A Duet with the Siren Duke (Married to Magic, #4)

by Elise Kova

The sea will devour me, if given the chance. If not the waves and currents, or sharp-toothed animals, then the ghosts and monsters that haunt its depths.

If the cost of my happiness is the world’s judgment, then it is a price I’ll pay.

I gather whatever is left of the brave young woman I once was and race into the water, leaping into the rowboat.

I’ve never felt so weak and…if I manage to escape him…I will never let myself feel weak ever again.

He doesn’t love me. He never did. He loves feeling needed. Important. What he loves is knowing that at any time of day, I am there to be whatever he wants. That I am here on this rock every time he leaves and am waiting every time he returns.

He made me feel special. Feel…important. Desirable. All the things a young woman who never saw enough value in herself wanted. But none of it was a “need.” I was fine without him.

Meeting Charles’s eyes, I release the oars and stand. I am not the girl he knew. I want him to see me as powerful as the rolling sea beneath me that he fears so much. I want him to finally acknowledge the woman I’ve become. I don’t care if it’s all an act and I feel like a fractured pane of glass, only held together by tension. All that matters is he believes me.

He takes another step, shaking his head slowly. He no longer sees me as one of the living. I am in the sea and without protection for my ears. I am dead to him.

The singer is masculine, a rich bass finer than any I’ve ever heard. He holds low notes, full of mourning and longing. As if he sings to the whole expanse of the sea…to every cold, lost soul condemned to its depths. A smile cracks my wind-battered lips. He sounds so sad. So broken. So much like me.

He beholds me in the manner one would a god, as if the world starts and ends with me, here in this singular moment.

“Very well. I will save you. But it will be at a great cost to me and my magic, so it will bear a steep price. In five years’ time, I will come to claim what is mine.”

Five years to see the world with nothing holding me back. Five years of freedom. Or death.

Around my left forearm are swirls of magenta and gold. The former is nearly the shade of my dress and contrasts starkly with the hue of my skin; the latter nearly blends in. They are the same tattooed outlines that were on his right arm. A mirror.

“An offering, Of life so fine, Unto the old And ancient divine. Er’y corner of the land, Er’y depth of the sea, Shall open unto thee. No plant nor man, Bird nor beast, Shall hold you back when you desire release.”

Charles no doubt thinks me dead, which means he won’t report me as abandoning my marriage contract to the council. As long as no one knows I’m alive…I am finally free. Five years of freedom on a siren’s boon. Five years for the adventure I’ve always wanted. Practically an eternity…

There’s only one person in the world now who uses that name…and it’s purely out of spite.

I sink my chin into my palm. Somewhere between smug and sultry. My confidence makes them all the angrier.

I’d be more loved in Tenvrath if I were a murderer than as an oath breaker.

I became a sailor thinking that I might meet the siren again. To learn how to use the power or, perhaps, barter better for my life. But all the rumors of the sirens are of monsters. Every whisper and bit of lore is of beasts that ravage the seas.

The only siren songs that have any effect on me are the ones sung in his voice.

“I’ve had my love story.” As pathetic as it was. “It didn’t work out. That’s fine. There are more stories to write than just love. I’ve more important things to focus on.”

I believed those words once, that I “deserved” a happily ever after. That everyone did, whatever it looked like for each person. But now I see it for what it was: a child’s daydreams. The real world is harsh, and cruel. Things don’t always work out, no matter how hard you try, or beg.

All my crew has escaped some kind of hardship and misfortune. There are women and men who fled from their own partners—situations much worse than I was in with Charles. There are daughters and sons who escaped from homes filled with hate and depravity. Some I freed from debtors’ prisons like the ones I’m trying to spare my family from.

“There’s no way. Not after what we’re paid.” I finally admit my long-standing secret. “I…usually cut my pay into a third.” “What?” Lynn, a deckhand, signs slowly.

“If the whole crew pitches in our shares for this run, that should get you close, shouldn’t it?”

There’s no one out there that would love me, not as I am. No person who would set my soul aflame with a touch. A person who would love me—all of me, the good and bad and all the ugly bits, no matter what.

a large bell deep in the hull of the ship—a miniature version of what I would ring in the lighthouse to disrupt the siren songs.

As long as I’ve been out on my own, the compass has guided me. It was the first thing I bought for myself with money I earned.

Come to me. It’s a whisper, in a language I feel more than I know.

“Our offering is as easy to hold onto as an enraged eel. The sooner we get her in her cage, the better.” Excuse me? I lean away from him enough to sign, “In my cage?”

