Of Neptune (The Syrena Legacy)

by Anna Banks

  He must be joking. Everything about Emma screams Half-Breed, starting with her pale skin and white hair and ending with the fact that she doesn’t have a fin. A stark contrast in every way to the Syrena.

  Galen stands up from the bar stool. Maybe stretching his legs will keep him from satisfying the urge to jump across the counter. Where has all this anger come from? “It’s just two weeks, Grom. Two weeks is all I’m asking for. Antonis is okay with it.” At least, Antonis hasn’t expressed any feelings against their trip. And there I go again, raising my voice. In front of a different audience, Grom would be forced to admonish him.

  “Antonis is in agreement because he’s so eager to please Emma, having never known his granddaughter. You’re my brother. I’ve put up with your antics for too many seasons already.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? Why can’t you just give me your approval so we can move on?”

  “Because I get the feeling you’re going whether or not you obtain my approval. Tell me I’m wrong, Galen.”

  Galen shakes his head. “I want your approval.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s all I can give you.” He does want Grom’s approval. Truly he does. But Grom is right—Galen wants to get as far away from here as possible. Even if it means infuriating his older brother. The need to flee is almost overwhelming, and he’s not sure why. The only thing he’s sure of is that he wants Emma with him. Her touch, her voice, her laugh. It’s like a seaweed salve to the gaping wounds inside of him.

  Grom sighs, pulling open the refrigerator door. With deliberation he places the half-empty bottle of water next to a container full of green something. “I appreciate your honesty. You’re no longer a fingerling. Emma is of the age of independence by human standards. You both know the difference between right and wrong. Your decisions are yours to make. But I have to wonder, little brother. I have to ask. Are you sure this is what you need? Because two weeks does not change everything. Some things … Some things cannot be undone, Galen. I hope you understand that.”

  “Stop making everything about Rachel.” Please.

  “Stop making nothing about Rachel. Grieve her, Galen.”

  “So I have your approval then?” Galen shoves the bar stool back in place. “Because Emma and I have to pack.”

  I wish Emma would come back in.

  3

  I DON’T deserve the way my grandfather smiles at me. It’s as if I’ve never done one single bad thing in my whole life. It’s as if he thinks I’m capable of anything—except wrongdoing.

  Clearly he missed out on a good portion of my childhood. I hope he never finds out that Chloe and I baked chocolate chip cookies for my ninth-grade science teacher—only the chips weren’t chocolate at all, they were laxatives, and we … Well, we got more time to study before a particularly hard exam.

  I wonder if Syrena have or even need laxatives. What would they use? That’s something I’ll have to ask Mom. I don’t think I could ask Galen without passing out.

  I realize then that I’ve been contemplating laxatives instead of acknowledging Antonis. I don’t know why it surprises me when my grandfather speaks or takes me into his confidence. Maybe it’s because all the stories Galen and Toraf used to tell me painted the Poseidon king as an unsociable recluse. Or maybe it’s because I’m not used to having a grandfather at all, let alone one who wants to talk to me. Or maybe, for the love of God, I should try to swallow the novelty and answer his freaking question.

  Only, what was the question? Oh, yeah. If I’m up for an adventure.

  “Sure,” I tell him. “If Galen is up to it.”

  Grandfather scowls. “I was hoping you had one of those drawings on hand, Emma. The ones humans make of land.”

  Drawings humans make of land … “A map?”

  The older Syrena scratches at his beard. By now I know him well enough to figure out he’s stalling. Stalling must run in our family. “Yes, yes, that’s it. A map. But before we talk about any map, I trust you’ll keep this between us? Oh, no,” he says quickly. “It’s nothing bad. On the contrary, really. But it’s something that I only want to share with you. The others wouldn’t … appreciate it as much as you will. And you may not appreciate it as much if they were to know.”

