As the twin of Calberna’s reigning queen, he had a more powerful command ofsusirenathan most males, but even that advantage wouldn’t have allowed him to overcome the natural resistance to mind control that all Calbernans possessed. Not, that is, without the spell he’d just inked upon these warriors’ skin. That spell, taught to him long ago by Mur Balat, allowed him to bypass a Calbernan’s natural defenses to plant commands in their minds with his magic. There were limitations to the spell. For instance, he couldn’t Command a Calbernan to murder someone he would normally die to protect, but directives that didn’t trigger those deep protective instincts were impossible for even the strongest bespelled warrior to refuse.
“From now until the day Dilys returns,” he Commanded, “you will open a door on the southwest corner of the Sea Veil each evening after the sun sets, and you will leave that door open until sunrise. You will not patrol that section of the palace. Except for you, Synan.” He turned to the young scion of House Merimydion. “You will stand watch each night at the southwest corner, and you will warn the men who come that they must silence the women and keep them silenced. The women know spells they can cast if they are allowed to speak. Do you understand?”
“Tey,Lord Chancellor,” Synan confirmed in a monotone.
“Good. And each morning, all you men will remember that you patrolled the entire perimeter of the Veil, and that everything was secure and in order. You will not remember that these Commands were ever given to you. You will simply carry them out, and you will not remember having done so. You will not reveal nor remove the runes on your skin, nor will you remember that I placed them upon you. You will not see them upon yourself or each other, but if someone else draws the marks to your attention, you will remember that the runes are a protective spell against enemy magic that you received from an enchantress you met during your travels.”
He paced around the room, stopped before each man to be sure his Commands had been imprinted and would be obeyed. When he was satisfied with the results, he released his power, and began speaking to the men in a normal voice.
“Calbernari,the security of the first Siren born since the Slaughter lies on your shoulders. My nephew handpicked each one of you due to your dedication to Calberna and your unsurpassed abilities as warriors and Sealords of the Isles. Keep themyerial myerinassafe until your prince returns. If there is trouble, you will send word both to Dilys and to me immediately. Is that understood?”
“Tey,Lord Chancellor,” the men confirmed.
“Excellent. Keep watch on the waters and stay alert, men.”
“Tey,Lord Chancellor.”
“You are dismissed. And thank you—each of you—for your dedicated service to theMyerial,and I rely on fine men like you to keep the Isles safe.”
When they were gone, Calivan walked over to the wide, tall windows overlooking the palace gardens and the fjord beyond. The men who’d just left would die when Mur Balat sent his slavers to take the Seasons. A grievous loss. Each of the men came from fine families in strong Houses. But he was much more concerned about Dilys. Calivan hadn’t anticipated that Alys’s son would enterliakapuawith one of the Seasons any more than he’d anticipated that Summer Coruscate would be a Siren. If Dilys did not survive losing his mate—and there was a good chance he wouldn’t—Alys would suffer another devastating loss, but there was no help for it. Mur Balat’s elixir would slow Alys’s decline, while the advances Calivan was making with magic-storing crystals would hopefully help reverse it. Calivan would be there, offering his unconditional love to help her over her grief. Also, contrary to what he’d told Dilys, if a Siren—even anoulaniSiren—stepped foot on Calbernan shores, there would be many powerful voices demanding that Alys step down and pass the crown of Calberna to the one who wielded Numahao’s greatest gift. Calivan, whose life was entirely dedicated to protecting and advancing his sister and her interests, wasn’t about to let that happen.
So rather than shaking his resolve to aid Mur Balat, the truth about Summer Coruscate’s astonishing gift cemented it.
Calivan glanced around the chamber where he’d been sleeping since his arrival. His belongings were already packed and loaded on the ship.
Time to head for home... and Alys.
Gabriella couldn’t sleep.
Dilys had been gone four days now, and each one seemed an eternity. The nights were the worst. She’d become so used to spending her evenings with him, enjoying a peaceful stroll through the gardens, or a gorgeous sunset sail. So used to the thousands of small caresses that made her feel adored, the laughter that lightened her heart. Without that—without him—she could feel the tension and pressure building up again as her power pooled inside her.
She fell back on the practice of a lifetime, meditating to calm herself and strengthen her shields, adding layers to the internal wall that kept the monster caged.
The familiar mental chores were harder now, without Dilys there beside her. It was as if he had become her touchstone, replacing the little sapphire dolphin on her mother’s charm bracelet. He centered her. For all that he loved driving her crazy—both with desire and with his constant teasing—his presence put the monster at peace.
Now he was gone, and the monster was no happier about it than Gabriella.
There was a noise outside her balcony. Gabriella narrowed her eyes. Even with Dilys gone, she still woke each morning to a balcony carpeted with her favorite fragrant flowers and no clue as to how they got there. Thinking to catch Dilys’s cohort in the act, she crept over to the balcony doors and flung them open, crying, “Aha!”
But the man on her balcony wasn’t anyone familiar. Not a Calbernan. Not a Winterman. Not a Summerlander either. He was, in fact, the most unsavory-looking man she’d ever clapped eyes on. Scarred, skinny, and swarthy-skinned, he was clad in a smelly, filthy amalgamation of patched, ill-fitting, and mismatched clothes that included a badly stained naval officer’s jacket, an infantryman’s black breeches, and what appeared to have once been an elegant gentleman’s knee boots. The man caught sight of her and grinned, displaying a handful of blackened teeth and swollen red gums.
“Eren’t ye a pretty one.”
Gabriella stumbled back. Before she could scream to alert the guards, a hand clamped a coarse, pungent cloth over her mouth and nose, and a steely arm clamped round her waist, yanking her back against a second, much larger but equally smelly man.
Summer’s eyes widened. She tried to struggle but her captor held her fast. She drew in a breath to scream but the pungent odor from the cloth filled her lungs and nostrils, carrying with it a strange, dizzying lethargy.
“That was easy,” the man in front of her said.
She blinked, trying hard to focus. He was pulling something from a bag strapped to his hip. A coil of rope.
Summer drew another breath, tried to scream again. Tried to struggle. But she could not find her voice or make her limbs obey. Her ears began to ring. The lights from the garden below and the city across the fjord went fuzzy and haloed. The man holding her said something, but she couldn’t make out the words.
The world went dark.
Wynter lay on his side, propped up on one elbow amidst the puddle of satin sheets, his ice-blue eyes focused intently on his wife’s naked, swollen belly. One large hand splayed across the mound, resting feather light, as their unborn children shifted and moved about in their mother’s womb.
“We could have twenty children, and I don’t think I’d ever get tired of this,” he said, his voice husky. Reverent.
