Chapter 180: 180
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"Prince Soren, eh?" Areen muses with a knowing glare, sharp teeth flashing with each word like the fangs of a piranha gnashing for more. "A long time going since I have seen that handsome devil," she laughs wickedly to herself, spinning her finger in a whirlpool motion as wisps of swirling white magic spiral from its point.
The pearly shimmers of magic spin through the water in a flurry of snow like shards, forming shape and pose into a blurry cognition, until it at last condenses into something tangible- a shape so familiar that for a moment, I find myself captivated. The illusion flickers around the room, humming gently under its breath, springing up among merfolk and around hordes of darting fish, dancing and waltzing its way around the court with practised elegance. Such detail there is to this illusion that it appears almost like a memory, or some hazy vision, finetuned and carved out with the loving fondness of its creator.
Eyes watch it as it goes, trailing every step of this dark vision, flashing yellow eyes and pale skin with each blurred motion. Areen directs her fingers towards me and the illusion sways across the room towards me- but I do not have time to indulge myself in such trivial matters as illusions- not to mention illusions of him.
As soon as it approaches me, I flick it away with the tip of my finger, magic sparking as my skin collides with it, and the illusion scatters into a fine dust.
"We have no time for games, Areen. Not when Soren's life is on the line. But if you are so intent on making a mockery of that then I will have no choice but to find the object I seek by myself," I snarl, flashing her an icy look as I fold my arms despairingly over myself, gritting my teeth to clamp in any further undignified remarks. The nerve she has to insult me in such a way- insult my husband no less. The more I look upon this icy witch of the undersea, gaze upon her ruthless and cold expression, the unforgiving nature of her words, the more I am inclined to believe that passivity will not serve me here.
Perhaps I will have to be more forceful about matters after all.
I mean, here I am, standing in front of one of the most feared creatures of the underseas, the fate of Faey on the line, and she has the nerve to mess me about with illusions of my husband? How truly despicable.
"My husband," I seethe, anger inside me rising like a bubbling volcano of emotions, heating up my body with an ill and unrestrained power. A golden glow flares up around me, casting dark shadows and bright iridescent light spinning out against the watery walls, causing merfolk to shy away in response. But I don't care. If they believe they have the nerve, the authority, to even consider messing with me, then they are about to be proven horribly, horribly wrong.
"The new King of Sezeria, has been taken against his will, and is currently being held hostage, potentially even about to be killed, right under this palace. My best friend has been taken, and the entire court of Sezeria has been wiped from existence. So if you think it is even remotely funny to play with me," I say, pointing my finger at her, sparks flickering ardently from my form, zipping outwards towards the smug and smiling Siren Queen, biting just inches shy of her form. As quickly as it came, the smile is wiped off of Areen's face.
"I would strongly advise you to think again. I could crush you into cinders if I liked, and perhaps I should for messing me around, but a life of mortality has taught me that kindness goes a long way. So I deplore you to aid me, or so help me, we are all screwed."
Silence settles across the court room like a mist of ash after an explosion. There is no movement, no words, not even a whisper of a voice, all except a steadily rising tension, and the frozen forms of my two friends shocked into horror beside me.
Areen looks like she is going to explode. Her pale face is flushed with a livid red, her eyes bulging, fingers clenching and unclenching periodically around her sceptre, although imagining it were my throat instead. It is no secret that she would very much like to butcher me for my words, that much is evident from her face alone. But before she can, Delina steps forward, bowing her head low, a pleading note in her voice, laced with the edges of tears.
"Please, Grandmother, you have to help us. Otherwise Soren… he is going to die. We all are."
For a good few moments, Areen remains stoic and unmoving, a grim expression lacing the hard lines of her face. Kal and I share a desperate look, a flicker of anxiety bolting through us, hoping against all hope that Areen might just concede and help us out after all. I do not wish to cause much more of a scene here- this is not an environment I would willingly like to corrupt with the devastating power of my magic, but if Areen does not reply soon, what other choice will I have?
