Page 72 of The Song of the Void

“Zephra, have you ever met a Mourner?” Ash asked.

“No, but I’ve heard awful stories of Sirens who were killed by them,” I replied bitterly. “My mother warned my sister and I endlessly of their cruelty. What they would do to the Sirens they captured.”

I suppressed a shiver at the memory. My people had been burned at the stake, thrown into lava pools, ripped apart and boiled alive by those demons. Unforgivable cruelties, truly. We had only resorted to drowning or stabbing them and their pirate allies.

“Well…let’s try to keep an open mind? ‘Sides, I was told if I ever met a Siren, she’d charm me then devour me.” Ash gave me a sunny grin that overpowered the thick smog in the air. “I haven’t been devoured, have I?”

I whirled and smacked Reiven in the arm. Who else would tell Ash that a Siren would devour him? As if we would ever do that.

“To be fair, I expected you to charm and devour me, too.” He chuckled and kissed my cheek, earning a grimace from Ashkade. Probably still traumatized from walking in on us, even though he seemed happy that we were happy.

I muttered that I wasn’t hungry for Human flesh at the moment and stared straight ahead at the city as we approached.

A black-wood dock jutted out into the water within the massive wall, and a few small fishing boats bobbed up and down, moored to it. We left the crew with a chest of gold as payment in case we didn’t make it back and followed one of the Mourner guards into the town.

Past the dock, gray cobblestone streets led into a main thoroughfare, both sides an assortment of houses, stores, and restaurants. The buildings were all made of the same gray or black stone, but despite the bleak coloration and heavy cloud of ash in the air, there was no shortage of light. It emanated from torches in sconces, lanterns hanging from doorways, metal barrels overflowing with blazing wood… I tensed at all the shadows the fires threw about. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread couldn't quite overpower the heavy sulfur and smoke thickening the air.

We walked along, bearing the weight of every single Mourner eye upon us. The people were quiet. Still. Watching through windows and from doorways with glowing red eyes.

We followed our silent guide to a castle ruggedly hewn from dark stone, as if a mountain had been carved and shaped into an exquisitely menacing behemoth of a building. No flags flew from the rough-cut parapet. No colorful tapestries hung against the stone. The only bit of color was a carving of a bird wreathed in flames etched into the front wall of the castle. The reddish-orange grooves that formed the artwork moved as though they were alive, with all the languid viscosity of lava.

My skin felt grimy from the dry, dirty air. Heat drifted from the core of the volcano in the distance and the torches that lined the wall as another masked guard in black armor led us down the stone hallway within the castle. We arrived outside a towering door that took three guards to push open. No one had spoken to or acknowledged us since the Mourner at the gate, and the castle guard we followed motioned for us to go inside.

I grabbed Ash's hand and let him lead the way, though the sweat of his palm betrayed his uncertainty that we weren't about to be executed. He tried his best to straighten his posture from its usual sag on the side of his crutch as we entered a great throne room.

Just the same as the rest of the castle, the stone and decor here were black or dark gray. Tall poles with candles lined the center of the room, and fire-lit sconces on the walls cast more shadows across our faces. Our footsteps echoed on the stone until we approached the throne, where a crimson velvet rug gave indication of where we should stand.

There were no guards, only two women at the front. One, older, had black hair tied in a pristine, tight bun that seemed to smooth out the wrinkles threatening to make her look a day over forty. Unusual dark streaks stretched across her eyes and temples into her hair. Her red-painted lips moved quickly as she refused to look in our direction and continued to whisper something to the younger woman who sat on the throne.

The girl on the throne hadn't looked at us either and nodded at whatever the older woman was saying, occasionally interrupting her to ask a question. Her black hair had been effortlessly tucked into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder and down her chest, with a few perfectly curled pieces pulled out to frame her face. She wore no crown, though from her ramrod-straight back and the upward tilt of her chin, I could tell she was royal. She was like something out of a grand painting I might find decorating the walls of this castle.

Ashkade awkwardly cleared his throat, and both women jerked their faces towards us. They shared the color of their alabaster skin, and their eyes were a similar shape too, though the younger woman’s were heavily lined and shaded with black, elongating them even further. Their radiant, scarlet eyes locked on the four of us, and I’d never felt more out of my depth.

At least I knew now how incorrect Ashkade’s storybook had been. They weren’t demons; they were just people.

The younger woman clapped her hand over her mouth. A unique black coloration spread down her fingers, like she had dipped just her fingertips into a bucket of dark paint.

The other woman pinched the bridge of her nose with hands purely black, as if she were wearing gloves. “Well now, this is a surprise, isn’t it?” Her tone cooled the heat in the room, and Ashkade and I stiffened.

“Uh, ma’am—I mean, Your Highness—er, Your Majesty, I sent a letter…”

Poor Ash was out of his depth, too. There were myriad ways for Mourner royalty to answer a bizarre group of foreigners requesting access into the Hell that they guarded. Myriad ways, and just as many ways they might kill us for our intrusion.

“I’m not talking about you, Human,” the woman said curtly. “It’s a surprise that you weren’t killed the instant you stepped on our shore…” Her eyes flicked to me, pinning me in place with pure disdain. “I’m curious. Do your trifling friends even know who or what you are? If not…” She looked past me and extended her hand.

I braced for a stream of flame to burst from her palm and engulf me, but nothing came aside from the sound of her snapping her fingers.

“Allow me to assist you in ending the charade, Reiven, seeing as I was the one who gave you the glamor in the first place. You were always my favorite nephew.”

My thoughts caught on the name she said. Every other word lost all meaning. For all I knew, after she said his name, she wasn’t even speaking the common tongue anymore.

I hazarded a glance over my shoulder at the Human for whom I had ignored every warning bell in my mind and decided to trust, but he wasn’t the same.

He wasn’t Human.

The air felt heavy. I crushed Ash’s arm until he whimpered, but I needed him to keep me from falling apart.

Reiven didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes fixed on the two women at the throne—eyes that once were onyx, but now shone crimson beneath his dark brows and lashes. His lips twisted into a mild smirk as he ran his fingers through his hair, giving me a glimpse of the slight, pointed tips to his ears before his hair fell back into place.