The Silver Siren (Iron Butterfly 3)

My father, Odin, and Fenri were locked in battle with the five armored soldiers. Tieren’s messenger already lay dead on the ground, an arrow through his heart, his quiver of arrows scattered on the ground. The bow just missed being trampled under the horses’ feet. Odin screamed a war cry, ducking under a sword. He used his axe to swing into his opponent’s back and knock him to the ground.

Bearen was dueling with the largest of the men, but the man’s armor protected him from side blows and deflected the smaller swings. My father wasn’t as lucky—his leathers offered little protection. He was faster than the armored knight, but he was also older.

Odin was the first to go down, a sword in his stomach. Fenri let Odin’s cries of pain distract him, and he missed a parry, slipping on the wet grass.

Bearen roared as he continued battling two of the men.

Not again! I refused to lose any more to battle if I could prevent it. I darted in for the bow and picked up a few scattered arrows. I aimed to pick off each of the warriors in succession, one after another. I knew my gifting would very well lead me to lose control, but in that moment, all I cared about was saving those so important to me. I screamed in pain and frustration as I channeled that destructive power into the arrow and aimed for one man’s beating heart. Faster than I have ever done it before, I released the arrow.

Like a snuffed candle, he was gone.

Each arrow exploded with my rage upon contact. I worked my way out, focusing on those closest to me. The one who had his sword raised to stab Odin again was blasted backward as my next arrow exploded into his chest.

I curled my fingers and turned to Bearen’s attackers. One danced an intricate dance of parries and thrusts, leading my father around to expose his unprotected back to his companion. The other man saw his opening and ran forward to thrust his sword into Bearen. With an enormous magical push, I shoved my father out of the way. Unable to stop his momentum, the enemy stabbed his own comrade. Bearen used the opening to kill the other man while he was distracted. He slid his knife into the soldier’s back and held him until he fell forward to the ground dead.

Fenri had regained his footing and run over to Bearen. Only one man remained. glancing around, he ran for his horse to make a hasty escape. I should have been exhausted, falling over faint with the use of expended energy. I should have been on the verge of blacking out.

Instead, I felt alive. Powerful. And it scared me.

Odin pulled himself up and surveyed his wound. It had apparently missed any major organs. He was already ripping his vest and making a bandage. Since he wasn’t worried, I wasn’t worried.

Fenri turned to yell at me, but I was already moving away from them. I had one particular goal in mind. The messenger. The first one killed. I stared, unfeeling, at the body of the stranger. Maybe I should have felt something akin to pity but I didn’t. Instead, I focused on the leather satchel attached to his side. With a quick flick of my knife, I detached the bag and shoved it under my arm as I ran to Faraway and mounted him.

“Thalia, don’t read those,” Bearen warned, running toward me.

“I won’t if you tell me what they say. Why have you been hiding this from me? If this has something to do with the Septori, then I need to know.” I grabbed the bag and shook it in his face.

Bearen reached for the satchel and tugged it gently from me. “Once a year, he sends a messenger with men demanding that you come to Sinnendor. Every year we refuse. When you were younger he didn’t know your name, just demanded that the child of Thelonia be escorted back. A few years later, he demanded the girl child. Now he asks for you by name.”

“Why?” I gasped.

“I don’t know. There were many things your mother refused to share with me about her past. But I discussed it with the council and we all agreed that we would not respond or give you up. Recently, the demands have come closer together—the first week of each month.” Bearen opened the satchel and pulled out the message. He turned and showed me what was written upon it in fine script.

Bring me Thalia Valdyrstal.

~King Tieren

“That’s it?” I scoffed. “That’s all it says.”

Odin winced as he walked over to me. “It’s exactly as your father says.” He nodded across the field to a large mound of rocks—the kind we used to cover the graves of our fallen members. The one he motioned to was larger than the other, so tall and round it looked like part of an avalanche. “They’ve been coming more frequently over the last few months, and we’ve started leaving fewer and fewer survivors.”

“Does this have to do with Sinnendor’s borders being open?” My mind began to whirl with possibilities.

“As far as we know, the two are separate matters.”

Odin turned to go back to his horse, and I couldn’t help but reach for him and gently touch his side. His face relaxed and he sighed as I sent a healing touch through him, closing up the wound and spending an extra few seconds working on his bruised muscles. “One could definitely get used to this.” He opened his eyes and leaned forward to give me a side hug. “Having my own personal healer would make aging much more enjoyable.”

Bearen watched us with a solemn expression. He looked down at his forearm and the deep cut laced across it. He looked over at Odin and then back at me before he thrust it my way and turned his face away.

I tried not to smile as I ran my hand over the sides. It was easy to coax the body into healing itself. I pushed a little bit of energy toward the wound and watched as it sealed itself up. My father tilted his head just slightly to watch what was happening out of the corner of his eye. When I was done, he held up his arm and flexed his fingers, studying the place where the wound had been with interest. “Yes, and it may be that Tieren knows something more about you than we do.”

I smiled wanly. I was happy that I’d healed my father, but scared of the new turn of events and what it meant for my future. I couldn’t ignore that there was an unending threat that seemed to be closing in on me from every angle. It was only a matter of time before it caught up to me. I just couldn’t guess who would strike the first blow.

King Tieren and his army or the Raven and his Septori.

Chapter 20

The sound of metallic swords clashing and women screaming made me fly out of my room with barely enough clothes to be considered decent. Leaving boots by the door, I grabbed one of my father’s swords and rushed into the street, unsure what I would find.

I was unprepared for the bloodshed. People rushed by, running for cover. Others grabbed weapons, attacking the invaders.

Horses with black-clothed riders flew between houses laying waste to anyone who opposed them. My heart raced as I tried to scan the crowd for my father, but one warrior was too hard to find among the mass of furiously battling clansmen.

Still, something was very wrong. This wasn’t a ragtag band of thieves trying to steal and pillage from my village. They were trained soldiers in black and silver.

HERE! I heard Faraway call to me and I ran over to him, jumping onto him bareback. We rushed into the fray and fought for our lives and for those of my clan. I killed without blinking an eye. I stabbed an attacker in the back as he was about to behead a little one. He fell off of his horse to the ground, and I leapt from Faraway to finish him off—hell bent on saving the child.