A frigid tap springs up around the room- Areen's nails on her sceptre, as she pushes herself from her seat, tail cutting through the water in a series of harsh strokes, closing the gap between us in several swift motions. She tops a few inches before us, her mouth pressed into a hard line, no sign of relenting displayed anywhere on her features. Then, more carefully than I would have imagined, she takes Delina by the hand, gives a swift but small smile and utters:
"Granddaughter," she prompts, causing Delina's eyes to snap upwards towards her grandmother, wide but not fearful.
"Yes?"
"You want to get to the entrance, correct?" she states, raising a hand to curl around the silky locks of Delina's hair, oddly affectionate, and extremely out of place for such a cruel looking woman. But I suppose even tyrants have their moments- I best would know that. With an obvious hesitation, Delina bows her head in acknowledgement.
"Please, Grandmother. You have to let us go, the Prince is in danger, and who knows who else if we don't hurry. You have to trust us on this one, my companions aren't lying to you, I promise." she insists, giving us both a grateful and reassuring look, before her gaze returns to her grandmother, pleading and wide.
There is a stagnant silence that arises around us, punctuated only by the rise of fall of motion as Kal attempts to steady his breath, and the darting of tiny, miniscule fish among the crystal chandeliers. Even the guards stationed at each entrance do not dare to breathe, their bodies as rigid as marble statues, faces pale as a wintry storm, the blood fading from the extremities.
But Delina, for all her credit, stands firm, facing the towering siren like a knight to a mighty dragon, her angled cheeks flushed with exhilaration, her red eyes sparkling with an untold fiery passion.
At last, her grandmother sighs, turning to Kal and I, her face hardening once more.
"Alright. Usually I would not bother myself in such arduous matters, but it seems to upset my granddaughter, and so I shall show you what it is you seek. But I never, ever, want to see your faces down here again, got it?" Areen demands, prodding two fingers in our direction angrily, her cold eyes flashing with pent up wrath, a rage at being manipulated into a will that is not her own. Frantically, Kal nods his head, eager not to displease her. I however, merely lower my eyes, not keen on giving this Queen any more praise than she rightly deserves.
"Don't worry, you won't," I say simply, and leave it at that.
"The gods have mercy on us after all," Kal whispers beside me, clutching his hands together in silent prayer. "I thought she was going to eat us alive."
"I still might," Areen warns stiffly as she turns from us, trailing off to the left towards an empty corridor at the side of the throne room. A shudder runs through Kal at these words, a shiver at the absolute conviction of them. For a moment his gaze is rendered unfocused, no doubt wondering over the many ways in which Areen could and would potentially 'eat us alive'.
Perhaps as a full course meal, starting at the head and ending at the feet, or maybe she would make a broth, a concoction of the two of us and feed us out to her people. I myself never really took it upon myself to learn the ways of a siren whenever I fished around the libraries of Illistrae- they were never really a problem to me, and I never deemed them quite as interesting as their landwalking counterparts. I was always a vampire person myself, but Ithuriel… he could name every species, and even every sub species of Folk if you asked him to- and frequently would on our rare but treasured walks inside the borders of my clan.
He even made a book, a field guide of sorts, called: "The Folk of Faey" depicting the many Folk he had met in his downtime around Illistrae, or ones he had learnt about and hoped to meet. Once I even managed to steal a glance at his book- 'a work in progress' he would call it. The extent of the detail truly surprised me. I learnt more about Ithuriel that day than any other. The book was beautiful, filled with detailed sketches and notes about all the creatures, some painted, some only shaded with graphite, but either way, it was a sight to behold.
Silently, I lower my eyes, gazing down at the sword at my hip, desperately hoping to the heavens that wherever Ithuriel is now, he is okay, and safe. But knowing Azrael, and his blatant disregard for mortal life, my hopes aren't set high.
