Of Neptune (The Syrena Legacy)

by Anna Banks

  “It doesn’t feel like a scandal to me, Galen. Besides, my grandfather knew about this place. He’s been here. And obviously he doesn’t think it’s such a scandal.”

  “Actually, I’m quite certain he does,” Galen says dryly. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have kept it a secret.” And Galen’s first instinct is to be furious about it. What was Antonis thinking? “Why was he here, anyway?”

  “He said he was looking for Mom.”

  “On land?”

  She shrugs. “Turns out, Mom had a fascination with all things human. Kind of like Rayna.”

  Galen doesn’t appreciate the comparison. Rayna only collects human things. She would never abandon the Syrena way of life to actually live on land. Still, he doesn’t feel confident enough to say that out loud. Rayna is unpredictable, after all. Just like Nalia, Emma’s mother.

  And just like Emma.

  Galen is tired of everything being unpredictable; he’s ready for things to settle down. But the human world seems too tainted with complications for that to happen. Look where it got Nalia. She lived among the humans, all the while missing out on Grom’s devotion and love. Look at Emma. She’s willing to shorten her life span, to deprive him of what could add up to years of her company, just to spend time on land. To go to human school. To do human things.

  And look at Rachel. She belonged on land. But even one of the world’s most resilient people proved too perishable—too human—in the end.

  I was right all along to be wary of humans. And now I’m in too deep.

  He’s startled to find that Emma is watching him. He wonders what she sees. Can she tell how bitter he is? How desperate he is to tell her how he feels? And how terrified he is of her rejecting him?

  But Emma seems to have some concerns of her own. Her whole face gives way to pleading—and Galen already knows he has very little power to resist whatever she’s about to request of him. He wonders—and doubts—if he’ll ever develop an immunity to that face of hers.

  “I know you don’t feel comfortable here,” she says softly. “But the thing is, I do, Galen. In fact … In fact, it feels like I belong here. I’m not some weirdo outcast in Neptune. The only weirdo outcast here is Mr. Kennedy—and he’s human.”

  You belong with me, is what he wants to say, which is a little more possessive than he cares to admit. But he can’t help it. She’s acting as if this place is the answer to her dreams. And deep down, he knows it’s no use arguing. Emma has it in her mind to explore this place.

  “You’re not an outcast,” is all he can say. He hates himself for hiding his true feelings, but he senses that now is not the time to argue. Emma wants to stay for a while, so they will.

  But what will I do if she decides she permanently belongs here?

  He puts his arm around her waist and pulls her closer against him, and she snuggles into the crook of his arm, relaxing. But no matter how close his body is to hers, there seems to be a new space between them. And Galen tightens his hold.

  11

  REED’S FAMILY is just as easygoing as he is. In fact, the dinner table is like a sort of center stage, and each of them takes turns occupying the spotlight.

  His father, Reder Conway, is full-blooded Syrena, with a muscular build showing through his flannel shirt and olive skin glowing attractively in the relaxed lighting in the dining room. He has the same icy blue eyes as my mother—just more proof of how Syrena eye color changes after so much time spent on land. I wonder how long it will take for Galen’s eyes to fade to blue. And if I’ll be able to bear it when they do.

  Reed’s mother, Lauren, is unapologetically human. Blonde hair that I can tell would be curly, but that is French braided into submission with the occasional rebellious tendril sticking out. Large brown eyes that seem to miss nothing and a pear-shaped figure that could only be gotten by enjoying the sweeter things in life.

  Toby, Reed’s nine-year-old brother, is a classic Half-Breed—blond hair, pale skin—and a classic pain-in-the-butt, loudmouthed younger sibling. I’ve always wanted one of those.

  “Reed says you have the mark of a trident on your stomach,” Toby says to Galen, so enthralled he almost passes the bowl of rolls to the floor instead of to me.

  The clink and clatter of silverware stops. Mr. Conway takes a swig of his buttermilk, then leans back in his chair. He’s trying to look casual. He’s failing. “Is that right?” he says.

  Galen cuts into a new potato that we both know he’s not going to eat. “It’s a tattoo,” Galen says, shrugging.

