Page 149 of Into the Heartless Wood
They come through the smoke and the fire: six of them, silver and shining among the dark trees. My heart seizes and my breath chokes off.
But none of them have violets in their hair.
They are so like her, but they are not her. They are monstrous. She is not.
Oh God.
Oh God.She is not.
The king howls in some awful, mad delight, and swings off his horse. He seizes the captured siren by the throat. “Now to earn your keep, little witch!”
He rips the vines from her mouth with one hand, while he snaps the fingers of his other. A miniature star dances white-hot in his palm.
The clamor of the sirens’ music shrieks around us, tangled with the wind and the howling trees.
The captured siren grins. Opens her mouth.
But before a single note can drop from her lips, the king shoves the star down her throat.
He shouts a word into the air, a word that crackles with heat and magic.
One moment the siren is screaming in agony and her sisters are shrieking their awful music.
The next moment all is silent but for the crackling trees.
The six sirens still stand in the midst of the wood.
But they have stopped singing.
They open their mouths. No sound escapes.
I have only a moment to stare before the king is yanking me down from Luned’s horse.
“A silence spell,” the king says, as if we’re conversing at a dinner party. “To level the playing field. Give my soldiers a fighting chance.”
The siren with roses in her hair collapses to the ground, hands gripping her throat. Her eyes roll wild. She gasps for breath.
“What did you do?” I choke out.
The king shrugs. “Burned her vocal cords. Used magic to counteract the sirens’ song. Silence spell. Now to give myself a little extra boost.”
Suddenly he’s gripping my shoulder so hard I hiss in pain, and yanking the siren’s necklace from his throat. He shoves the orb into my chest.
A scream rips out of me. I’m back in the king’s observatory, his clawed machine sunk into me, scrabbling for my soul.
Pain swallows me. The trees overhead thrash and howl. Dimly, I’m aware of the clash of battle, the snap of wood, of bone.
The king curses, flings me to the ground.
Suddenly I can breathe again.
The orb has shattered in his hands.
“Something stronger than wood magic has bound your soul,” he hisses. “You’re of no use to me. Either of you.” He curses again, stomps on my arm with his boot.
I shriek as the bone snaps, as pain bursts white behind my eyes.
I try to heave myself up with my good arm, turning my head in time to see Elynion drive his knife into the wounded siren’s heart.