Just let him be alive, I pray inwardly.. Let him be alive.
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"Prince Soren, eh?" Areen muses with a knowing glare, sharp teeth flashing with each word like the fangs of a piranha gnashing for more. "A long time going since I have seen that handsome devil," she laughs wickedly to herself, spinning her finger in a whirlpool motion as wisps of swirling white magic spiral from its point.
The pearly shimmers of magic spin through the water in a flurry of snow like shards, forming shape and pose into a blurry cognition, until it at last condenses into something tangible- a shape so familiar that for a moment, I find myself captivated. The illusion flickers around the room, humming gently under its breath, springing up among merfolk and around hordes of darting fish, dancing and waltzing its way around the court with practised elegance. Such detail there is to this illusion that it appears almost like a memory, or some hazy vision, finetuned and carved out with the loving fondness of its creator.
Eyes watch it as it goes, trailing every step of this dark vision, flashing yellow eyes and pale skin with each blurred motion. Areen directs her fingers towards me and the illusion sways across the room towards me- but I do not have time to indulge myself in such trivial matters as illusions- not to mention illusions of him.
As soon as it approaches me, I flick it away with the tip of my finger, magic sparking as my skin collides with it, and the illusion scatters into a fine dust.
"We have no time for games, Areen. Not when Soren's life is on the line. But if you are so intent on making a mockery of that then I will have no choice but to find the object I seek by myself," I snarl, flashing her an icy look as I fold my arms despairingly over myself, gritting my teeth to clamp in any further undignified remarks. The nerve she has to insult me in such a way- insult my husband no less. The more I look upon this icy witch of the undersea, gaze upon her ruthless and cold expression, the unforgiving nature of her words, the more I am inclined to believe that passivity will not serve me here.
Perhaps I will have to be more forceful about matters after all.
I mean, here I am, standing in front of one of the most feared creatures of the underseas, the fate of Faey on the line, and she has the nerve to mess me about with illusions of my husband? How truly despicable.
"My husband," I seethe, anger inside me rising like a bubbling volcano of emotions, heating up my body with an ill and unrestrained power. A golden glow flares up around me, casting dark shadows and bright iridescent light spinning out against the watery walls, causing merfolk to shy away in response. But I don't care. If they believe they have the nerve, the authority, to even consider messing with me, then they are about to be proven horribly, horribly wrong.
"The new King of Sezeria, has been taken against his will, and is currently being held hostage, potentially even about to be killed, right under this palace. My best friend has been taken, and the entire court of Sezeria has been wiped from existence. So if you think it is even remotely funny to play with me," I say, pointing my finger at her, sparks flickering ardently from my form, zipping outwards towards the smug and smiling Siren Queen, biting just inches shy of her form. As quickly as it came, the smile is wiped off of Areen's face.
"I would strongly advise you to think again. I could crush you into cinders if I liked, and perhaps I should for messing me around, but a life of mortality has taught me that kindness goes a long way. So I deplore you to aid me, or so help me, we are all screwed."
Silence settles across the court room like a mist of ash after an explosion. There is no movement, no words, not even a whisper of a voice, all except a steadily rising tension, and the frozen forms of my two friends shocked into horror beside me.
Areen looks like she is going to explode. Her pale face is flushed with a livid red, her eyes bulging, fingers clenching and unclenching periodically around her sceptre, although imagining it were my throat instead. It is no secret that she would very much like to butcher me for my words, that much is evident from her face alone. But before she can, Delina steps forward, bowing her head low, a pleading note in her voice, laced with the edges of tears.
"Please, Grandmother, you have to help us. Otherwise Soren… he is going to die. We all are."
For a good few moments, Areen remains stoic and unmoving, a grim expression lacing the hard lines of her face. Kal and I share a desperate look, a flicker of anxiety bolting through us, hoping against all hope that Areen might just concede and help us out after all. I do not wish to cause much more of a scene here- this is not an environment I would willingly like to corrupt with the devastating power of my magic, but if Areen does not reply soon, what other choice will I have?
