by Chris Howard
No, I do not think so, he said slow and despondent.
I dropped on my bed, raised one leg at a time, and untied my old hiking boots.
I kicked them off next to my trunk, peeled off my socks, and went straight to the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind me. As I stepped into the last of the four shower stalls, Limnoria’s question about a trilithon came back to me.
It has to be that gold thing they had clamped to the shower pipe. That must be a trilithon—three stones, heart-shaped. Still a mystery what they were for, though—and why I needed to make one.
Can I go through the water because I’m a seaborn or because I wear the Wreath? I waited a second, spun the faucet, and then realized I’d asked the question in my thoughts and not to the wearers.
Praxinos killed my mother.
The water started cold and poured into my hands, splattering against my shoulders. I had a hard time thinking of the map of North America with the terrifying idea that the causer of my mother’s death was part of me. Then I felt a pressing shame.
Praxinos hadn’t wanted it to happen. He thought he’d done the right thing, persuading her to send Ephoros after Telkhines magic. Gregor had already gone pretty far down that path, gathering that power. The Olethren were created and functioned on the same old magic, so it made sense to use it against them.
My mother just ran out of time.
I bent forward, sucking in a breath, telling myself to stop thinking about it.
Like that usually works. I had to resort to pulling other pressing thoughts to the front. The first one to barge forward was: as I stand here under the water there are a quarter million rotting dead soldiers waking up—and maybe even marching—with one thought of their own: kill Kassandra.
How do I kill them? If I’m not here, will they stop marching? What if they can’t find me? Images of the dead warriors staggered zombie-like through my imagination, gray and rotting. Somewhere deep and behind the scenes, their master, the king—my own fucking grandfather—ordered them to kill me. I squeezed my eyes shut, opened them, blinking, trying to get that one out of my head, and get a different thought to move to the front of the line.
Find Mr. Henderson. He’s in the Gulf of Mexico somewhere.
“That’s it,” I whispered and tugged hard to get the map in Vilnious’ classroom to appear in front of my mind, pink Nebraska, purple Kansas. I couldn’t remember what color Oklahoma was so I made it green in my thoughts and then it was bright orange Texas.
I looked up into the stream of chilled water.
“The gulf...”
And the world grabbed me under the arms and spun me like the globe on Mr. Henderson’s desk when he’d twirled it so fast the continents melted away and the whole earth appeared ocean blue.
Earth is an ocean world.
I snapped my hands in and fought the motion to keep my neck from turning with it. Find Mr. Henderson and don’t lose my head doing it.
I’d been wearing my helmet the second time I had done this—when Ephoros and I had left the naiad’s motel room. It had made it easier to see with the water whipping past me. Now, the water raked over my face like hurricane winds. I tucked my chin down and closed my eyes, jerking as the current swung me around a bend in some river on the way to the gulf. No more than two minutes passed before I felt a change in the water. It was thicker and...solid.
Saltwater.
I opened my eyes. The world was blue, a bright vibrant blue, and I floated in the middle of it, cold empty blue in every direction.
What would you call this? If you live on land you’re terrestrial, but what about living here?
I looked all around, into the glow from above, down into the illimitable gloom. What is all of this called? Hydro-something, it has to be. Hydro-world, a universe of water, a hydroverse, hydrospace...
Whatever it was, it was silent and in motion at once. There was a very quiet but thunderous pace to the sea. Nothing was still, although in some ways, it appeared to be. I looked up at the ocean’s translucent ceiling—so far above me, and could make out the quiet rolls of the swells driving in one direction, toward shore.
Reflexes took over, pumping my legs a couple times to keep my position in three-dimensional space.
I cupped the water, swung around, looking along the path of the swells. The tide’s coming in.
Mr. Henderson had talked about the moon and tidal forces in his only lesson on water, and I felt I understood the concept well enough, but I didn’t think anyone would be able to sense its rise and fall. Wouldn’t that be something like feeling the motion of a clock’s minute hand?
