Chapter 94 Refusal Costs
A low, angry murmur rippled through the stands. I saw Vespera leaning over the railing of a lower box, a cruel, expectant smile twisting her red lips.
"I am a generous ruler," the Emperor continued, spreading his bony hands wide. "I give my subjects choices. Today, the Siren has a simple one. A melody for her life."
He raised a single finger, pointing toward the far side of the arena.
"Open the gate."
The heavy grinding of massive iron gears shook the ground beneath my feet. Across the hot sand, a rusted iron portcullis began to rise, inch by agonizing inch.
The smell hit me before the creature did. It was a foul, putrid wave of stagnant water, decaying meat, and the deep, lightless trenches of the ocean floor. It smelled like the very bottom of the world.
The shadows inside the tunnel shifted.
I took a slow step backward, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like dry sandpaper.
It dragged itself out into the harsh sunlight.
It was a nightmare ripped straight from the darkest corners of the abyss. It was massive—the size of a large carriage—moving on six multi-jointed legs covered in thick, black, armored chitin. Its body was a grotesque fusion of a starved hound and a deep-sea scavenger, covered in patches of matted, wet grey fur and exposed, weeping muscle.
But its head was the most terrifying part. It didn't have eyes. The top half of its skull was a smooth, bone-white dome. Its jaw unhinged, dropping down to its chest, revealing row upon row of translucent, needle-sharp teeth dripping with thick, acidic saliva.
The beast snapped its jaw shut. It swung its massive, blind head back and forth, sniffing the hot air.
"A Trench-Stalker," the Emperor announced to the breathless crowd. "Caught near the Abyssal Gates. Starved for three weeks. It navigates by sound and smell. And right now, it smells the salt in the Siren’s blood."
The beast let out a low, vibrating hiss. It took a heavy, staggering step forward. The sand sizzled and popped where its saliva hit the ground.
"Sing, little fish," the Emperor mocked, leaning over the balcony. "Sing your lullaby, and it will sleep. Sing your commands, and it will sit. Open your mouth, and you will walk out of here alive. Stay silent, and we will watch it tear you to shreds."
I didn't look at the Emperor. I didn't look at the beast.
I looked up at Klaus.
He had stopped fighting the guards. He was kneeling on the stone, staring down at me, his chest rising and falling in erratic, panicked jerks. The terror in his sapphire eyes had nothing to do with his own pain. He was watching the woman he loved stand unarmed in front of an apex predator.
If I sing, you die, I thought, projecting all my love, all my terrible, raw grief up to the royal box. Every note I make fills your chest with ash. I will not be your executioner. I choose you.
I reached up with my right hand and pressed my palm flat against my tightly sealed lips. I pressed the black silk ribbon against my mouth.
I am the Siren. But I choose the silence.
Klaus’s face crumbled entirely. The absolute devastation in his expression was worse than any physical blow I had ever taken. He understood. He saw the silk ribbon against my mouth, and he realized I was choosing a violent, agonizing death over adding a single drop of poison to his failing heart.
"NERISSA!" Klaus roared, his voice cracking, tearing through the silence of the arena. It was the sound of a man watching his entire world burn to ash. "SING! DAMN YOU, SING!"
I closed my eyes. I let my hand drop to my side, balling my fingers into tight fists.
The Trench-Stalker heard his shout. It whipped its massive, blind head toward the royal box, then snapped back toward the center of the arena. It honed in on my position. It smelled my fear. It smelled the ocean in my veins.
The beast let out a deafening screech that made the ground vibrate, rattling the teeth in my skull.
It charged.
Its six legs kicked up massive clouds of white sand and dried blood as it hurled its enormous bulk across the arena. The heavy sound of its footsteps matched the frantic beating of my heart.
I opened my eyes, watching the nightmare close the distance. Fifty yards. Thirty yards.
The crowd was screaming. The vampires were on their feet, a chaotic blur of dark silk and bared fangs, demanding the slaughter. They wanted to see me broken. They wanted the spectacle of the Witch bleeding out on the quartz sand.
Twenty yards.
I felt the hot, acidic wind of the beast’s breath hit my face. The stench of rotting meat was suffocating. I didn't raise my hands to defend myself. I didn't try to run. There was nowhere to go. The black stone walls were fifty feet high, sheer and unforgiving.
I locked my jaw until my teeth ground together. I tasted the fresh copper of blood on my tongue. The pressure in my chest—the stagnant, rotting magic I had been hoarding for days—surged. It wasn't a hum anymore. It was a volcanic pressure, a white-hot fire that burned from my lungs to my throat. It was the exhaust of my soul, and it was screaming to be let out.
Ten yards.
The beast launched itself into the air, its jaw unhinging, extending forward like a massive, jagged trap. A shadow fell over me, blocking out the harsh yellow sun. I could see the individual drops of acidic saliva flying from its needle-sharp teeth, hissing as they cut through the hot air.
I looked up at the balcony one last time.
I love you, I said in the silence of my own mind. Live.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact of teeth and claws. I held my breath, trapping the song inside my lungs forever.
The beast descended.