“But . . .” Percy shook his head. “I thought you died. Faded away, or became corrupted.”
“Not when you cannot expire save from injury,” she breathed, turning back to me. “I do not know what the voices are. Sometimes they are right. I did know you were coming, didn’t I?” She gestured to the mural. “I’m not sure what this means. But Haimyx has found his answer.”
Seth narrowed his eyes. “I don’t remember him forming his own interpretation.”
Cerys lowered her arm. “Haimyx believesheis Death. The realm of Duath Nun is the underworld where souls languish, unable to pass. By conjoining his blood with the final Maiden’s, he will be given divine right to bring the living under his care.”
“The living?” Seth echoed. “You mean the Merchant Isles.”
“Under his care?” Percy drummed his fingers on his arm. “Does that mean ‘conquer them?’”
“Yes, Perse,” I answered. “He would kill us all. One battle could sweep the rest of the Isles into the Empty.”
“No. My father’s not stupid.” Seth dropped his arms. “Haimyx must believe he willcontrolthe Empty.” His gaze hardened. “How, exactly, does he intend to join their blood?”
“He is chthonic,” Cerys said. “He shall arrive in the Merchant Isles as a savior, wieldingherblood to save them. And they shall kneel, or die.”
I closed my eyes. “This is nonsense. Fanatical nonsense.” Opening them, I turned to Cerys, glancing up at the mural once more. “I want to know about these voices—the ones you hear from the Empty.”
Wringing her hands together, Cerys looked away. Discomfort radiated from her, but also melancholy. “They whisper, or sing. They sound like women. When their words come, they are not always easy to understand, but when they are? It’s like someone is watching the whole world and has brought its secrets to me.” She lifted her pale eyes. “They whispered of a girl who met their gaze. A prince in love. And a ship that would soon crash upon their shores.”
She spoke of the scene on the boat: Aethra staring nervously at the siren, Seth distracting himself from their songs by finally giving in to what he desired.
‘A girl who met their gaze . . .’
Whose gaze?
Cerys couldn’t mean the keres, could she?
“Even if you think it’s nonsense,” Cerys said harshly, “our king does not. He will soon learn why you’ve come. And he will do everything to stop you—and take her.”
“And instead of conquest,” Seth murmured, “he’ll snuff everyone’s life out.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he’s right. Either route must be avoided.”
The Merchant Isles had not fought a proper war in centuries. None of our cities were built to weather an army knocking at their door, and our people would flee before they fought, fearing the Empty’s approach. By the time we rallied a defense, too many lives would be lost.
To speak nothing of the devastation that would follow.
“I already agreed to help you,” Seth said. “You didn’t need to convince me.”
“In part.” She looked between us. “I’d hoped you’d bring insight—tell me an interpretation of its meaning that I’ve overlooked. Even if you do not believe in the divines, I do.” Clearing her throat, she stood straight. “But if not, we should move on to business. We can speak in the back—there’s something I need you to do.”
“Right.” Seth rubbed the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t have brought us here just to discuss religion.”
Taking a final glance at the painting of Brizo, I turned to follow Cerys, but felt a throb in my head.
Seth felt it, too. He flinched, touching his forehead.
Panic streamed into our thoughts. The faintest cry for help pierced the flurry of fear.
Aethra.
She spoke one word into our minds.
“Seth!”
Seth spun on his heel and sprinted through the temple. Those who knelt in prayer looked up, gasping at the breach of etiquette. Cursing my broken arm, I chased after him, glancing back at Percy to mouth a single word. A word that sent him scrambling after us.
