Roaring, Nyxarion launched after her.
Thalos watched.
As long as he could.
As long as his fracturing vision would allow, knowing it was futile. That Kore wouldn't get far without a tail to propel her through the abyss. Not with her estrus upon her. Her scent a beacon that would lure her king toward her, despite the forbidden veil disguising her flesh.
She'd falter, the precious thing.
Inexperience would betray her, and Nyxarion would reclaim his bride.
It was a thought that should have filled him with a seething, jealous fury. Might have ignited the tempest that had driven Thalos through three trials.
But there was only the lingering heat of Abyssari venom.
And Nerissa.
Pale, her wretched scales drifting into his view.
The ancientVireliiwas haggard. Sickness clung to her every glittering curve. Yet she moved with grace that betrayed her great age. Elegance in motion, Nerissa's milky eyes drifted over his ruined abdomen. And then, "Sirens," she murmured, her voice a low thrum that cut through the brutal clang of Nyxarion's hunting dirge. "You see, now."
Filaments blanching white, Thalos' gills fluttered. Weak. Failing.
"I shall save you, Sovereign," she murmured, her webbed fingers reaching to touch the edge of tattered flesh. "I shall honor my duty to the Hollow Court. One last time." Milky eyes, blanched with age, bore into those that were glacial and widewith the kiss of death. "But you shall undo what your father did. Return the Sirens to these seas. Go. Claim one for yourself."
It was a command.
Imperial.
One Thalos understood intrinsically, for it was written in scars, etched into the surface of his very bones. Nerissa wasn't offering a service—she was ordering a revolution. The repair of everything the Accord of Nisyros had dismantled, the sum total of everything Thalos himself had been tasked with upholding.
It was the price of his life.
Throat working, Thalos nodded
Just once.
It was enough.
Nerissa's weathered face was serene. Impassive. Reflecting nothing. Not relief nor triumph.
There was only a cool, sure acceptance.
A new accord.
One paid for in blood.
Pressing both hands to his wounds, she began to sing.
It was a melody wrought from the ancient times, one far older than theVireliisacrificing the last of her strength to give him another chance. Older than the war that had silenced the oceans and extinguished the Sirens. A healing chant, blended with precious sacrifice. And even as each note peeled the years from her aging form, she began to fail.
Scales lifting in beautiful, elegant sheets. Glittering petals that were carried through the current in a twisting ribbon of aching beauty.
The flames of Abyssari venom were banked. Gaping, savage holes in his belly knit together as the breath returned to his chest.
"Thank you," he tried to say…
… but the darkness swallowed him first.
