He wasn’t surprised by much these days, but the Circe coming back into his cell was an unwelcomed surprise. His neck was freed and he was lifted to face them, held up by two sirens on either side of him.
Dizziness made the Circe’s faces blend into one and then separate into six. Funny, that.
Except he was hungry and being upright made his stomach turn like one of those fun house rides at Stone Mountain. Fuck. He was going to hurl.
His body lurched and he dry heaved at their feet. There was nothing to come out but spit and bile; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.
The Circe stepped back. He laughed at them.
“Niérian is much stronger than we thought.”
“Perhaps better used in other ways, sisters.”
“This human will be our leverage. We must know her secrets.”
“Shall we torture her first?”
“Surely she will break much quicker than a son of Elekti-Kairos.”
“Surely.” One of the bitches grabbed his face. “What is she to you, Malakim?”
“Release me, witch, and after I dismember you and strangle you with your own guts, I’ll have mercy and throw your remains into the sea.” He grinned at her, wanting her to fight him, wanting to lash out, even if it killed him. He wanted her death so badly, he could taste it.
She smiled at him. A beautiful smile. Evil to the core. Her grip tightened and then she looked down at his chest where he had clawed the marking. “You are linked to this human.”
“Yes, but how are you linked?” another one said, which made him frown in confusion.
“He doesn’t remember.”
He hated that they spoke of him like this, so plainly, as though he did not exist. He struggled against the guards. “He is right here, morons.”
For that he received a punch in the stomach by one of the guards, followed by an uppercut to the jaw. Without support, his legs were too weak to hold him and he collapsed onto the floor. Onto his back. He screamed in pain and rolled to his side, the shock of it stealing his breath, and then the kick to his back sent him to blackness.
He came to on his back, his entire body humming with pain; three faces stared down at him, chanting in the most beautiful melody and tone he had ever heard. Each reached down and touched him with their pointer finger. One on the forehead, one on the left temple, and the other on the right temple.
Bright light blinded him. And then he saw flashes. Of the woman in his dreams. But these visions, they conflicted with the ones he’d had before. Of her sitting on a couch . . .
“Do you love him?” someone, a female, asked her.
“No.”
Then other visions, bits and pieces of her, laughing at him, thinking him dim-witted and slow. Using him to get what she wanted. He heard himself groan. He didn’t like these things. These confusing things that somehow had the power to hurt him.
“Who wouldn’t want a siren in their bed?” the Circe’s voice echoed inside of his head. “You are but a trophy, a thing to be used, so she can say she had you.”
“She doesn’t love you.”
“She doesn’t respect you.”
“She believes you to be lesser than siren, not raised as a siren, not taught as a siren, not educated or sophisticated.”
And it was all true. He had fled Fiallan as an adult male with not even the most basic knowledge about how to live or care for himself. He’d had to learn it all from a hermit in the woods of Gorsedd.
The conflict inside of him pushed like a living thing at his chest until he demanded they stop.
“Do as we say, Niérian, and you shall reclaim the honor your treachery stole from your family. Do as we say and the name of Elekti-Kairos will be exonerated with honor and your estate reclaimed.”
“Fuck you,” he said, knowing they lied.
“Do as we say,” the voice whispered softly against his ear, “and we will release you from the NecroNaMoria. Your soul will find peace, Niérian. Peace.”
Peace was more than a word, an idea, or state of being. It was a place. Something he’d seen for himself, felt for himself, a glimpse of true heaven, true paradise for his broken soul. His will cracked, just a small fissure, but a crack that spread. All he had to do was agree.
But then, he could always kill the bitches instead and release the spell that way. If only he had the strength within him. He was one siren against three of the most powerful siren witches in history, and they’d made sure his body was weak and drained.
“Remember what it feels like, siren,” the beautiful voices whispered as one, one so powerful the temptation-laced words made him shudder. “Your soul free from the confines of your body. Aren’t you tired, Niérian? Of the pain, the regret, the longing and guilt? We offer you freedom, the infinite beauty, the absence of all but peace . . . Stillness. Serenity. Silence.”
And that’s when he caved, when he couldn’t fight it anymore because he had tasted paradise so many times his heart and his soul wept for it. Those brief encounters with freedom haunted him, destroyed him. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes and his throat tightened, but not before he said, “Agreed.”
“You’ll do anything we ask of you?”
He glared at them, all the hate he felt burning his eyes. “Yes. Anything.”
* * * “Hello! Anyone out there?” I kicked the door, glared lasers at it, and then kicked it some more. If I had my boots I could really make some noise. As it was, my bare feet only made the hinges rattle. “Come on!” I yelled. “You have a prisoner in here in case you fucking forgot!”
If it wasn’t for Sachâth hounding my every power move, I’d use my freakish fireball of an arm and burn my way free. But then passing out in the hallway where I’d be found and confined again wouldn’t really do me any good.
“Ugh!” Hours of waiting. Hours of wondering. If they were going to interrogate me, then: “Get it over with already!” I wanted a fight, to avenge Hank, to give the Circe a taste of their own medicine, but they weren’t going to oblige. I kicked the door again and marched back to the wall to sit down. I drew my knees to my chest and pulled the fabric of the white gown around my legs.
I closed my eyes. Okay, chill. Find your Happy Place.
Of course, my Happy Place was Emma, which was a bad idea. I was too charged, too emotional. I really should have a backup Happy Place where things were good and warm and—my stomach growled—and satisfying. Ooh. Like Aeva buns. The Happy Imp Bakery where all things were fluffy, white, and delicious.
I rested my forehead on my folded arms and imagined myself lounging on white clouds, eating an Aeva bun, savoring every bite, every sugary flavor . . . Finally, I felt exhaustion easing its way into my body and mind.
* * * 
