“I want to feel for you, Isi, I do,” I say. “You all have been teaching me to be strong and push away the things that make me human. And you know what I’ve decided?”
She lifts her chin, waiting for my answer.
“I’ve decided that I like those parts of myself. All of them.” I look up at the sky. Raise my arms to the violet moon, the murmuring winds around the weeping trees. “The fortnight is ending. I see Nieve and Kurt moving their armies when I dream. You can stay here lamenting the great big detention sentence the old kings gave you, or you can make yourself a new world.”
Kai and Dylan come forward. Kai has traded her bow for a staff with an onyx spearhead. Dylan has my backpack over one shoulder, stuffed with God knows what. Brendan takes nothing but the sword he came with. My A team is ready.
“I’m coming with you,” Amada says.
We look at each other for a long time. She has these eyes that even her beast form can’t hide. Her hair is down to her hips. She has the frozen, careful movements of her days as the Naga. What must it be like to go back to your people after so long and not belong?
“No,” Isi says. “You cannot go.”
Amada steps forward slowly. “The stories said that a son of Triton would rid the land of the beast. Of me.”
“Don’t go saying I’m not a merman of my word,” I say.
Yara comes running from wherever they put Grumble. I hope they tied him by his ankles from the cliff he pushed me off. “I want to go with you too.”
“No,” Isi says. No, no, no. It echoes deep into the woods where tiny birds take flight.
“But—” The maiden warrior of the River Clan gets cut off. “He’s a son of Triton. He can—”
“The seal of the king may be weak, but it isn’t gone yet. You are needed here with your people.”
I look into the eyes of a woman who’s lost so much. Then at Yara’s stubborn face, hungry for a fight that she might have a chance of winning. I reach out to her and we embrace forearms.
“Despite everything,” she says, “you do have allies here.”
“Despite everything,” I say, “you still have choices out there.”
The river people go back to their fluid forms. I can feel their eyes watching us move across the square and toward the forest. After a few steps, the sun bird lets his presence be known, flying overhead.
As we walk, I tap Amada’s hand. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She rubs her arms, like they are foreign to her. “More than anything.”
“Guys,” I say, coming to a stop. “Do we know the way out?”
Brendan puts hands on his hips. “I thought you knew where we were going.”
I sigh. “I just avoided getting killed by mini-Vin-Diesel. I wasn’t about to ask for directions.”
“Sometimes I don’t understand the things you say.” Kai shakes her head. Her hair is braided down her back like the other clan girls.
Dylan raises his hand. “I haven’t had any success getting out, clearly.”
He looks back at the village. It’s not that far. I can make out a thin line of smoke from the communal fire pit. I elbow him lightly.
“You don’t have to come,” I tell him. I want to make sure that whoever is with me has a choice in the matter. Even though I know that I need Dylan on my side.
I’m glad when he doesn’t hesitate. “I do. I owe it to you. To my father.”
Amada is the one who holds a hand up next. The movement is so sudden that Dylan jumps back. “I believe I know the way out.”
Amada takes us through the barren meadows to the same cave entrance where we fought.
Brendan arches his eyebrow at me, and I give him my best reassuring nod.
“This way,” she says. She enunciates her words carefully, pleased at the sound of her own voice. I wonder what it’s like to not hear yourself speak for years and years. Some people would call that a blessing if it happened to me.
Once we walk past the dome-like cave, we reach a dead end where a waterfall has formed from a source on the surface. The runoff water carves a path that leads to a depression in the stone, like a basin or a wishing well.
As we stand in front of the waterfall, I wish for the sound of one voice in particular, like it’s as easy as fishing a penny from my pocket and throwing it in the fountain. I have no pennies. Or pockets, for that matter. Well, I do, but you wouldn’t find any pennies in there.
“The island is designed to keep people out. If you make it inside, you stay. Only the king and his children and their children can come and go.”
“Then it’s a good thing we brought Tristan after all,” Brendan jokes.
“No, you’re of the family blood,” Kai reminds him.
Brendan turns to me. “Where are we going exactly, dear cousin?”
And I don’t even hesitate. “The Glass Castle.”
“What did you see?” Kai says.
“The old kings. The first battle. It was amazing. I’ve never seen so much raw power. It’s like they each were one being with their creatures, communicating in their minds. Like I was limitless—until I wasn’t.”
“Like Nieve and Kurt will be, as well,” Kai says. “When the beasts rise and travel to their corresponding warrior, you’ll be giving them powerful weapons. We don’t know where they’re buried or what they’ll bring with them.”
I shake my head. I saw it in the vision. “As long as I have the scepter, I can control the sea horse.”
“Kurtomathetis has an oracle on his side,” Brendan says, “and a small guard. The sea witch is a force of her own. Tristan is doing the right thing.”