  Suddenly, dinner feels like a game. Mr. Conway is interested in Galen’s Royal birthmark, and Galen is not interested in telling him about it. Lovely.

  “Aww, crap,” Toby says, crestfallen. “We were hoping you were a real-live Triton Royal. No one’s seen one before.”

  Galen offers him a good-natured smile from across the table. Only I notice the slight flex in his jaw. “Sorry to disappoint, minnow.”

  “A tattoo, huh?” Reed says. “We haven’t had much success with tattoos here. Some nonsense about our skin being too waterlogged for the ink to stick.”

  Galen shrugs. “Must be a freshwater thing.”

  What the heck? I can understand why Galen would be guarded—these people are still strangers, after all—but to flat-out lie? Especially when they already know what the trident means. Who cares if they know he’s a Royal? If anything, his status could be used to open up communication with them. To start bridging the gap between freshwater and saltwater Syrena.

  Unless Galen’s not interested in bridging the gap.

  I push that thought aside and pop a whole red potato in my mouth. It will keep me from blurting, and I’ll have to concentrate on not choking instead of sifting through reasons why Galen wouldn’t want to bridge random gaps.

  “Not to question your judgment, Galen,” Mr. Conway says. “But wouldn’t the kingdoms see a human tattoo as … Well, as not only breaking the law, obviously, but also as a kind of sacrilege against the Royals? Especially a trident, like yours. Or have things in the ocean changed that much?” He glances with meaning at me, the Half-Breed girl Galen brought to dinner. Touché, right?

  But for once in my life, I don’t feel out of place as the Half-Breed girl. In fact, Mr. Conway winks at me, and I can’t help but return a smile. At least, I hope it resembles a smile, but I may have literally bitten off more than I can chew. Maybe he’s smiling because a Half-Breed brought a Triton Royal to dinner. That seems more of a noteworthy scandal here in Neptune.

  Galen sets his fork down. I try not to notice the deliberation in the action. “No offense, Mr. Conway, but you don’t give the impression of being overly concerned with the laws of the ocean.”

  Milk. I need milk. I take a bigger swig of it than I intended. It’s the only way I can keep from gasping/choking/speaking out of turn. At this point, I expect Mr. Conway to throw us out. And I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

  “Please. Call me Reder,” Mr. Conway says, oozing hospitality. “And you’re right, of course. The laws of the ocean dwellers don’t concern me. I’m just curious. What brings you to our neck of the woods? We haven’t been visited by your kind for quite some time.”

  I wonder how old Reder is—and if my grandfather is the last “visitor” he’s speaking of. Surely there aren’t many dirty little law breakers among the ocean Syrena?

  “Our way of life is very different from yours,” Galen says. “We still have a healthy fear of humans. Which is why I’ve been appointed as an ambassador to them. I’ve been assigned to watch them and to report back to the kingdoms.”

  Since when did Galen fear humans? And is he trying to offend our host? “Galen has made some valuable human contacts,” I blurt. “People who help him watch the human world. But he knows that not all humans are bad.”

  Under the table Galen grabs my knee. If he’s trying to shut me up, it won’t work. He does know that all humans aren’t bad. Doesn’t he?

  Mr. Conway crosses his massive arms. It’s a g
ood intimidation move. Galen appears unimpressed. “And what will you be reporting about us, Galen?”

  Galen smiles. “So far? That Mrs. Conway has a talent for making freshwater trout actually taste good.”

  Mr. Conway is about to parry, but Toby, oblivious to the tension, slurps the rest of his buttermilk and near slams it on the table. “Galen, Reed says you have the biggest fin he’s ever seen.”

  Galen smirks at Reed, then nods his head toward him ever so slightly. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  Reed responds with a scowl.

  I can tell that Toby was really asking a question instead of making a statement, and Galen probably realizes this, too, but he’s not budging on any insights into why he’d have a ginormous fin. Of course.

  Toby gives up on Galen and turns to me. “Emma, Reed says you have the Gift of Poseidon, too.”

  “Too?” I ask, glancing at Reed. So he really was bonding with the fish in the cave. Poseidon-style.