A frigid tap springs up around the room- Areen's nails on her sceptre, as she pushes herself from her seat, tail cutting through the water in a series of harsh strokes, closing the gap between us in several swift motions. She tops a few inches before us, her mouth pressed into a hard line, no sign of relenting displayed anywhere on her features. Then, more carefully than I would have imagined, she takes Delina by the hand, gives a swift but small smile and utters:
"Granddaughter," she prompts, causing Delina's eyes to snap upwards towards her grandmother, wide but not fearful.
"Yes?"
"You want to get to the entrance, correct?" she states, raising a hand to curl around the silky locks of Delina's hair, oddly affectionate, and extremely out of place for such a cruel looking woman. But I suppose even tyrants have their moments- I best would know that. With an obvious hesitation, Delina bows her head in acknowledgement.
"Please, Grandmother. You have to let us go, the Prince is in danger, and who knows who else if we don't hurry. You have to trust us on this one, my companions aren't lying to you, I promise." she insists, giving us both a grateful and reassuring look, before her gaze returns to her grandmother, pleading and wide.
There is a stagnant silence that arises around us, punctuated only by the rise of fall of motion as Kal attempts to steady his breath, and the darting of tiny, miniscule fish among the crystal chandeliers. Even the guards stationed at each entrance do not dare to breathe, their bodies as rigid as marble statues, faces pale as a wintry storm, the blood fading from the extremities.
But Delina, for all her credit, stands firm, facing the towering siren like a knight to a mighty dragon, her angled cheeks flushed with exhilaration, her red eyes sparkling with an untold fiery passion.
At last, her grandmother sighs, turning to Kal and I, her face hardening once more.
"Alright. Usually I would not bother myself in such arduous matters, but it seems to upset my granddaughter, and so I shall show you what it is you seek. But I never, ever, want to see your faces down here again, got it?" Areen demands, prodding two fingers in our direction angrily, her cold eyes flashing with pent up wrath, a rage at being manipulated into a will that is not her own. Frantically, Kal nods his head, eager not to displease her. I however, merely lower my eyes, not keen on giving this Queen any more praise than she rightly deserves.
"Don't worry, you won't," I say simply, and leave it at that.
"The gods have mercy on us after all," Kal whispers beside me, clutching his hands together in silent prayer. "I thought she was going to eat us alive."
"I still might," Areen warns stiffly as she turns from us, trailing off to the left towards an empty corridor at the side of the throne room. A shudder runs through Kal at these words, a shiver at the absolute conviction of them. For a moment his gaze is rendered unfocused, no doubt wondering over the many ways in which Areen could and would potentially 'eat us alive'.
Perhaps as a full course meal, starting at the head and ending at the feet, or maybe she would make a broth, a concoction of the two of us and feed us out to her people. I myself never really took it upon myself to learn the ways of a siren whenever I fished around the libraries of Illistrae- they were never really a problem to me, and I never deemed them quite as interesting as their landwalking counterparts. I was always a vampire person myself, but Ithuriel… he could name every species, and even every sub species of Folk if you asked him to- and frequently would on our rare but treasured walks inside the borders of my clan.
He even made a book, a field guide of sorts, called: "The Folk of Faey" depicting the many Folk he had met in his downtime around Illistrae, or ones he had learnt about and hoped to meet. Once I even managed to steal a glance at his book- 'a work in progress' he would call it. The extent of the detail truly surprised me. I learnt more about Ithuriel that day than any other. The book was beautiful, filled with detailed sketches and notes about all the creatures, some painted, some only shaded with graphite, but either way, it was a sight to behold.
Silently, I lower my eyes, gazing down at the sword at my hip, desperately hoping to the heavens that wherever Ithuriel is now, he is okay, and safe. But knowing Azrael, and his blatant disregard for mortal life, my hopes aren't set high.