Kai nods, but I can feel her mind racing, figuring out what else can go wrong. “Don’t forget the connection you have when you dream. Once we’re back on our own plane, they’ll see you the way you see them. Then they’ll know our plans.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have a head start. How do I get us out, Amada?” The waterfall doesn’t exactly lead anywhere.
She points to my dagger, then to a spot on the wall with a circle carved so lightly that you can only see it when you’re standing inches from it. “Blood.”
Of course, it needs to be blood.
“Both of you,” she says to Brendan.
I smirk at my cousin. “Then it’s a good thing we brought you along.”
He makes a face but holds out his hand. I run my dagger down the center of my palm first, then his. I’ve had a lot of broken bones in my days, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to my own warm blood trickling out of me. We press our hands in the center of the circle.
Nothing happens.
Gwen’s voice, unwanted, pops in my head. Magic is gradual, Tristan.
And my own response, So then what’s the point?
The point is to will things to work for me.
The ground shakes, stones falling down like hail. The circle line lights up with a white light, the inside pushing itself back and creating a portal of undulating black water.
“Brendan,” I say, “you know the way.”
He nods and dives into the dark sea.
I let the girls go next. Kai and Amada shift into their swimming forms when they hit the current. Then Dylan and I bring up the rear. The water is cold and I wonder what part of the world we’re in, fearing it’s too far from home.
But when we break the dark water and then the mist, we’re back where we started. I look at my watch, which still reads 11:53 a.m. We swim down, down, down, and my chest tightens with the pressure. I recognize Arion’s ship in a broken mess at the bottom of the sea floor.
Brendan leads us south along the rocky valleys of the sea floor. Amada swims close to my side in her Naga form. Slick gills open at her neck. Her hind legs are hunched up as she lets her serpent tail do the work. She brushes my shoulder every time she
wants me to see what she sees—brilliant coral reefs, whales breaching the surface, hundreds of glowing jellyfish floating like clouds. We pass dolphins that swim alongside us for a while until we’re too fast and leave them behind. Then the rock formations become tall and broken by a ridge the size of the Grand Canyon.
We swim into it until the light of the surface is long gone.
The break in the ground is narrow. I keep bumping my shoulder on the stone sides. The further we get, the tighter my chest feels, like my lungs are expanding to let in more air. We’re surrounded by luminous plankton and fish with forehead flashlights and gaping mouths that are bigger than the rest of their bodies. When Dylan turns around to make sure I’m behind him, his eyes are tiny dots of blue light, his blue scales like reflective mirrors.
We swim as fast as the narrow tunnels allow, making twists and turns that I know I won’t remember. The pit of my stomach is in a million knots because I’ve never been to the Glass Castle.
“Careful on this left!” Brendan shouts.
We turn into a pitch-black, lifeless tunnel for a couple of miles until it gives way and we’re in open sea again.
Below us is a structure like I’ve never seen before. True to its name, the castle is made of black glass. A massive fortress straight out of myth. This is where my mother grew up when she was a mermaid. I think of her swimming out of her rooms and through the patches of green, getting restless and going straight for the surface. After all the stories, I’m finally here. Balls of light burn in the archways made for swimming in and out of. Great, golden statues of past sea kings line the entrance. The spiral turrets form peaks, as if the structure rose straight out of the ground like twisting vines reaching for the sun.
But it’ll never reach the surface.
At first, the noise sounds like singing, mermaids and mermen having fun because what’s the point of a castle if there aren’t feasts.
Then there’s a crash at the entrance, golden statues tumbling down, bodies swarming against dozens of armed guards.
“What’s—” I start swimming forward, but Brendan grabs my fins and pulls me back.
“Stop! We’re under attack.”
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong!
Hark! Now I hear them—Ding-dong, bell!
—“Ariel’s Song,” from The Tempest by William Shakespeare
The Daughter of the Sea would never be free.
Not in the palace of the Rebel King Amur.
Not in the chambers where she swam and swam in circles until the Rebel King summoned her.
Strange they were to her, the people of these warm waters, so close to the surface, so close to the humans wandering in their boats like they owned the seas.
King Amur prided himself on their home made of rose gold, grander than anything they could fashion on land. He hosted nightly feasts, watching from the coral throne made from the bones of his ancestors. He drank in the beauty of Nieve, his Silver Queen.
Nieve waited on her golden seat beside the merman who was her husband king. Her high cheekbones, pale skin, and the silver scales that shone like armor in the great hall made her the center of attention, no matter how long she lived among them.
After the shadow dancers who undulated their bodies like surface smoke, the flute orchestras sweating for the king’s approval, the wild shark tamers, and the chorus of guppy children who sang hymns to the Rebel King and the Silver Queen, songs of the moonlight in her eyes—it was her turn.
It was King Amur’s favorite time of night, watching his beautiful bride swim to the center of the room, her hair laced with pearls and emeralds. He loved the way the people held their breath, the calm in the great hall, the hungry expectation in their eyes.