  The older brother offers me his carefree grin, only one corner of his mouth bothering to rise. “Toby and I both have the Gift,” Reed says.

  Okay, didn’t see that coming. “Really?” I squeak. “So that means … Are you both descendants of Poseidon?” Because that’s the only way they could have the Gift.

  “There are many descendants of Poseidon living here, Emma,” Mr. Conway says, all the strain gone from his voice. Neptune has now become my personal jackpot. “You see, long ago—”

  “Ugh! Not that story again,” Toby grunts.

  Mrs. Conway laughs. “Toby, don’t interrupt your father.”

  Toby rests his elbow on the table and plops his chin in his hand. “But, Mom, it’s such a boring story, and Dad draws it out forever.” Toby has a slight problem pronouncing his r’s, which makes “forever” sound like fowevew. Might be the most angelic thing I’ve ever heard.

  “Our heritage is not boring,” Reed corrects.

  “I’d have to agree,” Galen says. “I would love to hear the story.” He locks eyes with Mr. Conway.

  Mr. Conway gives a small smile, then stands abruptly. “Maybe another time. Obviously, I need to brush up on my storytelling skills.” He takes his empty plate, stacking his silverware on top. Before he exits to the kitchen, he calls over his shoulder. “But if you want to be entertained, you could ask Reed why he refuses to use his Gift.”

  “Oh, nice Dad,” Reed says, sinking in his seat.

  Toby snorts beside him. “He thinks it’s cheating. Unbelievable, right?”

  What’s unbelievable is that I’m really having this conversation. With Half-Breeds like me. Half-Breeds who have the Gift of Poseidon. Like me. “Cheating?” I ask, trying my hand at low-key.

  Reed rolls his eyes in surrender. “It is cheating. It gives me an advantage over other fishermen. An advantage I don’t need. Besides, it’s not like it’s my job to fish.”

  I raise a brow. “But it’s not cheating to lure fish to your rope of death?”

  “That’s a matter of eating, which is what the Gift is for, right? I’m talking about competitions. I can handle a pole just as well as any of them.”

  Toby shakes his head at me. “He wishes.”

  Reed pulls his little brother into a headlock. “Take it back!”

  “Oh, here we go,” Mrs. Conway says, leaning an elbow onto the table in mock boredom.

  A small scuffle ensues, which results in both brothers sprawled on the floor, and Toby still in a headlock, though in possession of some of Reed’s elbow skin between his teeth. Even Galen appears amused. I wonder if—and don’t doubt that—he’s been in this same position with Rayna.

  “I won’t take it back!” Toby growls, but his tenacity is markedly reduced by his uncontrollable giggles.

  “You don’t even know who the better fisherman is,” Reed says, releasing his brother. He looks at me, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “He won’t fish without using the Gift.”

  “Why would I?” Toby takes his chair again. “I’ve won every fishing tournament I’ve ever entered. Got the trophies to prove it.”

  Mrs. Conway nearly spits out her wine. “You told me—you promised me—you wouldn’t use the Gift for those tournaments, Toby Travis Conway. You’re in serious trouble, young man.”

  “Aw crap,” Toby says. “I just got un-grounded yesterday.”

  “Welcome back. Go to your room. And we don’t say ‘crap.’” Mrs. Conway’s brow furrows in that kind of betrayed-mother disapproval. It’s a look I know well.

  “Do we say ‘crud?’” Toby asks.

  Mrs. Conway considers. “I suppose ‘crud’ is okay.”

  “Hey! You didn’t let me say ‘crud’ when I was his age,” Reed protests.

  “No saying ‘crud’ then, Toby Travis.” Mrs. Conway is an experienced rebounder.

  “Thanks a lot, Reed,” Toby grumbles as he passes his brother.

  “Hey, you brought it up,” Reed says. “I’ll bring you up some dessert later.”

  “You most certainly will not,” Mrs. Conway snips, standing. She collects as many plates around her as she can. “You boys are going to be the death of me. Wrestling on the floor like cavemen in front of our guests.” She’s muttering to herself about fishing trophies when she vanishes into the kitchen.