“But I can feel the tide rising.”
The water crept higher on the earth, and I felt it in my skin. It pressed against me like a firm wind against my back and neck.
There was something else, a stronger motion in the water, not a continuous current, something moving nearby.
“Ephoros?”
“Get your armor on and ready your sword.” His booming voice hit me from behind, and in the second it took me to spin around I was wearing the armor and the sword was in my fist.
The expected wave of weakness passed through me. I was getting good at calling it all up when I wanted to, but it took a significant chunk of energy every time.
“What is it?”
He pointed in the direction of the tide. “There is a group of seaborn near the coast in a very well hidden, very well fortified village.” His deep voice was like an earthquake in the water, made me shudder. “I do not know who they are. I felt them when we stopped here yesterday on our way to the lithotombs. The current carried traces of them, but I said nothing to you. I did not want to alarm you.”
“I think I know something about them.”
Fear crawled up my back, and I looked for any sign of the feeling in my giant protector. Ephoros’ manner and voice betrayed nothing that approached fear, and that gave me the strength to press mine down.
“The naiads told me,” I said, tightening my fist around the sword’s grip. “They think they’re the ones who took Mr. Henderson.”
“The teacher from the school,” he said flatly as if adding this to a list of strange events that were somehow related.
“Why would they take him? Mr. Henderson taught us about tides and water chemistry.” Matrothy had forbidden it and that infuriated me. But it wasn’t a reason. That was just stupid. “Does it have something to do with that pale-eyed scut, Mr. Fenhals?”
The mention of the director and this new evil science teacher replacement sent rage clawing up my insides. I had a sword, and it was sharp, and I wanted to use it on someone. “Fenhals...”
Ephoros kept it conversational, gesturing with one giant hand. “I do not know the name. The seaborn have many agents in this land, America, but I do not often go above the surface, and I know few of them.”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. “The bastards!” I swam ahead, waving for him to follow. “Come on! Let’s go get my science teacher back.”
Chapter 23 - Lady Kallixene
It wasn’t a long swim.
Not for Ephoros, and I stood on his shoulder the whole way, Praxinos giving me some last minute instructions on seaborn greetings, diplomacy, and a couple songs that he claimed would “lift my spirits”. Andromache, always the more physically focused, was more than happy to help me practice facial expressions, shifting mouth, brows, eyes, nose into various shades of wrath, aloofness, mild irritation, and something she called “raging arrogance”.
Once I had the last down, I turned it on the old warrior in the courtyard, the guy in blue scaly armor who looked like he was in command. He nodded formally back at me, sort of like a salute, and I spun to Mr. Henderson, who floated low in the courtyard’s center, talking, gesturing, nodding his head. In every other way, he was sound asleep.
Like a very enthusiastic dream, or instead of sleep-walking, it was sleep-lecturing.
At least he wasn’t dead.
Ephoros and I had kicked
right up to the gates of the mysterious seaborn village—part village, part war camp—deep in a gorge off the coast of Texas.
When we swam into view, the gate defenders, in heavy plated blue armor, pulled up their weapons—very long spears—and formed a wall in front of the closed doors. Some had made circling motions in the water, their fingers entwined and clawed, preparing to launch spells. They’d hurled belligerent looks at us, which I took to mean, “We have a behead-all-strangers-on-sight policy.”
Then they got a good look at us.
Then they’d looked at each other, surprised by something, someone passed some orders—I assumed they didn’t often get girls and their demons showing up at the gates.
Whatever it was, it worked. They stood down. The guards challenged me but it was pretty obvious that was just a formality. They seemed to believe I was who I said I was without much evidence.
Of course, Ephoros was scary as hell, and although he obviously supplied some of the evidentiary weight, it had really been the Wreath of Poseidon.
Bloody fucking Wreath preceded me wherever I went. What, was it glowing around my head like a Christmas tree?