  I’m still trying to grasp not only the fact that my grandfather knows what a land map is but why he would need to know what it is in the first place. Apparently, “the others” are not aware of this knowledge. And it’s clear he doesn’t want “the others”—including Galen—to know. I’m not sure how I feel about this. But I’m too curious not to promise. Besides, Antonis said it wasn’t bad. Maybe it’s like when grandparents give you cookies and candy when your parents aren’t looking. It’s not bad per se, but your parents certainly wouldn’t approve. That must be all it is. An innocent grandfather-granddaughter secret.

  “I can pull up a map on my phone, but I left it on the beach. You’ll have to come ashore with me, and if you come ashore, you’ll need shorts. They’re over there,” I say, pointing in the opposite direction I originally sent him. “Under the driftwood stuck in the sand.”

  He nods. Grandfather gives me a quick piggyback ride to the shorts, then lets me loose so he can change to human legs.

  When he’s properly covered and sitting next to me in the sand, he gives me a knowing smirk, accentuating the small wrinkles tugging at his eyes. Syrena age well. For hundreds of years old, Grandfather’s smirk is youthfully vibrant. The only telltale sign of his age is some saggy skin on his stomach—and that could just be the angle at which he’s sitting right now. I pull up a map on my phone. “I can search the phone and find Neptune on the map.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve been there, but last time I visited, Neptune was not on any human maps.” He rubs his chin. “I know it from the waters offshore here. Show me the land map with the water next to it, and I’ll know where it is.”

  “Sure.” I pull up the East Coast of the United States, hoping I’m interpreting ancient Syrena speak correctly. “How about this?” I show him the face of the phone. The map is a bit detailed, with labeled highways and interstate signs. I doubt he’ll understand what we’re looking at.

  Until he says, “Chattanooga. That’s very close to it, if I remember correctly.”

  My half-fish grandfather knows how to read? What the what? “Um. Okay, I can zoom in a little more.” With a swipe of my fingers, Chattanooga and its suburbs are the only thing on the screen now. I can’t help but notice that Chattanooga is quite a distance from the Atlantic Ocean. In fact, I have to scroll over a few times. My curiosity is about to erupt into an onslaught of questions.

  Grandfather studies me a few more moments, as if gauging whether or not he should tell me. Or maybe he’s trying to decide where to begin. And maybe he should hurry up before I burst.

  Finally, he sighs. “Emma. You haven’t heard my story yet. The story of what I did when your mother disappeared.”

  This is the first time anyone from the Syrena world has said “disappeared” instead of “died,” when referring to what happened to my mother all those years ago in the minefield. Or at the very least, now that she’s been found, they all say, “when I thought she had died.”

  I have heard multiple versions of the story. First from Grom’s point of view, as told to me by Galen: Mom was blown to bits in a minefield blast and assumed dead. Then my mother filled in the rest of the crevices with details from her perspective on what happened that fateful day in the minefield: She somehow survived, came ashore, met my father, and … then there was me.

  But sometimes stories aren’t just crevices and holes waiting to be filled in. Stories, real-life stories, have layers, too. Layers built on foundations laid centuries and generations ago. It’s those kinds of layers I see etched on my grandfather’s face right now.

  “I did what any father would do if their child disappeared,” Antonis continues. “I searched for her.” And just like that,
another layer adds on to the story. A layer only Antonis could contribute.

  He looks at me then, scrutinizing my reaction. I don’t know what he’s looking for. I glance away, digging my feet into the sand as if it’s the most important task on the planet.

  Satisfied, the old monarch clears his throat. He’s hunkering down, I can tell.

  I let out my breath. “Yes, I know. They said you kept your Trackers searching for a long time.”

  Grandfather nods. “That is true, young Emma. I did send out Tracker parties. During both the light and dark parts of the days. I kept Trackers out at all times. And each time they returned, they came back with nothing.”

  I already know all of this. We’d already dissected everything over and over again. Maybe my grandfather just needs someone to talk to, I decide. And I’m sort of honored that he chose me. Especially because of the way his voice transforms, tightening each word, choked by emotion. This is hard for him to talk about. But he’s reopening old hurts that have barely scabbed over to tell me. Just me.

