Parents scooped up their children and ushered them inside. Pacific mer planted themselves in defensive positions that dared an attack. Their numbers swelled by the minute, more of their ink and self-mutilated kind swimming in eager anticipation of the promise of violence. Members of the Royal Guard, stationed at the castle entrance, tightened their formation and readjusted their grips on their weapons. Curtain doors fluttered shut. Stone shutters slammed. Atlantica battened down the hatches for the brewing storm sizzling in the air. Civil unease threatened to blow down what was left of our crumbling kingdom.
“We need to get to Triton, now,” I stated through clenched teeth, “His throne is in jeopardy, and I just might be the weapon to save it.”
“Guards!” Doralious thundered, descending the pillar-lined incline that led to palace entrance. “The castle is under lockdown. Do not allow them, or anyone else, access!”
“M-more than we already are?” the soldier directly in front of me stammered, shifting under the weight of my glare.
“The fate of our kingdom lies in their hands,” I muttered to Alastor out of the corner of my mouth. “All of Atlantica should be nervous.”
“Military was mobilized without authorization from the king,” Doralious explained. Swimming behind his blockade, he positioned himself at the head of the line to lord over his men. “We have no choice but to consider it a potential threat. One anyone could be linked to. Until further notice, no one gets passed.”
“But … she’s the princess,” a hulking Guardsman with a surprisingly high-pitched voice chirped.
“And the Royal Alchemist,” another soldier added.
I could have argued. Asserted the authority of my station. Time being of the essence, I expedited the issue with a flip of my wrist and a magical nudge. An emerald tendril cuffed Doralious in the back of the head, snapping his skull forward to thunk against the temple of the next guy, and so on, and so on, right down the line. In the end, the lot of them were slumped on the seafloor in a tangle of fins and limbs.
“Alchemist.” Floating over the pack, I tossed the word down at them. “He just said it. Means I’m magically inclined. The fact that none of you saw this coming concerns me for the Atlantica schools.”
Frantically glancing in one direction and the other, Alastor ushered me toward the castle with a hand on the small of my back. “Daylight, I’ll miss it when we’re rotting in the dungeon.”
We found Triton in the Throne Room with the delegates that weren’t staging a passive aggressive coup against him.
Chest puffed, golden crown gleaming in the shimmering sunbeams, Triton swam slow circles around his huddled Council. “Who knew about this? An act this brazen couldn’t have been constructed in utter silence. Someone must have heard something.”
“There were whispers, sire,” the Indian Sea delegate stated in his typical no-nonsense tone. “No one believed they would be foolish enough to attempt such a thing.”
“We can force them out.” The Pacific Sea delegate rolled his shoulders, making his pecs dance. Since the last time I saw him, he had embedded Great White teeth along his spine to fashion a deadly fin. “Their numbers are no match for our brute force.”
“As of yet, all they have done is congregate at the capitol. There is no law against that. If you strike first, it will appear unprovoked.” The Arctic representative could be counted on to deliver frosty indifference.
“What then?” Triton spun on her, his outstretched arms falling to his sides with a slap. “I do nothing and appear weak?”
The Mediterranean mer closed the distance between her and Triton, swimming shell bra first. Catching one rippling lock of his golden hair, she twirled it around her forefinger and gave a gentle tug. Her other hand rested delicately against his chest. “What you need is a bold act to assert yourself as the passionate, capable ruler that you are. Send a message without saying a word to that assembly of thugs.”
“I like that … idea.” Gently as he could, Triton pushed her wandering hands away and kicked backwards to force a little distance between them. “We just have to choose the right demonstration.”
“If I may interject,” flipping my hair over my shoulder, I propelled myself to the center of their cluster, demanding their attention, “today, I walked on land.”
The declaration was met with a chorus of shocked gasps accompanied by a slathering of disgusted tsks.
Chin jutting forward, I pressed on. “Utilizing a spell perfected by my mother, I ventured into the domicile of our enemy. There, I found their weakness.”
