by Zoe Chant
“I’ve raised four boys of my own, thank you very much,” she countered. “I know exactly the sort of shenanigans that you young bucks get up to at nights, much as I wish I didn’t. I don’t care how full you are of newfound fire and vinegar. You got to remember to actually sleep in your bed once in a while.”
“Huh?” Joe looked briefly baffled. Then his mouth stretched in such appalled horror that it was all she could do not to burst out laughing. “Grandma! It’s not—I don’t—no!”
“Four boys,” she reminded him. “All teenagers at the same time, too. Still suffer flashbacks every time I find a discarded sock.”
Joe shot Finn a mute appeal for rescue. Her mate chuckled under his breath, and put a hand on her shoulder. When he spoke, though, it was to the young prince.
“You said that you came to find us,” Finn said. “I assume it is a matter of some urgency.”
“Oh, yeah!” Joe perked up, regaining some of his usual bounce. “You need to visit my garden!”
“That’s why you sent half the city into conniptions?” Martha said. “To take us to gawp at some plants?”
Joe hesitated, looking a little shifty. Then he plastered a wide-eyed, earnest expression onto his face. Martha would have bet dollars to donuts that he’d practiced it in the mirror.
“My part’s best at this time of day,” he said. “The Wardens have been restoring the Garden of Hours, see, and I got to do the twilight grotto. I want you to get the full effect. I worked hard on it.”
Finn’s forehead wrinkled. “Last I heard, you were apprenticed with the Smiths.”
“That got old fast.” Joe pulled a face. “Turns out that hitting big sheets of metal with hammers for hours at a time is really hard work. Anyway, there were too many knights. And they all just want you to churn out exactly the same type of armor that their ancestors wore. No sense of artistry. Or humor.”
Martha pictured a bored Joe with access to a fully equipped forge, and crossed herself. “Lord have mercy. Steer clear of careers involving fire, you. We’ll all sleep safer in our beds.”
“So you are studying with the Wardens, now.” Finn tilted his head, studying Joe in mild bemusement. “I had not thought you had a great love for ecology.”
“Turns out it’s pretty neat. There’s a lot of cool stuff to learn.” Joe sounded genuinely enthused. Then again, he always did.
Martha narrowed her eyes at him. “And how long is this particular fascination going to last? Four months? Five? A record-breaking half a year?”
“Um. Well.” Joe’s expression turned guarded. “I’m already thinking of switching to something else, actually.”
“Is there anything left that you haven’t already tried?” Martha threw up her hands. “You must have been through every school in the sea by now. Don’t tell me you’re finally going to give in to your old man and join one of the knightly orders.”
“Sea, no.” Joe gave a full-body shudder. “I’d flee the ocean before I’d do that.”
“What, then?” Finn asked.
Joe bit his lip, gaze sliding away. “I was thinking of… of joining the Seers.”
Martha blinked. “The Seers? The ones who do all that scrying malarkey? I thought they were a bunch of underwater monks. You can’t possibly want to sign up for that.”
“Not much choice.” Joe shrugged, still avoiding their eyes. “It’s like you said. I’m already banned from pretty much everywhere else.”
“Joseph Finley Small, there is no one in the entire world less suited to a life of silent, serious contemplation than you.”
“In total agreement with you there.” Joe flashed her his trademark grin, but there was something forced about it. “But hey, at least it’s an indoor job with no heavy lifting.”
“That requires total dedication and a certain degree of innate aptitude,” Finn noted. “Your new career may be even more short-lived than usual.”
“Yeah,” Joe said under his breath. “Let’s hope so.”
Before Martha could ask what he meant by that, Joe shook his head, straightening. His peculiar dark mood fell away as though he was shrugging off a heavy coat. He beamed at them both, back to his usual bright-eyed, mischievous self.
Or is this the act? She’d often wondered just how much of Joe’s cheerful chaos was a deliberate choice; a way of pushing back against all the expectations that came with being the heir to Atlantis. Poor kid. Weight of the sea on his shoulders. Still deserves an ass-whooping, mind.
