Chapter 179: 179
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Initially, I thought Cylus was bad enough. A creepy, multilimbed, two headed freak of nature with a revoltingly high appetite for human flesh and a severe lacking for the basic differentiation between friend and food? No thank you. But then there is the Siren Queen.
There is no other way to describe her other than absolutely terrifying. So utterly fear inducing, in fact, that Kal, who swims shakily beside me, nearly almost screams. And for Kal- the witty dragon boy known for making untimely jokes right in the face of death itself, even when his life appears to be ending in an inch of a second, that is saying something.
Upon first glance one might have thought her a ghost- or a peculiar apparition, caught up in the dark waters around us, her skin so pale a blue that it appears to almost glow against the darkness, nearly translucent in places. Her body is bristled with sharp, jutting spikes, up her arm, crowning her head, and even down the length of her long tail, shark-like tail, barbed like spears agaist her body. In many ways, her body is more weapon than it is a vessel, harsh and rigid, cold and cruel.
There is a look of permanent scorn frozen in her features, a disdainful sneer in her icy eyes that seems to express no greater interest than throwing us all back to Cylus to watch with a faint amusement as we all get eaten alive.
So as she towers on the throne, the swish and flick of her tail cutting through the water as she inspects us with icy cold eyes, I suddenly get the feeling that this lady holds no interest in hearing us out. No interest at all.
From the darting look that Kal shoots me, I get the idea that he feels the same way, his face frozen stiff with fear, arms wrapped around himself, as if he would like nothing better than to roll on out of here and never come back.
This is Delina's grandmother? Kal whispers against my mind, exasperation and terror lacing his voice to create a marvellous concoction of apprehension.
I didn't expect her to look so... young.
And true indeed, Kal's statements, while rather assuming, are the same as mine. The Siren Queen looks little over middle aged, if not less.
I have heard that Sirens live for rather extended periods of time, sustaining themselves on mortal flesh to maintain a prolonged youthful appearance. The thought only serves to amplify my unease, setting off a cold bubbling tension rolling in the pit of my stomach. Faintly I wonder if we will be next.
At least that is what the council warned me off whenever they could care enough to educate me on the outside world- most of it I suspect to be inherently propaganda, encouraging me not to even dare to think about escaping from my prison. On this occasion, however, it would seem they were right. Despite being Delina's grandmother, she is youthful in looks- youthful and terrifying.
In my short years of life, I don't think I have ever seen someone quite like her.
She boasts an air of authority around her: black hair tied back into an eccentric array of buns and curls, pinned together by luxurious hair pins and a series of ornamental red clips, all spiked to enhance her terrifying appearance. Yet the Siren's torso is scantily clad in thin sheets of veiled fabric, just enough to cover the important parts, but it would seem that the vampire culture of barely dressing up has seeped down into these waters too.
Perhaps if I hadn't been so apprehensive, I might have rolled my eyes at that.
There were many merfolk I had passed on my way in who were barely wearing anything at all, often times nothing. Some flashed garishly coloured coral necklaces, or bras made of fine lacey water plants, but they seem to be the exception down here.
"Delina," she hisses, eyes narrowing as she inspects us, her tail cutting through the water like a knife throat butter. "These people, who are they? Why are they in my court," she growls, her fingers clenching around the side of her throne, as though debating whether or not to skin us alive.
"They are friends," Delina prompts, nodding to us both, to which we frantically nod in agreement. "They travelled a long way to see you, grandmother. They request an audience."
At this, the whole court room falls silent. The remaining merfolk who mill around the edges of the room stop to peer at us, their eyes wide and darting, others shining with a malicious light, as though entertaining the thought of how best to eat us. Even the rush of the water ceases to flow, brought into submission by the creature who sits on the throne, fingers clacking, tail swishing with an arrogant irritation.
There is no doubt that the most impressive aspect of her by far is her tail: a huge, shark-like apparition, spanning out across her throne, flicking and swaying agitatedly with each second that passes. It is laden with a series of spikes, gold rings looping around the tail. Nervously, I bite the inside of my cheek. One swipe of that would be enough to knock a grown man out cold, and from the jagged points on the fins, cut them up sufficiently well too. Everything to her sharp, sideways smile, right down to the fine points of her golden nails protests a violence, and an awful beauty, both mesmerising as it is terrifying.