  “It seems we’ve run everyone off,” Galen says. And he seems more jubilant about it than strictly polite. “We should probably be going.”

  “So soon?” Reed says, but he’s not looking at Galen. Reed has a way of making me feel like the only person in the room.

  I glance sideways at Galen. His face shows no expression at all. He’s turning into Grom in front of my eyes. And I don’t like it.

  Galen stands. “We’ve traveled a lot today,” he says, turning to me. “I think we should call it a night.”

  I wonder what he would say if I said I wasn’t tired. If I said he could go back to the inn, and Reed would bring me home later. I mentally cross that thought out of my head. I would never do that. It would be childish, and it would hurt him if he knew I’d even considered it for a shaved second.

  What has gotten into me?

  I take a stab at faking a yawn. It turns out just as I expected: dramatic. “I am pretty tired,” I say as an understatement. Then a real yawn takes over, a really obnoxious one, and Galen and Reed share the same expression as they stare at me.

  Maybe calling it a night isn’t such a bad idea. After all, I have a lot of information to take in, process, and then dump in order to fit in more info tomorrow. I wonder how many mind-boggling facts a person can handle at one time. I have to have set some sort of record already.

  Reed walks us to the car and watches us leave with his hands shoved in his pockets. His expression is full of all sorts of doubt.

  * * *

  The car ride back to Sylvia’s is thick with silence. The way the air gets thick and humid right before a storm rolls in. It gets sticky and heavy and suffocating. Galen walks me to my room, and I motion for him to come inside. He hesitates. It’s then that I realize he’s holding something back. Something bigger than what happened at dinner.

  “What’s wrong?” I say.

  He still doesn’t come in. By this time, I’m already throwing my purse on the bed. He’s acting like a complete stranger, and it’s setting me on edge. “You’re not coming in?”

  Leaning against the frame, he sighs. “I want to come in. You know I do. But … I just feel that before we go further, we should talk.”

  “Further? Into what?” I peel off my ballet flats. The carpet is high and feels luxurious between my toes. Or maybe the carpet is average, and I’m trying to distract myself from looking at Galen’s troubled expression.

  He shuts the door behind him but doesn’t come any closer. “Further into our plans, I guess.”

  “Plans?” Plans? When a guy says plans, he’s usually talking about the next meal or movie or game on TV. When Galen says plans, he’s talking about Plans.

  He runs a hand through his hai
r. Not a good sign. “The truth is, I’ve been thinking about our deal. How we said we would wait until our mating ceremony until we … And that our mating ceremony would wait until after college. Is that … Is that still what you want?”

  I pull my hair around front for fidgeting convenience. Twisting it, I say, “I’m not sure what you’re asking me right now.” Is he saying he doesn’t want to wait to be mated? Just the thought of it, and the intimacy of the “romantically designed” room in general, makes my cheeks smolder. Or is this about Reed? Is he asking me if Reed has changed our plans to be together? Surely, that can’t be it. Surely, he’s not that insecure about his ability to make me swoon.

  Galen laces his fingers behind his head, probably to keep from fidgeting himself. I’ve never seen him this nervous before. “Triton’s trident, Emma, I don’t know how much longer I can keep away from you—I really don’t. No, no, it’s not even about that. This is coming out all wrong.” He lets out a slow breath. “What I’m asking is this: After all that’s happened, do you truly want to stay on land?”

  Whoa. What? “Everything that’s happened?” And staying on land as opposed to…?

  “You know. Finding out that your mother is the Poseidon princess. That at the first chance she got, she mated with Grom, and now they spend most of their time in the water. I mean, if it weren’t for—” Galen shifts to one foot and leans against the antique dresser.

  “If it weren’t for what?” My insides suddenly blister with anger. “First chance she got?” I guess that could be the short, rude version of what happened.

  “Nevermind. I told you, it’s coming out all wrong.”

  “You were going to say, If it weren’t for me, Mom would live in the water permanently, weren’t you?” He doesn’t try to deny it. He can’t. It’s all over his face. Along with some appropriate guilt. But the worst part is, he doesn’t just mean that she would live there permanently. He means that she would be happier if she did. That she should live there permanently.