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I glanced behind me. The fae all held statue-still and silent. As if made of wax, just a plume rippling in the breeze here and there.
“Umm, Larch? Could you come hold Felicity?”
Larch scampered alertly up, taking the horse by the bridle. I dismounted, slightly wobbly on the stilettos. I made a show of stretching and turned my back on the nobles.
“In the ocean there,” I muttered under my breath, “are there mermaids, sirens—that kind of thing?”
“If my lady wishes it to be so, I’m sure there shall be.”
I wanted to snap back that I could hardly create a whole race of creatures. Besides, Larch had a point. Just trust in it.
I wished for mermaids. I pictured them on diamond-white sand, their jeweled tails in the surf, waves tangling their long locks as they sang. Sing for the men, I thought. Sing your songs for the soldiers. No fighting today. Bring them to the sea. When the first man reaches the shore, stop. Let them wander the beach, but take none of them with you.
I threaded it through with my own longing. Caribbean blue days and tropical nights. The whimsical beat of steel drums. Sunshine flooding my skin. The sexual heat of magic flowed through me, into the spell.
It called to me. Sweet with simple pleasure.
The enemy army reversed its flow, streaming away again, like a river running to the delta. The men followed the siren call. All the men—ours, too.
I followed behind them, drunk on the song.
We all followed.
Chapter 32
In Which I Quench My Thirst
‡
Fortunately my spellworked exactly right.
As soon as the first soldier set foot on the diamond-white sand, the song stopped. At least, it seemed clear that was what happened, because it had to have been one of theirs who got there first.
At any rate, our army fetched up midstride when the song ceased. The sun declined in a grand blaze of peach and red wine over the water. And serendipity had us at the site of the new camp. Fortunately, none of the camp-setting-up folks were sucked in by the siren song. I’d kind of forgotten they would also have been in range.
As it turned out, it was as if I’d planned the whole thing.
At Falcon’s table, they toasted me, the guest of honor. And I was pleased enough with myself to enjoy the moment. So nice to have something go right for a change, I didn’t even care that the only point of pushing the enemy to the ocean was to get to play with boats. Even the nonsensical conversation didn’t bother me as much. Victory was indeed sweet.
So was the damn wine. Way too sweet. I wanted whiskey in the worst way. I didn’t want to send Larch for it either. I wanted to get it myself. Be around the humans. Say hi to my handsome Officer Liam.
For research purposes, of course.
Starling, who sat far down the table, stood when I did. I waved that she could stay where she was. She looked lovely in a dawn-pink dress, her glossy hair warm gold in the combined pillow and torchlight. I didn’t really want to mention where I was going, since she’d undoubtedly disapprove, given her fantasy about me and Rogue.
Besides, she looked like she was having fun and I could use a little walk by myself. Fortunately, Darling had taken off in search of a mermaid who might give him a nibble. I told him that they were probably all off swimming, but he seemed undeterred. He deserved his own version of celebrating. Not unlike my idea.
The camp rang out with more hilarity than usual. Pathways between the tents were lined with glowing pillows, some pulsing with the music. There had to be thousands of the things now. How they’d been set to auto-pulse, I had no idea.
A cluster of Dragonfly girls scurried past, naked and giggling hysterically. Recognizing a familiar tune from the next tent, I hummed along.
The human side of camp wasn’t hard to find, now that I knew what to look for. I moved through the buffer of night separating the two, a brief respite of quiet starsong. Which was interrupted by the rough songs of humans and the squeals of camp followers. No blinking pillows here. I slipped around the edges, making for the bright torches of what I hoped was the main party area.
A number of younger soldiers manned the tent, no doubt set on sober keg duty for some infraction. But they looked cheerful enough, pouring ale into the tin cups, mugs and drinking horns of the men who came through.
I stepped into the light of the tent. The roar of male laughter abruptly died and they all snapped to attention, party forgotten.
“Lady Sorceress!” One saluted me as the others followed suit. “How may we serve you? Are you lost—”