"Your audience is granted," she says at last, a cold sneer slinking its way across her mouth. "Speak, or face my wrath."
How I have the courage to speak up to her is beyond me, but somehow I am able to put aside the trembling of my voice and address her confidently.
"We are here to request your help, My Lady. Your granddaughter Delina found us trapped by Cylus on our mission to find you, and brought us here. We request access to something that only you can grant, it is essential to us that this is granted," I say, cutting through my fear before I can give it enough chance to let it get the better of me. Time is running out faster than I could hope to admit, there would be no time for lengthy explanations. I must hurry, before it becomes too late.
Coldly, Delina's grandmother's eyes settle on me. Her lips pucker upwards into a snarl.
"Do not 'My Lady' me, you stupid half breed girl. That would imply I have some sort of mercy, and I do not. You call me Areen, or you call me nothing at all, are we clear?"
Firmly, I stand my ground.
Don't fight back, I think desperately to myself, trying to ignore the insults that are whirring round my head. Ordinarily, if someone had addressed me in such a manner, I might have just torn them to pieces, or slapped them across the face- one of the two. But this is a discussion between Queens, and no matter how irritating Areen is, I must not let her taunts get to my head. I cannot afford to provoke her. And so I remind myself again: Don't fight back that is what she wants.
"Clear, but we still need your help, Areen," I deplore insistently, doing my best to hide the clenched fists at my side. Areen glowers at us for a moment, quite obviously unimpressed.
"Delina, dear," she says a little more softly, her expression relaxing as it sweeps over her granddaughter. "Why did you bring these landwalkers to me? What purpose do these low lives serve us?"
Besides us, Delina steps forward slightly, dipping her head in acknowledgement of her grandmother's question, before shooting us both an apologetic smile.
"Apologies, grandmother, but they aren't low lives. They are companions of the Princes. Serena is, uh, Soren's new Queen," she says admittedly, glazing briefly over the ring on my hand, before darting her eyes away, keen to forget about that fact. A guilty feeling nags at my heart.
It is obvious that there is still some part of her still pines for my mate, to take the place that I stole, and that she could never have. When I first met her, I did not understand the extent of her jealousies, or why I was a target of them, other than the fact I looked like an easy to manipulate elf. I thought her selfish and cruel, but now I understand that it was more to that. If it is true, and vampires can only fall in love once, then I decimated all her chances at love. Stripped her friend, her companion, away from her as soon as I waltzed into the Palace. She had every right to be mad at me, for if someone had done that to Ithuriel, I surely would have felt the same.
But here she is helping us, somehow. And for that I could not be more grateful.
Upon hearing this, Areen's eyes widen as she leans forward, her hand gripping more firmly round her sceptre. Amusedly, she twiddles her fingers, spindles of magic coiling from their tips.
"Prince Soren, eh?"
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Initially, I thought Cylus was bad enough. A creepy, multilimbed, two headed freak of nature with a revoltingly high appetite for human flesh and a severe lacking for the basic differentiation between friend and food? No thank you. But then there is the Siren Queen.
There is no other way to describe her other than absolutely terrifying. So utterly fear inducing, in fact, that Kal, who swims shakily beside me, nearly almost screams. And for Kal- the witty dragon boy known for making untimely jokes right in the face of death itself, even when his life appears to be ending in an inch of a second, that is saying something.
Upon first glance one might have thought her a ghost- or a peculiar apparition, caught up in the dark waters around us, her skin so pale a blue that it appears to almost glow against the darkness, nearly translucent in places. Her body is bristled with sharp, jutting spikes, up her arm, crowning her head, and even down the length of her long tail, shark-like tail, barbed like spears agaist her body. In many ways, her body is more weapon than it is a vessel, harsh and rigid, cold and cruel.
There is a look of permanent scorn frozen in her features, a disdainful sneer in her icy eyes that seems to express no greater interest than throwing us all back to Cylus to watch with a faint amusement as we all get eaten alive.
So as she towers on the throne, the swish and flick of her tail cutting through the water as she inspects us with icy cold eyes, I suddenly get the feeling that this lady holds no interest in hearing us out. No interest at all.