Just let him be alive, I pray inwardly.. Let him be alive.
"Prince Soren, eh?" Areen muses with a knowing glare, sharp teeth flashing with each word like the fangs of a piranha gnashing for more. "A long time going since I have seen that handsome devil," she laughs wickedly to herself, spinning her finger in a whirlpool motion as wisps of swirling white magic spiral from its point. The pearly shimmers of magic spin through the water in a flurry of snow like shards, forming shape and pose into a blurry cognition, until it at last condenses into something tangible- a shape so familiar that for a moment, I find myself captivated. The illusion flickers around the room, humming gently under its breath, springing up among merfolk and around hordes of darting fish, dancing and waltzing its way around the court with practised elegance. Such detail there is to this illusion that it appears almost like a memory, or some hazy vision, finetuned and carved out with the loving fondness of its creator. Eyes watch it as it goes, trailing every step of this dark vision, flashing yellow eyes and pale skin with each blurred motion. Areen directs her fingers towards me and the illusion sways across the room towards me- but I do not have time to indulge myself in such trivial matters as illusions- not to mention illusions of him. As soon as it approaches me, I flick it away with the tip of my finger, magic sparking as my skin collides with it, and the illusion scatters into a fine dust."We have no time for games, Areen. Not when Soren's life is on the line. But if you are so intent on making a mockery of that then I will have no choice but to find the object I seek by myself," I snarl, flashing her an icy look as I fold my arms despairingly over myself, gritting my teeth to clamp in any further undignified remarks. The nerve she has to insult me in such a way- insult my husband no less. The more I look upon this icy witch of the undersea, gaze upon her ruthless and cold expression, the unforgiving nature of her words, the more I am inclined to believe that passivity will not serve me here.Perhaps I will have to be more forceful about matters after all.I mean, here I am, standing in front of one of the most feared creatures of the underseas, the fate of Faey on the line, and she has the nerve to mess me about with illusions of my husband? How truly despicable."My husband," I seethe, anger inside me rising like a bubbling volcano of emotions, heating up my body with an ill and unrestrained power. A golden glow flares up around me, casting dark shadows and bright iridescent light spinning out against the watery walls, causing merfolk to shy away in response. But I don't care. If they believe they have the nerve, the authority, to even consider messing with me, then they are about to be proven horribly, horribly wrong."The new King of Sezeria, has been taken against his will, and is currently being held hostage, potentially even about to be killed, right under this palace. My best friend has been taken, and the entire court of Sezeria has been wiped from existence. So if you think it is even remotely funny to play with me," I say, pointing my finger at her, sparks flickering ardently from my form, zipping outwards towards the smug and smiling Siren Queen, biting just inches shy of her form. As quickly as it came, the smile is wiped off of Areen's face."I would strongly advise you to think again. I could crush you into cinders if I liked, and perhaps I should for messing me around, but a life of mortality has taught me that kindness goes a long way. So I deplore you to aid me, or so help me, we are all screwed."Silence settles across the court room like a mist of ash after an explosion. There is no movement, no words, not even a whisper of a voice, all except a steadily rising tension, and the frozen forms of my two friends shocked into horror beside me.Areen looks like she is going to explode. Her pale face is flushed with a livid red, her eyes bulging, fingers clenching and unclenching periodically around her sceptre, although imagining it were my throat instead. It is no secret that she would very much like to butcher me for my words, that much is evident from her face alone. But before she can, Delina steps forward, bowing her head low, a pleading note in her voice, laced with the edges of tears."Please, Grandmother, you have to help us. Otherwise Soren he is going to die. We all are."For a good few moments, Areen remains stoic and unmoving, a grim expression lacing the hard lines of her face. Kal and I share a desperate look, a flicker of anxiety bolting through us, hoping against all hope that Areen might just concede and help us out after all. I do not wish to