“I found you practically dead. I saved you from sirens that were possessed by wraiths. I gave you my personal blessing during five more years’ time than you would have had otherwise. Yet you still ask for more?” “I ask for what I’m owed,” I insist,

The joke is on him. I’ve never been enough for anyone. Not to save a marriage, or my family, or my crew. It seems he picked the worst possible person for this sacrifice.

“Once you master telepathy—if you’re able to master it at all—you’ll be able to speak with only the people you want. Though, if you master anything first, I’d suggest it’s learning how to keep the majority of your thoughts to yourself.” He has a slight smile, not unkind.

“Wedged between the Veil and the Fade, sustained by Lady Lellia of the Lifetree and guarded by Lord Krokan of the Abyss, we are not like the others of Midscape. Our magic is older than even the vampir. Though I’m sure they would argue otherwise. It is a hobby of many of the peoples of Midscape to debate whose magic is oldest and most powerful.”

“Sit.” Ilryth points to the center of the room, where a lone pedestal stands. I fold my arms and don’t move. “Say please.” “Excuse me?” “Aren’t you a noble duke? Where are your manners?”

“Excuse me?” I lean back and he releases me. A wise choice. “I will need to anoint all of you. I cannot do that if you are wearing clothing.” I fold my arms, as if to press my shirt onto me. “Do you often ask ladies you hardly know for them to remove their clothes?” “I don’t ‘hardly know’ you.” Before I can object, he continues, more impatient, “Now, your shirt.”

“I am not supposed to touch you,” he murmurs. “Why?” “No one is. The offering must sever all ties to this world.”

I reach for my compass to check. My hand hits the empty pocket on my thigh that’s usually reserved for it. It’s gone. It sank with my ship. My compass was the first thing I ever truly bought for myself. It helped me find my way for almost five years… Now, I must find my own direction.

I look back at the cage for a second, betrayed. How dare you, I want to say. I had been trying all night to escape and now the magic snaps. Rude.

“He went with warriors.” “Yes, if they go, he goes.” I can respect a man who doesn’t order others to do something he wouldn’t do himself.

Every duchy has their own primary responsibility to the Eversea. There’s the Duchy of Faith, of Hunt, of Scholarship, of Craftsmen, and of Spears. Of course, each duchy is expected to be self-sustaining. But they specialize in unique areas to cover the gaps of the other duchies. They are led by a chorus composed of all five dukes or duchesses, the eldest of the bunch serving as our king or queen when a single head of state is needed,”

Ghosts will still have their wits about them—they’re a more intact soul, still. Wraiths are ghosts that lost themselves and now only carry hate and violence. They cause turmoil within the living and, once they’ve weakened a soul, can destroy it to possess the body.”

“Why wasn’t the duke wearing any armor?” Sheel presses his mouth into a hard line. “There’s not enough to go around.” “He forfeits his armor to his men so that they might be more protected,” I realize.

It’s been half a decade since I’ve been over a man and the radiant heat of his body serves as a vivid reminder. The coiling need is all too happy to ignore the blatant fact that now is very much not the time or place.

This must be the Lifetree and its beach that Sheel was just describing. But why…how am I here? The questions intrigue and excite me. My better sense says I should be afraid. But I have spent the best years of my life stepping into the unknown—going places that no one else would dare to even dream of venturing.

“I could not hear her song.” “I did not either,” the woman says in a tone that contrasts warm support with tired dejection. “Her voice has been silent for centuries now. Even the oldest among us have not heard her words. There is no shame to it.”

“Yes!” The older Ilryth continues to try to pry his younger self away. To force him to the tree to take up the mantle of duke. But his efforts are waning. His strength is leaving him. Instead his shoulders are slumping. “Yes,” he rasps, somewhere between rage and tears. “She will always be ashamed of you, you pathetic coward. It’s because of you that her death meant nothing…that she couldn’t sever her mortal ties sufficiently to quell the rage.”

“You sang.” “Told you it was bad.”

In that fleeting breath, the barriers between us aren’t as strong as either of us would like. We gain a rare glimpse into the other’s soul. There is a part of me that wants to withdraw. To hide my face and my heart. But a lonely corner belonging to a woman who cried one too many nights alone, craving the comfort of an embrace, wants nothing more than to linger here. For this moment to drag on long enough that my pain becomes a shared burden. Even if the idea of someone else truly seeing my raw and tired heart is as terrifying as carving out a piece of it and handing it over.

“We all endure deep and difficult wounds. They’re not an excuse for handling oneself in a boorish manner.” I squeeze her shoulder before releasing. “Never compromise your worth, not for anyone, not even for family.”