From the darting look that Kal shoots me, I get the idea that he feels the same way, his face frozen stiff with fear, arms wrapped around himself, as if he would like nothing better than to roll on out of here and never come back.
This is Delina's grandmother? Kal whispers against my mind, exasperation and terror lacing his voice to create a marvellous concoction of apprehension.
I didn't expect her to look so... young.
And true indeed, Kal's statements, while rather assuming, are the same as mine. The Siren Queen looks little over middle aged, if not less.
I have heard that Sirens live for rather extended periods of time, sustaining themselves on mortal flesh to maintain a prolonged youthful appearance. The thought only serves to amplify my unease, setting off a cold bubbling tension rolling in the pit of my stomach. Faintly I wonder if we will be next.
At least that is what the council warned me off whenever they could care enough to educate me on the outside world- most of it I suspect to be inherently propaganda, encouraging me not to even dare to think about escaping from my prison. On this occasion, however, it would seem they were right. Despite being Delina's grandmother, she is youthful in looks- youthful and terrifying.
In my short years of life, I don't think I have ever seen someone quite like her.
She boasts an air of authority around her: black hair tied back into an eccentric array of buns and curls, pinned together by luxurious hair pins and a series of ornamental red clips, all spiked to enhance her terrifying appearance. Yet the Siren's torso is scantily clad in thin sheets of veiled fabric, just enough to cover the important parts, but it would seem that the vampire culture of barely dressing up has seeped down into these waters too.
Perhaps if I hadn't been so apprehensive, I might have rolled my eyes at that.
There were many merfolk I had passed on my way in who were barely wearing anything at all, often times nothing. Some flashed garishly coloured coral necklaces, or bras made of fine lacey water plants, but they seem to be the exception down here.
"Delina," she hisses, eyes narrowing as she inspects us, her tail cutting through the water like a knife throat butter. "These people, who are they? Why are they in my court," she growls, her fingers clenching around the side of her throne, as though debating whether or not to skin us alive.
"They are friends," Delina prompts, nodding to us both, to which we frantically nod in agreement. "They travelled a long way to see you, grandmother. They request an audience."
At this, the whole court room falls silent. The remaining merfolk who mill around the edges of the room stop to peer at us, their eyes wide and darting, others shining with a malicious light, as though entertaining the thought of how best to eat us. Even the rush of the water ceases to flow, brought into submission by the creature who sits on the throne, fingers clacking, tail swishing with an arrogant irritation.
There is no doubt that the most impressive aspect of her by far is her tail: a huge, shark-like apparition, spanning out across her throne, flicking and swaying agitatedly with each second that passes. It is laden with a series of spikes, gold rings looping around the tail. Nervously, I bite the inside of my cheek. One swipe of that would be enough to knock a grown man out cold, and from the jagged points on the fins, cut them up sufficiently well too. Everything to her sharp, sideways smile, right down to the fine points of her golden nails protests a violence, and an awful beauty, both mesmerising as it is terrifying.
"Your audience is granted," she says at last, a cold sneer slinking its way across her mouth. "Speak, or face my wrath."
How I have the courage to speak up to her is beyond me, but somehow I am able to put aside the trembling of my voice and address her confidently.
"We are here to request your help, My Lady. Your granddaughter Delina found us trapped by Cylus on our mission to find you, and brought us here. We request access to something that only you can grant, it is essential to us that this is granted," I say, cutting through my fear before I can give it enough chance to let it get the better of me. Time is running out faster than I could hope to admit, there would be no time for lengthy explanations. I must hurry, before it becomes too late.
Coldly, Delina's grandmother's eyes settle on me. Her lips pucker upwards into a snarl.
"Do not 'My Lady' me, you stupid half breed girl. That would imply I have some sort of mercy, and I do not. You call me Areen, or you call me nothing at all, are we clear?"
Firmly, I stand my ground.
Don't fight back, I think desperately to myself, trying to ignore the insults that are whirring round my head. Ordinarily, if someone had addressed me in such a manner, I might have just torn them to pieces, or slapped them across the face- one of the two. But this is a discussion between Queens, and no matter how irritating Areen is, I must not let her taunts get to my head. I cannot afford to provoke her. And so I remind myself again: Don't fight back that is what she wants.