  “They came back with nothing, and I began to lose hope,” he continues. Antonis leans back on his hand, his focus set on the waves rolling in ahead of us. “Until one day. One of my most trusted and talented Trackers, Baruk, came to me. He swore on Poseidon’s legacy that he’d felt your mother’s pulse. That it was faint and erratic. It would come and go so quickly that it was impossible to follow, even for him. Sometimes it would be toward the sunrise, others, toward the sunset. We figured out that she must have been adrift.”

  Okay, so maybe I didn’t know all of this. In fact, I’m pretty sure my jaw is hanging open. “Grom said the same thing, that he felt her pulse sometimes. Did he tell you?”

  “Of course not,” Antonis says, his voice grave. “Just as I didn’t tell him. You must understand, Emma, I did not know what had transpired between Grom and my daughter. All I knew was that she was gone and that he was there. No, I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anyone.” Grandfather pauses, a wise kind of curiosity dancing in his eyes. “Of course, if your friend Toraf had been born at the time, I might have been diplomatic enough with the Triton house to take advantages of his tracking talents. There has never been another like him, you know.”

  I nod. It’s all I can do. It’s sad, how many opportunities had come up again and again for them to share information, to work together to find my mother. And if they had, I wouldn’t be here right now. That said, there is only so much anguish I can devote to those long-ago circumstances. If my grandfather is waiting for a response from me, sympathetic or otherwise, he’s not getting one. I know this story isn’t over, and I don’t want him to stop telling it.

  He seems to sense this. “After a few days, her pulse disappeared. Baruk believed her dead. I refused to accept that. Baruk thought me mad, begged me to let her go and move on. But I couldn’t, you see. Nalia was all I had left. In the end, I ordered Baruk to point me in the direction where he last sensed her. I knew she might be dead. But I also knew something else about my daughter, young Emma. Something she doesn’t realize to this day. Nalia always had a secret fondness for humans.”

  Yep, definitely didn’t know that. I’m starting to realize I could fill a black hole with all the things I don’t know. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that a good father knows what his fingerlings are up to. There was a time shortly before she disappeared when my Trackers reported her visiting the same spot each day close to the Arena. Each day, they followed her, but when they arrived, she’d already gone. They never found anything there, couldn’t figure out the purpose for her daily visits. At first, I thought she was entertaining the thought of sifting with other males, since she was so opposed to Grom in the beginning. Yet, all the Trackers reported the absence of another’s pulse. So I decided to investigate this myself. I almost passed by it, I tell you. But somehow, one of her shinier possessions captured one of the few rays of sunlight able to reach bottom. I figured I must have stirred up the murk in just the right place. That’s when I found her cache of human things.”

  Ohmysweetgoodness. “My mother collected human things?” And my grandfather never busted her on it? “And you let her? What about the laws? You didn’t care?”

  He waves a disdainful hand in the air. “And which law was she breaking? Who could prove she’d had contact with humans? Who was to say that she didn’t find these things on old shipwrecks?”

  So he turned a blind eye. He chose not to question her. Somehow this just endears him to me more. “So because of her obsession with human things, you figured out she’d come ashore?”

  Antonis shakes his head. “Yes and no. I thought she might have. I searched the coasts and then began to move deeper inland. I never found her, obviously. But I did find something else, Emma. Something I haven’t told anyone.”

  And that’s when I realize this is not just an innocent grandfather-granddaughter secret.

  4

  GALEN LOADS the last of Emma’s luggage into the trunk of his SUV and lifts a brow at the two very different piles of personal effects. He didn’t even fill one whole suitcase, yet Emma managed to fill two big ones and a small one. Not to mention that bulky purse thing she carries. He grins. Either she planned something big or she failed to plan.

  Not that he cares. He’s just happy to steal her away.

  “What do you suppose that was all about?” Grom says, startling him.

  Galen scowls. “Since when did you learn to sneak around on human legs?”

  His brother gives him a lazy smile, then shrugs. “I’m a quick study.”