“But enough about that!” Joe declaimed. “You have to go see my garden!”
“Apparently so,” Finn said, rather dryly. “Since it seems likely to be your only one.”
“Lead the way then, kiddo.” Martha waved a hand, gesturing Joe to go first. “Let’s see this grand design of yours, since you’re so keen to show it to us.”
Joe shifted his weight. “Uh, actually, you’ll need to go see it on your own. There’s no way to get to it from here without using the main streets. The instant I’m seen, someone’s going to raise the alarm. We wouldn’t make it there before a dozen knights swoop down and drag us all back to the palace.”
“We should be dragging you back to the palace,” Finn said. “A shark’s honor is more flexible than a sea dragon’s, but I have stretched mine enough for one day. Your mother will be worried. As the Empress’s sworn servant, I must return you to her. Willingly or otherwise.”
“No!” Joe was practically hopping from foot to foot now. “You have to go see the garden. Right now!”
“Twilight happens every day, Joe,” Martha said, wondering why on earth he was so het up about it. “You can take us to see it next time we’re in town.”
“That’ll be too late!” Joe took a deep breath, raking a hand through his curly blue-black hair. “Look. I know this doesn’t make any sense. But you have to trust me. If I return to the palace and hand myself in, will you go to the Garden of Hours? Right now?”
Martha exchanged a puzzled glance with Finn. Her mate lifted one shoulder at her in the tiniest of shrugs.
“You’ll go straight back home to face the music?” she said to Joe, suspicious of some trick. “No more mischief or lollygagging?”
Joe held up one hand like a Boy Scout. “Honest. I promise.”
“Swear it,” Finn rumbled. “On your honor.”
Joe huffed. “That wouldn’t mean much. Anyone around here will tell you I don’t have any honor.”
“Swear it,” Finn repeated, in exactly the same tone. His gray eyes held Joe’s. “On your honor.”
Joe stilled. Something changed about him, in a way Martha couldn’t quite put her finger on. Maybe he just stood a little straighter. But suddenly, her perception of him shifted. She looked at him, and saw not the boy he was, but the man he might one day become.
Slowly, Joe dipped his head, in something between a nod and a bow. “On my honor.”
“Then we will go,” Finn said, simply.
“We’ve got to get home tonight, but we’ll squeeze in a quick visit to your garden first,” Martha said. “Since it’s so important to you. And next time we’re in Atlantis, you can show us round in person.”
Joe scrunched up his nose, and was once again just a moody teen, stuck slap in the middle of that awkward liminal zone between childhood and maturity. “If my dad hasn’t grounded me for life.”
“Actions have consequences, kiddo,” Martha told him. “Trying to skip out on them just makes it worse in the end.”
Joe let out a sigh that seemed to start right from the tips of his toes. “I know.”
His hangdog expression tugged at her heartstrings. “Listen, you want me to have a word with your parents? If you’re getting antsy for a change, there’s no need to do some fool thing like joining the Seers. Come stay awhile with our pack this summer. Coyotes don’t give two hoots who’s who under the sea. Take a little time to get your head on straight, away from all this.”
Joe smiled—a real smile, that crinkled his eyes. There was a
sad edge to it, though.
“I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that a lot. But I don’t think it would help.”
“Nonsense. Few months doing yard work and hanging out round campfires with other youngsters would do you a world of good.” She shooed him off. “I’ll talk to your folks. You get on, now.”
“Thanks, Grandma.” Joe hesitated halfway down the alleyway, shooting them a strange, serious look over his shoulder. “Go straight to the Garden of Hours, okay? You won’t want to be late.”
Martha let out her breath, staring after Joe as he disappeared into shadow. “I worry about that boy.”
Finn took her hand, interlacing his fingers through hers. “You worry about everyone.”
“Oh, like you can talk.” She bumped her shoulder against him. “You gather up lost souls like a broody hen.”