"Clear, but we still need your help, Areen," I deplore insistently, doing my best to hide the clenched fists at my side. Areen glowers at us for a moment, quite obviously unimpressed.
"Delina, dear," she says a little more softly, her expression relaxing as it sweeps over her granddaughter. "Why did you bring these landwalkers to me? What purpose do these low lives serve us?"
Besides us, Delina steps forward slightly, dipping her head in acknowledgement of her grandmother's question, before shooting us both an apologetic smile.
"Apologies, grandmother, but they aren't low lives. They are companions of the Princes. Serena is, uh, Soren's new Queen," she says admittedly, glazing briefly over the ring on my hand, before darting her eyes away, keen to forget about that fact. A guilty feeling nags at my heart.
It is obvious that there is still some part of her still pines for my mate, to take the place that I stole, and that she could never have. When I first met her, I did not understand the extent of her jealousies, or why I was a target of them, other than the fact I looked like an easy to manipulate elf. I thought her selfish and cruel, but now I understand that it was more to that. If it is true, and vampires can only fall in love once, then I decimated all her chances at love. Stripped her friend, her companion, away from her as soon as I waltzed into the Palace. She had every right to be mad at me, for if someone had done that to Ithuriel, I surely would have felt the same.
But here she is helping us, somehow. And for that I could not be more grateful.
Upon hearing this, Areen's eyes widen as she leans forward, her hand gripping more firmly round her sceptre. Amusedly, she twiddles her fingers, spindles of magic coiling from their tips.
"Prince Soren, eh?"
Initially, I thought Cylus was bad enough. A creepy, multilimbed, two headed freak of nature with a revoltingly high appetite for human flesh and a severe lacking for the basic differentiation between friend and food? No thank you. But then there is the Siren Queen.There is no other way to describe her other than absolutely terrifying. So utterly fear inducing, in fact, that Kal, who swims shakily beside me, nearly almost screams. And for Kal- the witty dragon boy known for making untimely jokes right in the face of death itself, even when his life appears to be ending in an inch of a second, that is saying something.Upon first glance one might have thought her a ghost- or a peculiar apparition, caught up in the dark waters around us, her skin so pale a blue that it appears to almost glow against the darkness, nearly translucent in places. Her body is bristled with sharp, jutting spikes, up her arm, crowning her head, and even down the length of her long tail, shark-like tail, barbed like spears agaist her body. In many ways, her body is more weapon than it is a vessel, harsh and rigid, cold and cruel.There is a look of permanent scorn frozen in her features, a disdainful sneer in her icy eyes that seems to express no greater interest than throwing us all back to Cylus to watch with a faint amusement as we all get eaten alive. So as she towers on the throne, the swish and flick of her tail cutting through the water as she inspects us with icy cold eyes, I suddenly get the feeling that this lady holds no interest in hearing us out. No interest at all.From the darting look that Kal shoots me, I get the idea that he feels the same way, his face frozen stiff with fear, arms wrapped around himself, as if he would like nothing better than to roll on out of here and never come back.This is Delina's grandmother? Kal whispers against my mind, exasperation and terror lacing his voice to create a marvellous concoction of apprehension.I didn't expect her to look so... young.And true indeed, Kal's statements, while rather assuming, are the same as mine. The Siren Queen looks little over middle aged, if not less.I have heard that Sirens live for rather extended periods of time, sustaining themselves on mortal flesh to maintain a prolonged youthful appearance. The thought only serves to amplify my unease, setting off a cold bubbling tension rolling in the pit of my stomach. Faintly I wonder if we will be next.At least that is what the council warned me off whenever they could care enough to educate me on the outside world- most of it I suspect to be inherently propaganda, encouraging me not to even dare to think about escaping from my prison. On this occasion, however, it would seem they were right. Despite being Delina's grandmother, she is youthful in looks- youthful and terrifying. In my short years of life, I don't think I have ever seen someone quite like her.She boasts an air of authority around her: black hair tied back into an eccentric array of buns and curls, pinned together by luxurious hair pins and a series of ornamental red clips, all spiked to enhance her terrifying appearance. Yet the Siren's torso is scantily clad in thin sheets of veiled fabric, just enough to cover the important parts, but it would seem that the vampire culture of barely dressing up has seeped down into these waters