cause much more of a scene here- this is not an environment I would willingly like to corrupt with the devastating power of my magic, but if Areen does not reply soon, what other choice will I have?A frigid tap springs up around the room- Areen's nails on her sceptre, as she pushes herself from her seat, tail cutting through the water in a series of harsh strokes, closing the gap between us in several swift motions. She tops a few inches before us, her mouth pressed into a hard line, no sign of relenting displayed anywhere on her features. Then, more carefully than I would have imagined, she takes Delina by the hand, gives a swift but small smile and utters:"Granddaughter," she prompts, causing Delina's eyes to snap upwards towards her grandmother, wide but not fearful."Yes?""You want to get to the entrance, correct?" she states, raising a hand to curl around the silky locks of Delina's hair, oddly affectionate, and extremely out of place for such a cruel looking woman. But I suppose even tyrants have their moments- I best would know that. With an obvious hesitation, Delina bows her head in acknowledgement. "Please, Grandmother. You have to let us go, the Prince is in danger, and who knows who else if we don't hurry. You have to trust us on this one, my companions aren't lying to you, I promise." she insists, giving us both a grateful and reassuring look, before her gaze returns to her grandmother, pleading and wide.There is a stagnant silence that arises around us, punctuated only by the rise of fall of motion as Kal attempts to steady his breath, and the darting of tiny, miniscule fish among the crystal chandeliers. Even the guards stationed at each entrance do not dare to breathe, their bodies as rigid as marble statues, faces pale as a wintry storm, the blood fading from the extremities. But Delina, for all her credit, stands firm, facing the towering siren like a knight to a mighty dragon, her angled cheeks flushed with exhilaration, her red eyes sparkling with an untold fiery passion.At last, her grandmother sighs, turning to Kal and I, her face hardening once more."Alright. Usually I would not bother myself in such arduous matters, but it seems to upset my granddaughter, and so I shall show you what it is you seek. But I never, ever, want to see your faces down here again, got it?" Areen demands, prodding two fingers in our direction angrily, her cold eyes flashing with pent up wrath, a rage at being manipulated into a will that is not her own. Frantically, Kal nods his head, eager not to displease her. I however, merely lower my eyes, not keen on giving this Queen any more praise than she rightly deserves."Don't worry, you won't," I say simply, and leave it at that."The gods have mercy on us after all," Kal whispers beside me, clutching his hands together in silent prayer. "I thought she was going to eat us alive.""I still might," Areen warns stiffly as she turns from us, trailing off to the left towards an empty corridor at the side of the throne room. A shudder runs through Kal at these words, a shiver at the absolute conviction of them. For a moment his gaze is rendered unfocused, no doubt wondering over the many ways in which Areen could and would potentially 'eat us alive'. Perhaps as a full course meal, starting at the head and ending at the feet, or maybe she would make a broth, a concoction of the two of us and feed us out to her people. I myself never really took it upon myself to learn the ways of a siren whenever I fished around the libraries of Illistrae- they were never really a problem to me, and I never deemed them quite as interesting as their landwalking counterparts. I was always a vampire person myself, but Ithuriel he could name every species, and even every sub species of Folk if you asked him to- and frequently would on our rare but treasured walks inside the borders of my clan.He even made a book, a field guide of sorts, called: "The Folk of Faey" depicting the many Folk he had met in his downtime around Illistrae, or ones he had learnt about and hoped to meet. Once I even managed to steal a glance at his book- 'a work in progress' he would call it. The extent of the detail truly surprised me. I learnt more about Ithuriel that day than any other. The book was beautiful, filled with detailed sketches and notes about all the creatures, some painted, some only shaded with graphite, but either way, it was a sight to behold.Silently, I lower my eyes, gazing down at the sword at my hip, desperately hoping to the heavens that wherever Ithuriel is now, he is okay, and safe. But knowing Azrael, and his blatant disregard for mortal life, my hopes aren't set high.Just let him be alive, I pray inwardly.. Let him be alive.
