“Now. You must strike now before Kae stirs within her,” Naerysa demanded.
She would only get one opportunity for this.
“Wait. Something’s not right!” Syrena gasped, eyes going wide. “I think there’s still some left in her.”
“Fuck. This isn’t good,” Azarian said, playing along.
“What?” Esmyra’s voice cracked in panic. “How would I heal if there was still some left?”
“I don’t know,” Syrena whispered as her stare lifted to Azarian’s.
He gave her a small, subtle nod.
“Look at me, Esmyra.”
Syrena’s gaze turned back to her, her eyes gleaming while the irisestightened, shifting into their serpentine slits. She tilted her head just enough to lock eyes with her sister, who was still weak from being freshly healed.
The moment their stares met, Syrena let the compulsion flow, her voice low and velvet soft. “You will do exactly as I say, and you will hold no memory. You are only a vessel for what I need until I release you from my hold.”
She had never compelled Esmyra before, and it was like plunging into icy, dark water. The edges of her sister’s consciousness pushed back, a furious, pulsing barrier screaming for freedom.
But beneath that fierce roar was a flicker of exhaustion. The long battles, the slow draining of essence, had worn Esmyra thin. Syrena wove her compulsion like a net, delicate but unbreakable, threading through cracks in her twin’s mind.
The resistance came in surges, but with every breath, every whispered command, it softened.
Esmyra was different from anyone else she had ever compelled before, likely due to her possessing the same power. It wasn’t a total surrender, but more like bending a wild ocean to a gentle tide.
A subtle shiver passed through Esmyra’s body, and the tension in her jaw finally went slack. Her breath steadied as the fight in her drained.
“Good,” Syrena whispered, stroking a hand down the side of her face. “Now…sleep.”
Esmyra’s eyelids lowered instantly, her weight going limp in Azarian’s hold.
A slow, satisfied curve pulled at Syrena’s lips, already envisioning the ritual to come.
CHAPTER 16
Syrena
Syrena followed Azarian as he slung Esmyra’s limp form over his shoulder. Her body dangled and swayed with each step while they made their way to the ritual.
When they finally reached the inner castle gardens, the moon hung low and full, casting silver light across the marble pathways and blooming lilies. Candle flames flickered in deliberate circles throughout the space, merlights hovering just above them. The air was thick with the mingled scents of night-blooming flowers and was quiet except for the low trickle of a nearby fountain. Runes had been carved into the earth and lit with powdery red dust that pulsed faintly, mimicking the markings on Esmyra’s arms.
Syrena stepped through the hedges, her bare feet sinking into the lush grass before she halted.
After settling Esmyra in her chambers, Azarian had carefully laid the groundwork for everything needed. Syrena remained with her, directing her handmaiden, Briar, to dress and bathe her, preparing her body for the sacred binding.
Syrena wore robes of shimmering golds and warm corals, her long blonde hair wound with pearls and tiny starfish. It looked similar to what Briar dressed Esmyra in—a gown of vibrant blues and silvers, with tiny aquamarine stones threaded throughout her dark hair.
Azarian lowered Esmyra gently onto a bed of soft sea moss at the garden’s center, surrounded by a circle of black coral shards meticulously arranged to catch the moonlight.
Syrena knelt beside her sister, her fingers trailing over the damp curve of Esmyra’s cheek. “Wake,” she breathed, the word a lure wound tight with magic.
Esmyra’s lashes lifted slowly, her gaze unfocused. Syrena’s hand came to cup her chin, tilting her face upward before she could even blink. The moment their eyes locked, compulsion slid into the bond, reinforcing every thread until Syrena felt the satisfying shift as it tightened around Esmyra’s mind.
It’s working. Syrena couldn’t be bothered to hide her vicious smile as her magic held her sister’s conscience in a death grip, having no intentions of letting go.
“Can you hear me?” she murmured.