And … silence.
Fighting off a victorious smirk, I rubbed the pad of my thumb against the soft curve of the ursela shell. “They protect the water, but no farther. My spell allowed me to breech their defenses. If I could harness that ability and bestow it on our soldiers, we could assert our dominance over the humans once and for all. We could finally put an end to this war and destroy the Caribbean’s strong hold simultaneously!”
For a moment, their dubious stares acted as their only response.
“Can you do that?” the newly elected Gulf mer ventured with dumbfounded astonishment.
“No … not yet,” I admitted. Watching their interest drift off on the current, I rushed to tag on, “The idea just came to me. I need time to formulate the spell and perfect it! Given time, I’m certain I can!”
Okay, that might have been a bit of puffed up bravado. But that’s salesmanship, folks! To get that yes!
“Work on that.” Triton’s head bobbed, his jaw grinding as he mulled over the matter.
I fought off the impulse to wriggle in glee—barely.
“See if that’s something we can use. In the meantime, we need a strategy to enforce my reign, particularly to the Caribbean merfolk.”
“Ugh!” Miss Atlantic Sea’s shoulders sagged as if the topic caused her physical pain. Her hands rose protectively to fiddle with what appeared to be mini-tridents dangling from her ears. “I already hate myself for saying this … however, the Caribbean asserted their station from the human artifacts they acquired. Remove those, and what do they have?”
“Those items are nothing but a painful reminder of those human beasts that stole my father from his kingdom,” Triton declared, slumping into his throne.
It was with a conflicting blend of pride and sorrow that I realized my happy-go-lucky brother, who I once convinced to lick a jellyfish tentacle, was gone. In his place sat a merman of impeccable strength and drive.
He looked like a king.
He looked like … Poseidon.
Stamping his trident against the ocean floor, he bellowed, “There is a trove past the Atlantic District, outside the borders of Atlantica. I want every human artifact under the sea gathered up and deposited there. From this day forward, any trace of the human way of life is banished from the kingdom! Failure to comply will result in a trip to The Pit or … beaching.”
Baby brother’s first bold proclamation. If only it came gifted with the foresight of how deep the knife of that ruling would cut. Or … that it was my belly it would be thrust in to.
Chapter Seventeen
Tensions ran high through the kingdom. As expected, the Caribbean mer took to relinquishing their human treasures with the sulky resistance of children handing over their favorite toys. The courtyard was emptied. The bartering marketplace closed. All of Atlantica seemed to be holding their breath, as if afraid one wrong ripple would set off the typhoon we could all feel brewing.
My method of coping was to throw myself into honing the human spell. After days of working tirelessly, I found myself at a magical cross-stream. I had to find the precise blend of science and the supernatural. To achieve that, I needed a mystical boost. Fortunately, I knew where to find such an enhancer …
Nervously fiddling with the ursela shell, I concentrated on keeping my posture cavalier as I cut through the Hall of Records to the Temple of Kings. Despite the swell of nerves lodged in my throat, I managed a tight smile and nod to
the castle staff I passed along the way. Stopping at the foot of the Thetis statue, I stared up at the stone beauty with her flowing locks cascading to the rise of her tail. The Olympus Pearl sat beside her, calling to me with its promise of power. Since the day—so many years ago—when I first touched it, I felt its pulsating allure whenever I neared.
Fear, like thousands of tiny sea bugs, skittered up my spine. If I got caught, even Triton couldn’t protect me. I would be beached without trial or questioning, my lifeless body left to rot in the sun for the hungry seagulls’ delight—clearly, they would have to clamp those magic blocking shackles on me first. What fun would my public execution be if I diverted it by growing legs and sauntering off?
Heart pounding an ominous reprise against my ribs, I glanced over my shoulder to ensure I was free from prying eyes. My fingers fanned over the pearl. First the right hand, then the left. In a swirl of green, it vanished—whisked away to the confines of my Alchemy parlor. A replica filled its space just as quick, settling into the same spot without so much as disturbing the dusting of sand around it.