too.Perhaps if I hadn't been so apprehensive, I might have rolled my eyes at that.There were many merfolk I had passed on my way in who were barely wearing anything at all, often times nothing. Some flashed garishly coloured coral necklaces, or bras made of fine lacey water plants, but they seem to be the exception down here."Delina," she hisses, eyes narrowing as she inspects us, her tail cutting through the water like a knife throat butter. "These people, who are they? Why are they in my court," she growls, her fingers clenching around the side of her throne, as though debating whether or not to skin us alive."They are friends," Delina prompts, nodding to us both, to which we frantically nod in agreement. "They travelled a long way to see you, grandmother. They request an audience."At this, the whole court room falls silent. The remaining merfolk who mill around the edges of the room stop to peer at us, their eyes wide and darting, others shining with a malicious light, as though entertaining the thought of how best to eat us. Even the rush of the water ceases to flow, brought into submission by the creature who sits on the throne, fingers clacking, tail swishing with an arrogant irritation.There is no doubt that the most impressive aspect of her by far is her tail: a huge, shark-like apparition, spanning out across her throne, flicking and swaying agitatedly with each second that passes. It is laden with a series of spikes, gold rings looping around the tail. Nervously, I bite the inside of my cheek. One swipe of that would be enough to knock a grown man out cold, and from the jagged points on the fins, cut them up sufficiently well too. Everything to her sharp, sideways smile, right down to the fine points of her golden nails protests a violence, and an awful beauty, both mesmerising as it is terrifying. "Your audience is granted," she says at last, a cold sneer slinking its way across her mouth. "Speak, or face my wrath."How I have the courage to speak up to her is beyond me, but somehow I am able to put aside the trembling of my voice and address her confidently."We are here to request your help, My Lady. Your granddaughter Delina found us trapped by Cylus on our mission to find you, and brought us here. We request access to something that only you can grant, it is essential to us that this is granted," I say, cutting through my fear before I can give it enough chance to let it get the better of me. Time is running out faster than I could hope to admit, there would be no time for lengthy explanations. I must hurry, before it becomes too late.Coldly, Delina's grandmother's eyes settle on me. Her lips pucker upwards into a snarl."Do not 'My Lady' me, you stupid half breed girl. That would imply I have some sort of mercy, and I do not. You call me Areen, or you call me nothing at all, are we clear?"Firmly, I stand my ground.Don't fight back, I think desperately to myself, trying to ignore the insults that are whirring round my head. Ordinarily, if someone had addressed me in such a manner, I might have just torn them to pieces, or slapped them across the face- one of the two. But this is a discussion between Queens, and no matter how irritating Areen is, I must not let her taunts get to my head. I cannot afford to provoke her. And so I remind myself again: Don't fight back that is what she wants."Clear, but we still need your help, Areen," I deplore insistently, doing my best to hide the clenched fists at my side. Areen glowers at us for a moment, quite obviously unimpressed."Delina, dear," she says a little more softly, her expression relaxing as it sweeps over her granddaughter. "Why did you bring these landwalkers to me? What purpose do these low lives serve us?"Besides us, Delina steps forward slightly, dipping her head in acknowledgement of her grandmother's question, before shooting us both an apologetic smile."Apologies, grandmother, but they aren't low lives. They are companions of the Princes. Serena is, uh, Soren's new Queen," she says admittedly, glazing briefly over the ring on my hand, before darting her eyes away, keen to forget about that fact. A guilty feeling nags at my heart.It is obvious that there is still some part of her still pines for my mate, to take the place that I stole, and that she could never have. When I first met her, I did not understand the extent of her jealousies, or why I was a target of them, other than the fact I looked like an easy to manipulate elf. I thought her selfish and cruel, but now I understand that it was more to that. If it is true, and vampires can only fall in love once, then I decimated all her chances at love. Stripped her friend, her companion, away from her as soon as I waltzed into the Palace. She had every right to be mad at me, for if someone had done that to Ithuriel, I surely would have felt the same.But here she is helping us, somehow. And for that I could not be more grateful.Upon hearing this, Areen's eyes widen as she leans forward, her hand gripping more firmly round her sceptre. Amusedly, she twiddles her fingers, spindles of magic coiling from their tips."Prince Soren, eh?"