Queen Nieve faced the warrior before her and took him in, just as she had others countless times. She held up her palms and sensed the fear in his blood. When she closed her eyes, she could concentrate on the thunderous rhythm of his heart. Fearful, but resolved to stand before the Rebel Court and die. He held up his long sword, a word etched into the blade that Nieve couldn’t see. She thought it was probably something that said “strength” or “honor” because the rebels loved their honor.
They were the ones who refused to live under her father, King Elanos. They were the ones who fought against the four cardinal heralds. And yet, after years of being an outsider in her birthplace, these rebels were the only ones who wanted her.
Before the warrior could attack, Nieve summoned her power. She slowed his movement by pulling at the strength of his body. She latched on to the crackling energy that made up his being. For a flash, she could see a memory—swimming with a black-haired mermaid, kissing her as if it was the only thing in the world he was meant to do. Then fighting, slashing, pillaging nearby tribes in the name of King Amur. She wondered what made men like this fight for another. He was no different than her father’s soldiers, no different than the men who follow blindly into battle. Causeless. Purposeless. He was the kind of merman she was surrounded by, and it filled her heart with an angry cry.
Sparks emitted from her fingers like fissures in glass. There was a collective gasp in the golden hall, and everyone began swimming backward. King Amur gripped the coral throne and leaned forward, licking his lips as if he could taste the magic in the water the way he tasted the blood of his enemies before he reduced them to surf.
This warrior was bigger than the others. But his strength meant nothing because she was stronger. She swam around him, avoiding his sword. He recovered and tried to wrap his tail around hers. She slithered out of his grip, but his hand grabbed a handful of her hair. Pearls and gems scattered into the sea, and the hands of little mermaids reached out to grab them like trophies, like they too could have a piece of the queen. Nieve screamed and sent a blast of energy at the merman.
For a moment, she considered putting it off. It was an honor to die at her hand, but why should he get it so quickly? The Rebel King hated when they died too quickly.
Mercy, she called it.
She beat her tail and swam up toward the arched ceiling with its floating light-fish, the warrior’s hands at her fins. What would it be like if she tore a hole through the ceiling and let him escape? Would he run? Would she go with him?
How fast would King Amur find her?
The warrior grabbed her, squeezing at the middle of her tail until she thought her bones would break. She pushed down on his face, digging her nails into his cheeks, and still he didn’t let go, slamming her against the ceiling, scattering the light away.
For a moment, she let him squeeze her. Grip her so hard the life might start slipping away. He only had to reach her throat and close off her gills. Then she’d be free of it all.
But freedom was a small price to pay to feel this—the fire that raged inside her. Live, she told herself. All she needed to do was live and figure out a way.
So she pulled on her magic, on the light of the life around her. She brought it inside her the way she’d seen wood feed fires on the surface. She kept her hands on the warrior’s face, and her scream joined his. Her current rammed into him so hard that his arms went slack instantly. She didn’t let go—not even when his memories gripped her like a fist around her heart. She saw the black-haired mermaid again, with her black skin and scarlet mouth that caressed his face over and over.
Then she heard his heart burst. Surf bubbled all around her where his body once was.
The crowd’s cheers could be heard through the whole palace. The Silver Queen was victorious again. She sank back down to the main hall, settling beside the warrior’s lon
g sword. She picked it up and faced her husband king.
“Witness once again the power of my queen! No one would dare threaten us,” he said to his people. Then he added in a low growl, “Not even her father.”
“You’ve pleased me once again, my wife.” His eyes were drunk with lust and power. He would send for her tonight after he tired of the mermaids from the shore banks, she was sure of it.
“That brings me much happiness, my king,” she said.
Around her, the court reveled.
“Does it?” he asked, knowing that her words were full of lies.
She said nothing, only held the sword against her open hands. They stung with power. Her heart stung with hate. It was coiling inside her, and she wondered when it would break like the earth spilling lava and steam. Was it now, with the sword in her hands? With his guards standing there ready to slit her throat at a moment’s notice?
No. Patience, she told herself.
Patient, which the Rebel King was not.
“Give it here,” he said, pointing at the sword, a spark of nervousness blooming in his thoughts.
She swam to him and handed it over. But first she read the word of honor inscribed into the blade. Gwenivere. She saw the black-haired girl in her mind and thought, What a lovely name.
NOW
“Nieve,” I say. Her name is a curse. A darkness I’ve never known before. She’s nowhere in sight, but what we see while we’re swimming has her signature of destruction all over it.
“This can’t happen,” Dylan says. “They can’t do this. Not here.”
I realize Kai, Brendan, and Dylan all spent part of their lives at Glass Castle. They’re mesmerized, like looking at a picture that’s distorted and trying to make sense of it.
We crouch below a giant boulder and ready our weapons. Amada growls and rakes her claws on the stone.
“Kai,” I say, “can you lead me to the oracle’s chambers?”
She stares at the fighting mermen and merrows as the echoes of screams reach us. “Yes.”
Vast and Brutal Sea Page 11