“And where do you think you’re going with that?” a stern voice boomed, echoing all around me.
Spinning with a frightened gasp on my lips, my hands clamped instinctively around the ursela shell.
No one was there.
I was the temple’s lone visitor.
Before relief could set in, the voice returned, bouncing off each of the cavernous walls. “Did you think you could take something of such valuable without anyone noticing? I hate to break it to you, but you aren’t that stealthy.”
Whirling in search of my accuser, bile scorched up the back of my throat. Gruesome images of my own horrifying death flashed behind my lids.
“Those stone tablets belong in the Hall of Records. Where exactly do you think you’re taking them?” Underlining threat weaved through the tone like an elaborate tapestry.
Motivated by self-preservation, I flutter-kicked to the wall. Realizing the ruckus was resonating from the next room did nothing to ease my trepidation. Back pressed to the sandstone wall, I inched toward the archway. Hiding behind one hand-carved pillar in the shape of King Neptune, I peeked around his massive tail into the Hall of Records.
Amphrite’s head steward, Samuel, floated in between two rows of shelves where the tablets containing Atlantica’s political history were stored. He held a stack of them to his chest, scrawny arms trembling under their weight. Six Caribbean soldiers surrounded him, circling predators sniffing out chum. Samuel’s terrified gaze flicked over each of their faces, as if anticipating the first strike.
“We’re in a time of war, boy,” one monstrous soldier growled, his top lip curling back to reveal yellow stained teeth and blackened gums, “and it looks to me like you’re trying to make off with information our enemies would pay a hefty sum for.”
“N-no!” Samuel stammered, his eyes bulging with panic. “Queen Amphrite asked me to the fetch them! I’m only honoring her request!”
A bald soldier with black scales tattooed across the back of his head glowered at the quaking merlad. “She’s no longer queen, or hadn’t you heard? Her commands are as useless as you.”
“Huh, I don’t remember getting that particular message.” Somehow Doralious managed to match Neleus’s gruff tremor which had been as soothing a sound as rubbing rocks together. He truly seemed the second coming of the sadistic guard. Standing at the hall entrance, Doralious was flanked by a crew that matched the Caribbean’s in threat and number. Stabbing the tip of his sword into the sand, his hands casually folded over the hilt. “Perhaps we should ask King Triton to clarify such a bold statement.”
Honorable soldiers would have respected rank and backed down, conceding to the demands of the Royal Guard without question. Perhaps it was the solitude offered by the otherwise vacant hall, but the Caribbean soldiers tightened their formation, their beefy shoulders slamming together to form a solid wall of muscle and rebellion.
“Humans sail above us and could attack at any moment,” the tattooed soldier snarled. “We are doing Triton a favor by keeping the valued tablets of Atlantica safe and secure … despite him taking away the booty we earned.”
“And you think the tablets to be safe with you standing this close to them?” Doralious snickered to his men over his shoulder. “It seems a counterproductive task if you ask me.”
“What are you implying?” the beastly mer huffed, his chest rising and falling with each heaving breath.
Keeping the tip to the ground, Doralious’s fingers closed around the hilt of his sword in a clear warning. “I imply nothing. I’m stating that your kind pillages and plunders more than the cannon fodder meat-sacks that walk above. Who then are the real pirates?”
“Big accusations from someone hiding behind a sword, who only earned his position after a superior warrior was put to death,” Tattoo-head countered, snapping his jaws in a menacing punctuation.
“Hiding behind it? No. I would happily hand it over …” Flipping his sword over the back of his hand, Doralious caught it in his palm and pointed the tip toward his accuser. “… embedded deep in your gullet.”
“Drop the sword,” Gigantor-mer spat, “or have it fed to you.”
Weapons hissed free on both sides. Samuel backed away whimpering, his shoulder slamming into the row of shelves behind him.
I couldn’t say who lunged first, yet in a blink, bone weaponry was meeting in vicious claps. Heaving soldiers danced around each other in a deadly waltz, their swinging swords hungry for an ounce of flesh.