  “Obviously,” Galen grumbles.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Grom has already tried Galen’s patience today. Forcing him to ask permission to take this trip in front of everyone—especially since they’d already discussed it countless times—was unnecessary and humiliating. Was he just showing off his Royal muscle for Nalia? Or does he truly feel I’m taking liberties with my position as human ambassador?

  Because if he is, Galen is ready to turn the job back over to His Royal Majesty. Maybe the humans don’t need to be watched. They have a blinking existence on the earth, much shorter than any Syrena, and then they’re gone. Just like Rachel.

  Grom crosses his arms, straining the fabric in the borrowed flannel shirt he’s wearing. Emma’s father must have been of slighter build than him. “What do you suppose Antonis had to tell Emma? They were too quiet when they came in from the beach. Antonis’s shorts were dry. They’d obviously been out there a while.”

  “What do I care?”

  “You’d be a fool not to care. Antonis has always been … secretive.”

  Galen leans against the back of the SUV and kicks at the gravel in the driveway. “Sounds like a Poseidon trait.”

  Grom nods. “Yes. Exactly. Which is why you need to find out what they’re up to.”

  “They’ve missed out on each other’s company for Emma’s entire life. Maybe they’re just catching up.”

  “You don’t believe that. And neither do I.”

  Grom is right. Galen doesn’t believe it. Sure, they have a lot to talk about. But Antonis rarely comes to shore. He’d have a purpose. A purpose he didn’t want anyone else to know. Still, it’s not worth starting off this trip with a potential argument. “Emma will tell me if she wants to.”

  He glances at Grom, daring him to protest. They both know the Triton king wouldn’t try to force it out of his beloved Nalia. And they both know that even if he tried, he wouldn’t succeed.

  Grom sighs. “Maybe you could ask her leading questions or something.”

  But Galen can tell the subject is all but dropped. Grom hasn’t reached that level of hypocrisy just yet. Which is good, because Emma has grown particularly sneaky on her human feet as well.

  “What are you talking about?” she says behind Grom. Galen can tell she doesn’t like the fact that his brother is wearing one of her father’s old shirts. “And more importantly, are we ready to get this pa
rty started?”

  Nalia brushes past Galen and throws her arms around Emma. “Have a safe trip, sweetie.” Then she leans closer. Galen knows he’s not meant to hear what she says next. But he does. “I’ll have Grom in a new wardrobe by the time you get back. No more wearing Dad’s clothes.”

  Galen walks away, giving them a moment. Even though he’s irritated with his brother just now, Galen feels sorry for Grom because he doesn’t even realize he’s being talked about. Or how much he’s imposing on Emma’s patience. Galen lightly punches his brother in the shoulder. “So, about that permission, Highness?”

  Grom rolls his eyes. “Enjoy, minnow. Just remember, you and Emma aren’t mated yet so…”

  Galen holds up his hand. “Grom.” This is not a discussion he ever planned to have with his brother. Or anyone, in fact.

  “I’m just reminding you,” Grom says, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Galen feels. “Privacy presents many opportunities.”

  A fact Galen knows well. He’s just not sure if he cares anymore. Keeping his hands off Emma is not something he’s good at. And he’s not sure how much he cares about the law anymore. The law was wrong about Half-Breeds, after all. Emma could never be an abomination. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

  Grom seems relieved. “But privacy does allow for more conversation, so it still wouldn’t hurt if you could—”

  He’s cut off when Nalia links her arm in his. “Toraf and Rayna left already,” she says. “Rayna requests that you bring her back something ‘interesting.’” The couple had come to see Emma and Galen off, but when Toraf felt the tension between Galen and Grom, he’d made up a reason for them to be excused. Galen wishes he’d had some time with them before leaving.

  Galen smiles. “Of course she does.” He strolls around to the driver’s side. “See you in two weeks.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, just in case Grom wants him to ask permission for the amount of time they’re taking. Two weeks was just an estimate. Galen has the feeling that when he and Emma are actually alone together, two weeks won’t be enough.