They saw it, the naiads saw it, Ochleros, possibly Mrs. Hipkin, even Mr. Fenhals had given me that unsettling look of recognition, kind of like “well, if it isn’t the Wreath-wearer.”
One of the guards at the gate led Ephoros and I up a narrow winding channel that passed through two more gate houses, a couple tunnels bored through solid rock, over a wall and then through a maze of winding swimming channels between houses—kind of like streets, except no one we passed had their feet on the ground. With a good solid fear in our wake—thanks to Ephoros, we finally passed through an arched gate into a central court—very fancy with coral growing in neat clumps like a garden. The neat paved yard looked less war-ready than the rest of the village.
The guard who’d led us up there was also very talkative, excited to see me—or us. Told us all kinds of interesting things, the big news being: this was House Rexenor.
Almost choked on that. I had found my family—one side of it anyway. What was left of it.
The guard kicked away and left us in the courtyard of the Lady of House Rexenor.
“What have they done to Mr. Henderson?” I whispered to Ephoros out of the side of my mouth, while the old soldier next to my teacher just stared at me, speechless.
Ephoros responded in a very low rumbling voice, mostly for my ears, but that was probably difficult to do. “The man breathes underwater.” He seemed puzzled. “They have placed the curse of the Telkhines on your teacher.”
For some reason that made me mad. I kicked upright, setting my feet down on the stones.
“I am Kassandra, princess of the Alkimides. I am here for this man.” I indicated Mr. Henderson with my sword. “Release him now.”
The old soldier bowed. “Menophon, commander of the guard to Lady Kallixene of House Rexenor.” He shook his head, blinking at me as if his eyes had fogged over. “You...are Lord Gregor’s daughter?”
I nodded impatiently. Think I’m making this shit up?
He didn’t look like the sort of man who could be surprised by anything, but I read a lot of activity in his eyes—including surprise.
Then I pushed—it was so easy—and I was behind his eyes, in his soul, wading through a wash of questions.
He remembered me as Ampharete’s baby. How had she escaped when few others had? Even Lady Ampharete, the Alkimides, Lord Gregor’s, wife had died in the final battle along with all her guards. So few had lived through the siege. How had this girl done it?
Then he started nodding as if his thoughts had caught up to the unimaginable sight his senses were feeding him: me, with my screaming glowing green crown.
I let him go.
“Yes,” he said, turning away. “I will tell Lady Kallixene you are here.
Menophon kicked a few efficient strokes that took him to an elliptical door, nearly twice his height. It was set in the courtyard wall opposite the gate, next to a broad dark window. He fussed with the tarnished knocker and then pushed the door in.
With a glance back at me, he bowed to someone in the sitting room.
I heard her voice, sharp and cold, “What is it?”
“My lady. Your...granddaughter is here.” After a pause—clearly waiting for Lady Kallixene to get over some shock, he added, “She has brought one of the ancients with her, one of the immortals. And...she wears the Wreath.”
Another pause, and then Lady Kallixene said, “Of Poseidon?”
Menophon nodded.
Quick, cold, efficient. “Show her in.”
Menophon turned to me, waved a finger and pointed at my sword. “You must give me your weapons, for no one is allowed in the Lady’s presence armed.”
I felt Andromache stir in me—or maybe it was the Wreath—or both of them at once. My fingers were curling around the grip on their own. “Only if I can take your head first.”
A slithering metal sound and I had the thing pointed right at him. Menophon’s hand went to his sword grip. I pulled my legs up and rose into the water, my body tensing like a moray eel about to tear prey into something bite-sized. Oh, this is good. The anger felt good, and I didn’t even feel like keeping it under control.
Kallixene rushed from her sitting room. My first glimpse of my grandmother. She was angry, wearing armor as bright and cold as the Antarctic, hair steel gray and in three very long braids.
“She can keep her sword, Menophon.”
The old soldier bowed to Lady Kallixene, and swam off to take up position on the other side of the big bay window beside the door.