Doralious and Tattoo-head locked blades, pressing back against each other hard enough to redden their faces with the strain. Tattoo-head bared his teeth, leaning for Doralious’s face with ravage intent. Eager to keep his features intact, Doralious shoved the larger mer with every ounce of strength that he had. Reeling back, Tattoo-head spun around, his sword sinking into Samuel’s gut with the ease of cutting water. The two men locked stares over the fatal penetration. The masks of shock they wore perfectly matched. A small line of blood trickled over Samuel’s lower lip as he tipped his head to quizzically inspect the sword rammed through his core.
A blanket of silence snuffed out the battle. One by one the soldiers acknowledged their egregious error by dropping their weapons.
“Well, now look at the mess you made.” The recognizable commanding cadence whipped all their heads around.
Retracting her black veil of mourning, Amphrite floated to the center of the cluster with her back urchin quill straight. She acknowledged Samuel with a sympathetic tilt of her head, cringing at the crimson foam bubbling down his chin. Inspecting the extent of his injury, she shot a glare, which could have reduced them all to guppies, at the guilty parties.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked the Caribbean soldiers, black eyes flicking from one to the next.
The beastly mer snapped to attention, his hands clasped behind his back. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he muttered with a nod of respect.
“Majesty, that’s right.” Sizing him up, Amphrite’s mouth twitched into a disgusted pucker. “The bereaved queen of the late and honorable Poseidon. That’s the title most associate me with. Fortunately, I’m also one of the most powerful alchemists Atlantica has ever seen.”
A blanket of silence fell as men that relied on brawn over brain struggled to piece together what she was getting at. If she wanted them to catch up, she probably should have drawn a map.
Beside her Samuel fell to his knees, whimpering while the life gushed from his pulsing gash.
“Really, Samuel, that’s enough of that.” A wave of Amphrite’s slender hand and the steward’s lips were sewn shut with a thread thin reed.
The other men winced at the callous display, their stares nervously flicking to the exit.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that seem crass? Should I let his whimpers draw more onlookers in to this grisly little spectacle?”
Glancing to the floor, the shelves, or each other, they each s
hook their heads whilst adamantly avoiding eye contact with her piercing stare.
“Right. Then let us instead discuss the opportunity before us.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Amphrite drummed her fingernails against her upper arms. “I could wave my hand and fix your little mistake. His wound hasn’t festered, no poisons were involved, and it was made with mer artifacts versus human. These elements combined would make the healing a simple one. After I did this, I would want my steward to deliver to me the files I requested—undisturbed and without question. Or, we can all stay here, watch him bleed to death, and cross our fingers that this little slip-up doesn’t lead to a kingdom wide civil war. Thoughts? Feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.”
Tattoo-head nodded his agreement first, his demanding gaze flicking to his brethren and the guardsmen in encouragement for them to follow suit. Even Samuel bobbed his head in favor of his own mercy.
“Then it seems we have an accord.” Dangerous intent dripped from the upturned corners of Amphrite’s triumphant smirk. A flap of her tail and she hovered in front of Samuel. He stilled as her hand raised, eager for the relief she promised. Instead, she halted and spun back around as if remembering she’d left her cauldron bubbling. “Oh, there is one more thing. We haven’t discussed the subject of payment yet. You can’t get something for nothing, you know.”
The last of his energy exhausted, Samuel slumped to the ground, his wavering gaze struggling to focus on his hesitating savior.
“Anything! Name it!” Doralious barked.
“I may ask Samuel to run errands like this for me from time to time.” After a casual circular motion with her forefinger, she then pressed it to her cheek. “If that happens, I don’t want any of you interfering. Both he and I are left to our own devices, and no one will have to know about the nearly fatal consequences of your little display of testosterone.”
“Yes, my Queen,” they chorused one after the other. Each punctuated the declaration by clapping their closed fist over their heart.
The Unfortunate Souls Collection Page 16
