Chimes at Midnight

“We need to block your ears with something,” I said, and held up my own ball of now-bloody sap.

“We have sealing wax,” said Melly.

“Good, that should work even better than the sap I scraped off the trees outside.” I shook my head, fighting the urge to rub my throat, which itched as it healed. “Once you’re safely unable to hear, I need you to gate me back into the receiving hall. Do you think you can land us behind the throne?”

“Why? You’re not going to kill her, are you?” Her mismatched eyes narrowed. “Because that would be too easy, after what she’s done.”

It was comforting to know that that was her only argument. “No, and I promise, what I am going to do isn’t very nice.”

Melly stepped toward Arden, bobbing a seemingly automatic curtsy as she held out a small tin of sealing wax. “For milady.”

“Cool,” said Arden, smiling her thanks as she dug out a ball of wax and stuffed it into her ears.

“Ready?” I asked, tucking the sap back into my own ears.

Arden looked at me uncomprehendingly.

“At least I know she can’t hear me,” I muttered, before flashing an exaggerated double thumbs-up at her.

This time, Arden nodded her understanding and began to transcribe a circle in the air. Melly caught my arm as I started forward.

“Be careful?” she mouthed, voice muffled by the sap.

“I’ll try,” I said, and kept going. The smell of Arden’s magic rose around us, and together, she and I stepped through the gate.

Her aim was good: we appeared behind the throne, where the Queen was standing, gesturing wildly at her thralls as her mouth moved in silent instruction. May was still lying facedown on the floor. I hoped she was just playing possum, although there was no way for me to check.

“Hey,” I snapped, stepping around the throne and grabbing the Queen by the arm. My fingers left spreading red prints on the sleeve of her gown. “Miss me?”

The Queen turned to stare at me, moonstruck eyes gone wide with surprise and a note of genuine fear. She yelled, probably demanding someone come and save her. I ignored her, raising my other hand to my mouth and sucking the still-damp blood from the space between my thumb and forefinger. Then, before she could pull away, I pulled her close, locking my arm around her neck, and drove my knife into her shoulder.

She held me like that once, when she was threatening my life. But she didn’t actually stab me, and she certainly wouldn’t have started kissing the wound if she had. My magic rose around us and she screamed, putting every bit of her Banshee heritage into the sound. It was loud enough that I heard her even through the sap.

That still wasn’t loud enough to matter.

The only way to break a Siren’s spell was to remove the Siren. There were two ways I could do that. I could break Oberon’s Law, and kill her . . . or I could pull the Siren out of her and set them all free. It seemed like a terrible choice to make for someone else. She hadn’t left me any other options. Reaching deep into her blood, I found the pieces of her heritage, the places where Banshee and Siren and Sea Wight collided. And I began to work.

The threads were so tangled that it was almost impossible to find the place where one ended and the next began. There was more Sea Wight than anything else, and so I started with that, pulling and stretching the shape of it as I pulled the Siren away. There was Banshee in the mix, and I hesitated. Removing that would have made her harmless . . . but it would have taken this from a necessary invasion to a violation. I left her Banshee blood intact, and kept working.