“What did the prick want?”
“He wanted to know about this room—and the ritual.”
Evander made a gruff sound of annoyance and adjusted his coat. “Have you decided what you will ask of Eusia?”
“Oh.” Evander had never performed the ritual before, as only King Nemea’s court was required to do so. He seemed eager, gaze intent on the implements at his feet. “I have nothing to ask of her,” I said. “I only ever speak the ritual prayer.” A prayer that made my stomach twist, for Nemea’s beloved water deity was offered the blood of his court so that she might grant him his greatest desire: to rid the sea of Sirens.
“And what will you ask of her?” I asked, somber and soft.
Evander answered without pausing to think. “For power.”
Power.
I shook my head, confounded. “Don’t you have enough already?”
“You mean my title and my sword?” He gave a mirthless huff and his gaze cut to King Nemea. “I live my life in service of someone else.” He shook his head, met my eye. “I want something that’s mine. Something I can’t be stripped of.”
Perhaps Evander and I were not so different. After last night, after feeling my veins fill with such potency, I yearned for power too. I yearned for the freedom and choice and protection it could offer. If I were near the water, I’d command the sea and shape the wind just as the Great Goddess Ligea had once done. I’d sing those who would hurt me to a black, depthless grave. If I were near the sea, I’d have sway over the man beside me.
No—I’d have outright control.
A hush fell over the room as King Nemea cleared his throat. “We wish for goodwill between our kingdoms.” He spoke to the other rulers—the Queen of Della and Gos, the King of Hera, and to KingTheodore too—in a rough voice. “For years, the Isle of Seraf has sought acceptance and respect. We have a right to worship who we choose. And we have a right to ask for blessings from a deity who actually answers.”
The challenge in his voice sent a chill through the air.
Nemea went on. “Today, the betrothed shall ask Eusia for a blessing. May she give them what they request. Captain Ianto, Lady Imogen. Kneel.”
The courtiers had pressed back against the rough walls of the room, their faces smudged by the dark. My breaths were shallow, hands damp, as Evander and I faced one another and went to our knees before our respective bowls. Evander’s back was to King Nemea, which left me with a clear view of him sitting on the edge of his throne, a mad gleam in his eye.
But it was King Theodore who drew my gaze.
He stood beside Nemea’s seat, seething. Deep lines were carved between his brows, and his jaw looked close to snapping with how tightly he held it. Even in the weak candlelight, I could make out the green of his eyes, wild and furious, locked on me.
Power radiated from the man. It poured from him, wove through his well-formed muscles. On the heels of the disgrace he’d made me feel came a burst of anger. He had never known what it felt like to be bent by someone else’s will. He’d never been required to give something of himself that he did not wish to give. I met his blazing glower with my own, suddenly enraged that he would make me feel like my desire to survive was unforgivable.
“Begin, ” came Nemea’s dark voice.
Evander lifted his blade, and I watched him, frozen. He swiped it quickly over his hand, splitting it open. His blood spilled like dark wine between his fingers and over his wide palm, tapping into thebowl below. He whispered his prayer, then snapped his gaze to mine. A lock of sandy hair fell over his furrowed forehead.
“Imogen,” he warned through clamped teeth.
There was not even time for me to lift my knife. His shocking grip found my wrist, and with a sharp twist, he forced my palm up. The black blade bit deep into my skin and with a flick, my hand burst open. My entire body jerked at the ripping pain.
In my periphery, King Theodore moved closer, but I didn’t look up. I could only focus on the sting and the growing pool of red in my palm. It oozed toward my sleeve cuff, seeping into the black lace. Evander twisted it over the bowl. “Say the prayer, love.”
I tried to speak through the bitter taste of self-loathing, through the fiery anger. All my life I’d thought being docile and obedient would give me a sort of strength, safety. But I’d made myself fragile instead. I’d turned myself into something easily snapped between the finger and thumb of a person like Evander. My voice wobbled when the words finally came. “I give to the sand. I give to the water.” The last bit of the prayer stuck, just as it did during every offering. “Hear me, heed me. Cleanse the sea.”
When my blood stopped flowing, Evander stroked my wrist, a gentle back-and-forth, then took a bandage from the pile and wrapped it around my palm. How effortless it was for him to cut me, then mend me. To mix his barbarous duty with his endearment. I slid my gaze away from him, as if compelled, straight to King Theodore.
He’d stepped so close that his polished boots toed the black velvet we knelt upon, spear-tip eyes on me and me alone. Anger flushed his cheeks, and when he spoke, like a deep roll of thunder, the pressure in the room seemed to shift. “How much blood have you taken from her, Nemea?”
Not a single courtier pulled in a breath as they waited for King Nemea to answer. Even Evander had frozen, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword.
“I have taken blood from my entire court and gifted it to Eusia for over two decades, boy.” A smile colored his voice.
King Theodore finally unlocked our gazes to glare at Nemea. “I asked abouthers.”
Why?
