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The servants around me move to bring another chair to the table, so I create space between myself and Tirriel for the newcomer to join us. Her bright blue eyes meet mine, so ethereal and otherworldly that I'm lost in them for a moment.
"Hi," I finally say. "I'm Elva."
"You're from Rhyma?" her voice fills my head, its musical quality sending my head spinning.
"I am."
"Hmm." She thoroughly examines me before sinking into the chair. "You're much prettier than most of the Rhymans I meet."
"Oh? I didn-"
"Of course, they're all corpses by the time I meet them." A cruel smile splits her face. "Or shortly after."
"Valta," Kairon warns, the two syllables of her name sounding vicious the way he says them.
She glances at him, lips pursed, before looking back to me with a calculating curiosity. "I'm only being friendly. We Syrens have a very peculiar sense of humor, you see. And the place where your country meets mine is rife with horrid ways for your people to die. It's very rare I ever see one of you so alive."
"Well, I'm happy to meet you," I tell her, careful not to be within touching distance. While I'm not sure my abilities will work on her, I know for sure I don't want to be close enough to find out.
Kairon redirects us back to the topic at hand. "Elva, what else does your country have to offer? If weaponry is your only industry, I fear you're outmatched here. None of us have a need for such things."
"Oh, your people use those loud things that send projectiles, yes?" Valta asks, seeming genuinely interested.
"Firearms, yes."
She nods. "I've seen many of them, but they're useless in the water."
Distantly, I wonder how guns would have ended up in the ocean when our people are specifically ordered to keep away from the cliffs. I didn't know water made them obsolete, either. That's certainly something to report back.
"So your country cannot even make weapons properly?" Farhan laughs, taking a drink of the water in front of him. "How can we possib—" he starts coughing uncontrollably, his face turning red.
All of us watch in horror as he hacks and heaves until, finally, something flies from his throat, landing on the table in front of him. It is a single piece of ice, slightly cylindrical, melting and drifting across the surface.
His watery, furious eyes land on Tirriel.
"Hmm." The prince glances at the piece of ice. "Not so useless, after all."
The red-faced king throws the rest of his glass of water in the prince's face, storming from the room without a word.
"Told you." Onala grins, looking at her sisters as they cackle again. "Same time tomorrow, then?"
Seventeen
Elva
Colm and Tirriel laugh hysterically at my suggestion that trade be open to people other than those hired by the country itself.
Kairon slams a fist on the table, shutting them up immediately. "Elva," he tells me. "While I appreciate your optimism, you're operating based on the assumption that everyone is always willing to do the right thing. How can you be sure this won't invite people with bad intentions?"
"No, I'm not." I barely hold back an eye-roll when I respond, "I'm simply stating that most people are willing to do what's right if there's a guarantee that it will benefit them."
"And how will this benefit everyone?" Colm asks incredulously.
"Opening trade routes to private citizens gives everyone more freedom. The artists I met at the market here could travel and sell their wares to new customers," I tell them. "Obviously, there will be people who take advantage and pass through with bad intentions, but those people can do that now anyway if they're determined to."
"I would be willing to allow this if the women have chaperones," Colm suggests. "You know they have no sense of direction, and I can't have them getting hurt and blaming me for it."
"If you just want people running about in every country, then we may as well not have borders at all and let it be a free-for-all. No laws at all for anyone!" Tirriel laughs again.