He tipped his head wryly, acknowledging the point. “I think neither of us will have any success chasing after that one, though. He is too good at running away.”
“That’s the Lord’s own truth.” Martha gusted out a sigh. “Well, I put the offer on the table, at least. Up to him, now. Some rabbits you can only catch by staying still.”
Finn lifted her hand, brushing a kiss across her knuckles that tingled all the way down her spine. “Wise mate.”
“Cranky mate,” she grumbled, as he led her out of the alleyway. “All these youngsters insisting on charging off and making their own mistakes, instead of learning from ours. Makes my teeth itch.”
Finn breathed his soft, silent laugh. “Did you listen to your elders, when you were their age?”
“Of course not. Did you?”
“In some things.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and his eye gleamed. “Not others.”
He’d been raised to overthrow the sea dragon empire. Sometimes, in the depths of night, Martha would wake up and look at the relaxed, sleeping lines of his face, and think of how easily things could have been different. And then she would curl up around him, holding him tight, and give silent, heartfelt thanks.
She cast a glance up at the distant spires of the Imperial Palace, soaring high above the rest of the city. “God bless idealistic, ornery youths who change the world through sheer pig-headedness. I’m glad it’s not you up there in the fancy hat. You’d have been good at it, mind.”
“I would have ruled the sea from surface to abyss,” Finn said; just a simple statement of fact. “And we would never have met, and so I would have had nothing.”
Her throat tightened. But she didn’t need to say anything to tell him how she felt. He already knew.
3. The Gift
They emerged back onto the main streets of Atlantis. The magical glow that lit the city was fading into soft, twilight shades now, mimicking the hidden sky far above. Dusky purple shadows settled over coral buildings. Twinkling points of light danced and sparkled overhead—not stars, but shoals of luminescent fish, gathering to rise to the surface and feed.
“Come.” Finn lengthened his stride, making her have to scoot to keep up with his much longer legs. “We must hasten, if we are to keep our promise to the Prince.”
The streets were busy with sea shifters, but they had no difficulty making their way through the crowd. One glance at Finn, and even the biggest, cockiest sea dragon warrior stood aside.
It was partly out of respect, she knew. But only partly.
Can’t believe they still aren’t over this nonsense. She glared at yet another group of sea shifters as they back-pedaling away from Finn at not-quite-undignified speed. For Heaven’s sake! If a bunch of desert dogs can treat him like a normal person, you’d think full-grown dragons could manage to look him in the eye without widdling themselves.
Finn’s nature was never an issue up on land. Which wasn’t to say people didn’t recognize his power. When Finn did ‘nothing’ in that particular way of his, even the most bone-headed rattlesnake had the sense to mind their manners.
But he never shifted back home in Arizona. He couldn’t, for obvious reasons. And it was one thing to vaguely be aware that the quiet, patient coach who taught kids how to swim at the local pool could also, when the occasion called, turn into a giant prehistoric shark.
It was quite another to actually see him do it.
The Atlanteans had. Finn had never hidden his other form from them—it would have been futile even to try, given that he was nigh-on a hundred feet long and broad as a barn to boot. They’d all seen his silent shadow, passing high above the spires of their city. They knew what he was.
And so it didn’t matter that Finn wore a black pearl around his neck—the only person not of the Imperial bloodline to ever do so—given to him by the Empress herself as a sign of her trust. It didn’t matter that he’d spent decades tirelessly working to defend the people of Atlantis from threats both within and without. It didn’t even matter that he’d retired from politics and war years ago, hanging up his sword and leaving others to carry on his legacy.
To sea shifters, he would always be the Master Shark.
They bowed to him, yes… but they feared him too. They were wary of all sharks, and he was the shark. The terror in the deep; the Big Bad Wolf of their nursery tales. No matter how often he showed them his kindness, his compassion and hard-earned wisdom… all they saw were his teeth.
