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Now, she distracted herself from the blood by focusing on her dad. Wasn’t he scared? Why did he seem so calm? The healers had just pulled a tube full of gooey substance from his throat. He seemed to be breathing more easily. The now broad smile he gave Gryshen did not assuage the sinking in her stomach.

“Daddy?” Was that her voice? It sounded as if it belonged to a little girl.

“It’s a good thing Chief Morfal was here to alert the guards.”

Before Gryshen could ask, her father signaled an answer. “I sent Bravis away. I thought he could use some rest. He’s been by me constantly, and it was good for the chief and myself to speak, just the two of us.” Gryshen was quite certain that her father being left alone in the care of Morfal was never a good idea. She kept this to herself, though, and hoped the Chief of Rakor had not noticed her earlier accusation.

“You see, Princess”—Morfal’s signal crept around Gryshen like an eel—“we are all here in the other’s best interests. I look out for your father, and he looks out for me.” Never had a statement carried so much forced obligation. It coated the words, stiffening everyone. Coss seemed to twitch uncomfortably. Gryshen was pleased to see his discomfort at his father’s attempt to manipulate a crisis.

Her own father, ever a peacemaker, smoothed out the crowd. “Right, Morfal. Thank you for alerting the tribe. I was hardly in a position to communicate. And now”—he nodded in thanks to the healers, dismissing them—“now all I need is a little sleep. I think everyone could use rest.” With that, members of the Rakor swam away, escorted to their respective quarters by members of the Rone pod, leaving Coss, Morfal, Bravis, Jode, and herself.

“Please, Chief, let me know if I can be of any . . . help to you.” That eel crept again.

Coss glowered in his father’s direction. Gryshen would have given anything to know his thoughts.

“That’s much appreciated. Bravis, time for bed,” replied her father, completely ignoring this exchange. Gryshen couldn’t suppress a smile watching her father instruct a full-grown lax as if he were a babe.

“But, Sir . . .” Bravis began to protest, then, observing the chief’s weariness, thought better than to argue. He gave a slight bow, and swirled his great gray tail in the water as he left.

“I’m fine.” He must have known that Jode and Gryshen didn’t believe him. But he also must have known that they, like Bravis, didn’t want to tire him further with any argument.

So Jode wrapped his arm around his father. “I heard that stuff you have to take is gross, but it’ll heal you in no time.” He shook the little pouch stuffed with seaberries and a crushed mix of plankton and leaves and grinned at his dad. Frall sighed, releasing a stream of bubbles, and matched his son’s optimism.

“Of course. Night, Jode. Gryshie?”

Gryshen leaned in and brushed his cheek with a kiss.

Gryshen and Jode took arms around each other, linking as they headed to the breathing chamber.

Chapter 3

It was just she and Jode, since most of the ilorays slept.

“What do you make of the Rakor visit?” Jode asked as he twisted a gear.

“I don’t know yet.” Gryshen gulped down excess water from the tube, and they began drawing air in large swells. “You’ve hunted with some of them before. How was that?”

Jode thought for a moment. “I never hunted with that Morfal creep. Or that son of his.” The disdain he felt about the latter was clear in his transmission. “They don’t really go on hunts, I don’t think. Probably think it’s beneath them.” He snorted, spraying bubbles. He thought for another moment. “Grysh?”

“Yes?” She pulled as much air as her body could store for the night.

“The ones I hunted with were okay. Not so aggressive. But I gotta say, I don’t trust them.”

“Either of them?” Gryshen tried to keep emotion out of her signal.

“I know he’s pretty, Grysh, but his father—”

Gryshen whipped him with her tail. “Pretty? You think I’m some dumb leen who would be caught up with looks?”

“Ouch!” Jode rubbed his side. “What was that about?”

Gryshen felt sheepish. She hadn’t tail-whipped her brother in a very long time. “I’m—I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, you know he lost his mother in a stingray attack? Pretty recently. Maybe that’s why he didn’t join you for hunts.”

“I had heard that. I didn’t think of it, though. Sorry,” he added, still patting his side. “I just don’t know how far they want to take this warpath.”

“I know, but could you imagine if something happened to our pearl?”

“Do we know if that’s true?”

“Not officially. Not that Dad’s confirmed, anyway. But why else would they be so anxious to discuss territory now, if something hadn’t gone wrong with their own pearl? They now have their entire tribe at serious risk for disharmony, disease, death. We’d probably be that hostile, too.”

“You’re right.”

Gryshen heard the easy concession in his tone, and wondered if Jode wasn’t feeling weary himself.

“Let’s get some rest.”

They cranked the wheel, sealing the water tubes, and swam to their rooms.

Suspended in water, Gryshen’s dreams seemed to move with fluidity as she slept. Swirls of blue acted like a closing curtain for each act playing in her subconscious. Jode laughing from the hunt, a shadowy image of her family weaving shells in her mother’s hair before burial, embracing her father . . . and then the dream shifted to a crying little Coss, his dead mother, beautiful like him, ghostly blonde, a father growing more and more bitter. She shivered in her sleep; the sea felt icier around this frozen family.

When Gryshen awoke, it was with the confusion that comes from restless slumber. She adjusted the kelp on her chest, and swam quickly down to the water chamber.

The line was longer than usual since they were having to accommodate a guest tribe. Wordlessly, the other ilorays pulled back to the cavern walls, clearly making way for her to go first. This subservience always made Gryshen uncomfortable, and she usually ignored it and took a place in the back of the line to wait with the rest. This morning, however, she felt like her lungs had been rubbed with sand. Perhaps the vivid dreams and wakeful sleep had drained her brain of necessary energy. Regardless, she took the offer gratefully, and rather guiltily, swam to the front. A young ceasid pulled her lips away, saw Gryshen, and backed away nervously.

What is this? Gryshen wondered. Puzzled, she drew herself up to the tube, and forgot about the anxious child as she wildly gulped down sweet sea air.

Coss was waiting for her as she swam back to her room.

“Can I help you?” she asked, trying to keep emotion out of her signal.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to bother you.”

“What is it?”

“My father is having a meeting with his aides while Chief Frall rests. They were going to summit this morning, but . . .”

“But like you said, my father is resting.” The very fact that Morfal was still pushing these meetings angered her. Couldn’t he see her father needed to heal?

“Look, I hope you understand that Chief Frall sent word that he still wanted to meet.” Coss responded to a complaint she hadn’t verbalized.

“Well, what choice does he have?” It was as if the rush of oxygen to her lungs fueled the fire stoked by Jode the night before. When Gryshen’s throat felt especially tight, as it had upon waking, fresh air had almost a heady effect.