Page 2 of The Song of the Void

“I’ve heard they’re an addiction worth dying for,” Nameless Asshole admitted. “But I can’t imagine they’re anything that special.”

“Would you care to try?”

Kiss me so I can bite your damn tongue off.

Nameless Asshole stepped up to me with a dimpled smirk that anyone would have probably found swoon-worthy. Not me, though. Never.

I nearly fell over in surprise when he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and leaned closer to wipe away the eye makeup running in thick lines down my cheeks. The scent on his breath wasn’t tobacco or those pungent herbs most Humans smoked. It was a combination of peppery spices and bittersweet, burned wood—almost like a medicinal incense. While I lost myself trying to pinpoint the exact aromatic notes, he whispered, “As long as we can go somewhere private. Perhaps you’ll sing the Song of the Void for me, then?”

The code phrase. Blood turned into sludge in my veins.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Did Jereq betray me?

I wouldn’t put it past a Human, especially a sleazy one like Jereq, to take the precious information I gave him and gamble it away. Unfortunately, he was the only non-client male allowed near me, and that was because he was Ipheri’s cousin. After he moved in with her a few months ago, all it took was a few kisses and a little sweet-talking to get him to go along with my plan. Well, and knowing it would piss Ipheri off if it was successful.

The location and means to retrieve one of the lost relics of the Spirits—the Voidtome—was my only bargaining chip aside from my kisses. Even the surface-dwellers knew it was an artifact of pure destruction, and who wouldn’t help a Siren escape captivity in exchange for knowledge that led to such power? I gave Jereq specific instructions to seed my call for assistance to only a handful of individuals. Ones I thought may be sympathetic to my plight and interested in the Tome.

This man—he wasn’t one of them. Pretty enough to be a noble but too rough around the edges to be a scholar. A treasure hunter, perhaps, or a mercenary. Or, Spirits forbid, a fucking pirate.

“How do you know that phrase?” I hissed.

The intelligent glint in his eyes gave nothing away. “You’re being awfully difficult for someone in need of my assistance. Can we move this along now?”

He certainly lived up to the name I had given him.

Even if he was someone I sent the message to, if he was going to be an ass, he needed to be taught a lesson. My mask of neutral sweetness fractured. The water flowing endlessly behind me burbled with a furious energy that matched my own. “Go to Mourner Hell,” I snapped, shoving my hand towards him. The fountain’s vengeful song went silent as it heeded my plea and bent to my will, just like when I used to manipulate the currents in the ocean. A torrential stream burst out of the pool and shot straight towards him. Nameless Asshole smoothly turned at an angle so that the stream flew past him and drenched an elderly woman in the crowd. The power of the water nearly knocked her off her feet, and she shrieked at her husband and the servants and guards nearby to do something, to throw me out of the party.

“Well, this couldn’t get worse, could it?” The man chuckled and took another drag of his cigarette, releasing a cloud of fragrant smoke into the air that made my eyes and throat burn.

Before I could refocus my energy on a second attack at his stupid face, another stranger effortlessly stepped between us. The buzz of the party seemed to hush.

“Evening,” he said to me.

A breath escaped my lips.

A Druinn.

Telltale pointed ears, significantly longer than mine, were plain to see beneath his dark, cropped hair. His clothing appeared to be more like light padded armor, colored the deep green of a kelp forest and embroidered with golden threads that ran through the thick fabric like rivers. It complimented his dark skin beautifully.

A leather strap lay across his chest. I imagined it was some kind of weapon holster on his back. But it must be empty; there was no way the Humans would allow a Druinn to hold weapons at an event like this, even if only a few had been invited in the name of “neighborly accord.”

The Druinn offered his hands to me, helping me out of the fountain with no trouble.

“T-thank you,” I said, attempting to keep some semblance of poise.

“Of course. We non-Humans have to stick together.” He cast a glare at the servants who had begun to approach us, sending them scurrying away like minnows from a shark. A victorious smile played on his lips. “Hm, all this party is missing is one of the Mourners, and we'd have a representative from all four nations here.”

He was right, but a Mourner in the Human country of Arvensis was nearly as ridiculous as a Siren out of water. The reclusive, demonic guardians of the entrance of Hell lived on an island somewhere in the middle of the ocean, and I didn't think anyone had even seen one in hundreds of years. Just like my people, aside from me.

I gave him the sweetest smile I could muster. “Well, if you see one, let me know so I can avoid them.”

“Right.” That mysterious grin widened, revealing perfect teeth I half expected to be sharp like a barracuda’s. “Ah, looks like the bastard that pushed you took off.”

Nameless Asshole had indeed disappeared. I couldn't even find a flash of his black hair in the crowd.

Good riddance.

The Druinn gave me a bow. “General Shaddan Akshar, head of the Second Army of Terrakor.”