens. She gave him this dagger when he arrived as a token of their friendship, but then sirens flooded the meeting grounds and began to sing. My father was able to get his dragon off the ground before he became enthralled by their magic, but many of the males he traveled with did not.” Her gaze lifts to mine, expression grim. “Including my older brother, Shah. He had taken possession of the dagger from the queen. When my father realized Shah had not followed him into the sky, he turned back and searched by air. But my brother was never seen again. That dagger proves that he was likely pulled into the sea by one of your own, left to rot there like he was nothing more than carrion.”
My lips part, an apology paired with a lame explanation about how siren history differed bubbles up my throat, but she holds her hand out, her eyes dropping to the dagger in my own.
“May I see it?” When I hesitate handing it to her, she sends me a deadpan look. “If I wanted to steal it, Aria, I would. Besides, as you demonstratedtwicetoday, you’re not defenseless without a blade.”
No, I think to myself.I suppose I’m not.
She inspects it when I hand it over, a pensive line carved between her brows. “According to my father’s account, this dagger had originally been a gifttoLucia.”
I tilt my head in thought. “It’s hard to imagine any of the rulers being friendly enough to give gifts,” I say, watching her trace the engraved letters with the tip of her finger.
“It’s hard to imagine my father being anything other than the callous male he is today,” she counters almost to herself as she grips the bottom of the hilt, the tip of the dagger pointing towards the sky. Giving it a twist, a rusty soundingclickrings out. Myla carefully tugs, and the hilt separates from the blade, revealing a hollow center that she holds up to inspect. “Dragon-made things can be imbued with magic as long as the item stays intact.”
“Is that a dragon-made blade?” I ask.
“The hilt is dragon bone. And look here.” She pauses to show me the inside of the hilt. Unable to see what she is pointing at, I scoot closer until my knee touches her shin. She tenses and then adjusts her leg, moving just out of reach. I swallow the swell of confusing disappointment that rises. Tilting the hilt so that light pours into it, she shows me a name etched into the silver:Kamon.
“That is your father?”
She dips her chin. “I half expected something to happen when I opened this.” A well-timed burst of white light from thestorm illuminates the sky, drawing her gaze to mine. I smile when the thunder rolls in next, briefly drowning out the noise of the wind and rain. Myla quickly looks away, twisting the base back into the hilt before handing it to me. She easily slips back into her icy disposition. “I imagine Navin will not be able to come until the storm has fully passed through the mountains, which will take some time. I’d say our lesson is done for the day?” Though it’s phrased as a question, it sounds more like a command. One that doesn’t leave room for argument.
I exhale through my nose, turning my head to look out at the choppy waters of the sea. In truth, I am too exhausted to train any more today. But I do notwantto go. Myla is just as dangerous—as ruthless and mean and self-serving—as any of the sirens below. But here, in this space that isn’t a home for either of us, there is safety in not having to pretend to be anything other than I am. She has seen me weakened and on my back, and she has seen my secret magic. And she can do nothing with that information but keep it to herself because—based on how she reacted to the guard that came last week and what I’ve come to learn from Navin—I’m betting she isn’t supposed to be here. Certainly not with the likes of me.
“What do you know of mages?” I ask, leaning an elbow on one of my crossed legs and propping my chin on my hand. When she doesn’t answer, I sigh. “Will every conversation cost me something in order for you to engage?”
Myla’s focus stays on the storm, but she subtly arches her brow. “It should.” Despite what she says, there is no bite to her answer. Leaning her head back against the wall, her chest lifts with a breath. “Do you mean in general? Or are you asking for something more specific?”
I picture Rhea, but I hold off on telling Myla about her. At least until I can decipher what she knows first. “What do you know of their magic?” I ask, figuring the broad topic is safe.
“They can manipulate what Olymazi keeps tucked in her soils and mountains. Raw and wild magic that is only accessible to them and those who make deals in blood.” She tilts her head to look at me. “And life debts, I suppose.”
Heat inexplicably rushes up to my cheeks under her gaze, so I drop mine to where my fingers play with the fabric of my tunic. “Don’t you think it’s strange that of all the ways the kingdoms are split with magic, the mages received something less specific than the others?”
“It does seem unfairly balanced if you ask me.”
I shrug, letting my lips curl into a smile. “At least we aren’t mortals.” The joke earns me a snort, warmth flickering in my chest at the sound.
“My turn,” she says, looking at me straight on. The tips of my fingers press into my calves, the weight of her full attention on me making me want to squirm. “Are there others of your kind whose magic is as unexpected as yours?”
“Not the same way. There are some sirens whose songs have begun to fade. Some who can no longer transform. But none whose magic can draw females in. At least, none that I’m aware of.”
She ponders that before asking, “When did you discover you were different?”
“The first time I went on a hunt,” I answer, pushing past the uncomfortable tightness in my throat. “Hunts are when sirens go out looking for ships to sink. It is… anintegralpart of our lives. Non-negotiable. The siren queen is ruthless in her expectations that everyone partakes in this, or there are consequences.”
Myla makes a noise caught between a scoff and a growl, so I keep my gaze forward to avoid what might be her condemning gaze.
“And what consequences might those be?” There’s enough judgment in her tone that I hear what she really wants to ask:How do you punish someone who is already a monster?
“Banishment. Being forced to live outside of Lumen in caves carved into seamounts. For some, it is death.” My voice grows quieter. “And for others, her punishments are more tailored. More humiliating. She has a keen ability to take one look at you and seerightthrough you. Down to your bones, exposing every weakness you have to her. If there is any part of you that harbors goodness—that harborslight—she snuffs it out. It’s like being in a nightmare, except you can’t wake up, and there is no escaping those looming consequences. There’s no relief, except the occasional blip in reality where you might feel like your body is your own again, untouched and unsullied. Or when something small reminds you that, despite the cold, dark pit that has opened up within you, you’re stillyou. To some degree anyway.” I chew on my cheek, dropping my gaze to the scar on my foot. “But it’s only a blip. Just a small fragment of time before the real world comes rushing in, and you’re once again thrown into the depths of what it means tobein a place that does not like or want you.”
Her silence is damning, and I blink back the annoying tears that have beaded in the corner of my eyes. In the quiet, we listen to the storm settle, and when the sun finally breaks through the mottled gray, I sigh and push myself up. I gather my bag, placing the dagger within it before slipping the tunic over my head. When I turn to hand it to Myla, I find her already standing, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as those dark eyes land on mine. Forcing air into lungs, I walk towards her and hold the tunic out to her.
“I will see you in a week.”