The lady of House Rexenor gave me a slow, sincere bow, and gestured me into the room. She obviously didn’t have a problem with me and my sword because she immediately turned her back, gliding to the far wall, her feet never touching the floor.
Of course, I represented only a tiny fraction of the total danger with Ephoros along to frighten everyone.
I forgot about the sword and everything else when I entered Lady Kallixene’s sitting room. Everything was new to me—new like another planet. Pretty sure I’d located a table, some chairs, but I didn’t know what half the other stuff was.
Kallixene’s gaze rose to meet the deep pits in Ephoros’ face and then dropped to mine.
“I am honored to have both of you in my home.” She said it quickly, but with the respectful, well-worn tone of a peer. Even if I was an Alkimides royal, Kallixene was like a queen of her House.
Before I could answer, Ephoros, who took up most of the room, blocking the door and some of the window with his bulk, bowed his head in return. “Lady Kallixene. May I present to you, Princess Kassandra of the Alkimides, your granddaughter.”
The woman’s gaze dropped to the bracelet on my wrist. The gold band was just sticking out past the hem of my armor with the nameplate centered, a wide arc of sunlight across the top of my hand.
I bowed, lowering my sword, and then noticed that she had one but hadn’t drawn hers. I tried to push the blade back into its scabbard casually. The point caught on the rim and I had to fight with it to get it to slide home. She knows I’m a damn amateur.
I took a long pull on the ocean, and looked up at Lady Kallixene, holding my mouth firm, trying to hold in the wave of embarrassment.
And she hit me with her first shot. “You are Lady Ampharete’s daughter?”
Kallixene held her hand out to one of the square platforms that looked like small tables, but since there was a higher narrow table that held a bowl of something recognizable as some kind of food, I took the shorter one’s to be stools of some kind.
Still, I waited for the lady to seat herself before following her. It wasn’t easy, nothing like dropping into one of the chairs at the end of the nine-to-sixteen’s hall. My butt slid around and I had to clamp my hands around the stool’s edge just to keep my seat.
“Ampharete was my mother.”
“Your father, Gregor was my son.”
<
br /> “Is.” I corrected her.
Lady Kallixene shot me an angry look, and I nearly slid backward off my stool.
“Do you know who Lord Gregor Rexenor was?” Kallixene snapped the words like old bones.
“He is my father,” I put some defiance in my tone. “And a prisoner of King Tharsaleos.”
The woman looked so haunted and cold, glaring at me, it stopped me from confiding in her at once. But this woman is my family. I hardly knew what that word meant, but I would have thought I would have wanted to tell my grandmother everything.
Weren’t grandmothers supposed to spoil the hell out of you and bake oatmeal cookies? I’ve seen it on TV, and...Stop thinking about food.
My stomach rumbled like one of Ephoros’ growls. I felt it inside, but the armor held in the sound. I couldn’t stop my eyes from dropping to the bowl of unrecognizable lumps of grayish brown...food? It looked like it was cooked. How? Boiled?
Gross.
I glanced up, and Lady Kallixene still had her eyes pinned to me. My grandmother didn’t look away, but a smile moved slowly onto her lips, and she nodded almost imperceptibly.
Grandmother. Mine. My family. My grandmother. The words felt heavy in my mind, a whole new world—with its own gravity pulling everything inside me toward it.
I almost blacked out.
Then my eyes opened on the inside. Every dream and notion spun around a central point, a well of sorrow—and I fell into it screaming. I blinked, pulling against a whirlpool that rose around me and roared past, eroding my memories like floodwaters tearing through the banks of a port city. The water circled a gaping black pit fifty feet across.
This was old, something that always rumbled around the back of my mind. I had definitely seen this before, but not as clear. It was the same dizzying feeling that had pushed into my mind when the woman’s voice in Red Bear Lake had told me to breathe. And again when I’d been with the naiads. There was something inside me, building in power and wanting to reveal itself.
Right now, it didn’t feel like something I wanted to deal with.