For his part, Finn didn’t seem to notice the whispers and hastily averted eyes. But watching the crowds melt away before him like butter on a griddle, Martha thought again of the empty space around Seventh Novice. How straight and stiff she’d stood, ignoring the other kids in an act of self-defense. Pretending not to care.
Finn was much better at it than that little slip of a girl. He’d had a lot more practice. But Martha had seen under the armor that he presented to the world. He would never admit it—not even to her—but even after a whole lifetime of suspicious stares, she knew he still felt every last one.
The unfairness of it all made her mad enough to bite. She itched to grab every last one of the prejudiced dragons by their gills and rattle some sense into them.
For pity’s sake! she wanted to yell at them all. This man bottle-feeds orphaned armadillos and lets the kiddies pelt him with water balloons! You couldn’t hope to meet a gentler soul, above the sea or under it. And y’all still treat him like he might rip open the whole damn city like a bag of chips if he gets a bit peckish.
Finn’s fingers tightened on hers. “Thank you.”
“Just say the word,” she muttered, sending a couple of whispering warriors such a glare that they all scuttled away like hermit crabs. “Give me a megaphone and an opportunity, and I’ll blister the whole city’s ears.”
“Please do not petition the Empress to allow you to issue an Imperial proclamation,” Finn murmured. “I am fairly certain that she would agree.”
“Hmph. At least Neridia appreciates everything you’ve done for the sea. Not like these ingrates. Honestly. The way they stare, you’d think you were ten feet tall and made of knives.”
Finn—a shade under seven foot, and still mostly muscle despite his years and her cooking—cast her a wry look. “Perhaps I should be grateful that they still fear me.”
“You aren’t, though.”
His smile slipped. He looked away, gazing at the graceful arches and towers of his city.
“No,” he said, very quietly. “I am not. But these are the times in which we live. And it will be better, eventually, for those who come after me. That is reward enough. One day, a shark will walk these streets, and they will not fear her.”
“Future generations can go whistle. I want it to be better for you.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand again. “But some things change only slowly. I—”
He broke off, head whipping round so fast that Martha instinctively reached for her coyote.
“Finn?” Her animal strained under her skin, ready to shift and defend his back. “What is it?”
“Distress.” His lips peeled back, baring every jagged tooth. He drop
ped her arm. “Distress in the water!”
Without further explanation, he broke into a flat-out sprint, charging down a side-street. No time for niceties like getting undressed; Martha shifted, shaking abruptly too-big shoes off her paws. Sundress flapping against her flanks, she bounded after her mate.
She was faster than him in this form. In three strides she’d caught up. Without missing a beat, Finn side-stepped to let her pass, giving her the lead. She sniffed the air as she ran, but couldn’t detect anything past the all-pervasive, salty scent of the sea.
*Where?* she sent to him down the mate bond.
*That way.* His presence in her mind was as sure as a hand on her shoulder, steering her through the maze of twisting streets. This was how they always hunted, back home in the desert; his senses, her strength. *Hurry!*
Martha stretched her legs, paws flying. She must look a complete spectacle, a coyote trailing human clothes as though she’d run through a washing-line, but thankfully there was no one around to laugh. She was near the outskirts of the city now, where the buildings were dark and deserted. Thick, rough layers of barnacles encrusted every wall, and seaweed hung limp from empty windows.
All this was underwater not too long ago.
Before Neridia had ascended the Pearl Throne, the sea dragons’ numbers had dwindled to the point where they’d been forced to abandon large parts of their once-great city. That was all changing now, though. Neridia had encouraged her people to search for mates on land, resulting in an impressive baby boom. These days, Atlantis was thriving once more, recovering some of its former glory.
This must be one of the old neighborhoods, in the process of being reclaimed and restored to house the ever-expanding population. At the moment, though, it was deserted, artisans and builders having packed up their tools and gone home for the day.
So who in tarnation is in trouble out here?
The street narrowed to an arched gateway, blocked by a low, clearly temporary fence. She gathered herself and cleared it in a single easy bound. As she soared over the barrier, a sign pasted to it caught her eye.
