me her back. “I don’t get how something like that can exist without
anyone knowing about it.”
“Think about what you just said.” I take a lock of her hair and
run my fingers along it. She bats me away. “No one sees the giant,
floating Toliss Island that contains the whole Sea Court, either.”
“That’s different,” Kurt says. “There’s a spell around the island
so it appears to be a storm at sea. To keep humans away. The makara
and others like it were put away years ago. They caused so much
destruction that the king buried them deep in the earth, hoping they
would die. That explains their size. They’ve adapted to the
constraints of the cave.”
I twist my torso to stretch the soreness out of my rib cage. “So
why did one just happen to show up and start snacking on great
whites?”
“It’s the king’s power.” Kurt motions at my quartz scepter and
Triton’s dagger on the table. “It’s ebbing. The trident is the king’s
power. He creates with it. He destroys with it. Now that it’s broken
in three pieces, everything will come undone.”
“I don’t get it,” Layla says. “Haven’t there been other kings? Why
is this happening now?”
“The line has been unbroken for thousands of years. Our kind is
bound to the power of the throne. Which is why, if at the end of the
fortnight, the trident is not pieced back together, everything-from
the creatures banished in caves beneath the sea, to those banished
from court-would be able to return. Even our kind would be able to go
on land.”
“We don’t always behave very well among humans,” Thalia says
darkly.
“Speak for yourself, guppy,” Gwen says. She’s got her arms crossed
like she owns the world. Then the ship heaves. Gwen falls into Kurt,
who holds her by her shoulders at arm’s length. Layla falls back
against me and I take this moment to put my arms around her. The
pitcher of water on the table wobbles but doesn’t tip over.
Thalia throws her hair back, just missing Gwen’s face. “I think
I’ll check on the progress. We should be there shortly.” She presses
her hand on my shoulder before leaving.
Kurt looks from Layla to me to Gwen, and as though he’d rather
face another Macarena eel thing than stay with us, he says, “I’ll join
you.”
Gwen tries to pick up my makara tooth, but doesn’t realize how
sharp it is, and cuts her finger on its edge. She sucks on the wound.
“Time for an edible seaweed Band-Aid,” Layla says, mock-sweetly.
Gwen shoots a terrible glare at her. I’m expecting her eyes to
glow white and sparks to fly from her fingers, but she just stalks
out.
Which leaves just Layla and me.
I get off the bed and pour myself a cup of water. It’s cool,
slightly salty, and perfect. I drink it eagerly as it trickles over
the cup and down my chest.
“Thirsty?” Layla asks.
I set the cup down. “Just a bit.”
I grip the dusty golden hilt of the scepter, trying to remember
the power I felt when I was facing the makara.
“How do you make it glow?”
“I don’t. Not really. Even when I was down there, I could tell it
wasn’t me doing it.”
“What do you mean?”
I hesitate, trying to find just the right words. “It’s like it has
its own power. Separate from me. Somehow, we feed off each other.”
She cocks her head to the side. All of her hair is pulled over her
shoulder. Footsteps scatter on deck. I sit on the bed beside her. “You
must be bummed you broke the entrance to the oracle lady, huh?” she
says.
I take her hand in mine and cross our fingers together. “I’m
looking forward to seeing the Vanishing Cove. This is the farthest
away I’ve ever been from home.”
“Me too.”
“You’ve been to Athens. You’ve been to the equator. That’s way
farther.”
“It’s not the same.” She shakes her head, not letting go of my
stare. Not for a moment. “Promise you’ll be careful from now on.”
I smile. “And miss out on seaweed bandages?”
She doesn’t laugh, the way I intended it. It’s even better. She
takes my face with her hand and brings it closer to-
“Many pardons, Lord Sea,” Vi says.
I throw myself backward on the bed. “What is it?”
Layla pours herself some water.
The purple urchin shifts from side to side, wringing his little
fingers until I fear he’ll pull them right off the knuckles. “We’re
nearing the coast.”
“We’ll be right out.”
He bows so low to the ground that his long, pointy nose nearly
touches the wood, then leaves in a purple blur.
I take my scepter, nestle it into the back of the harness, and
sheath my dagger on the front.
“Really, Tristan.” Layla stands back to look at me from the
doorway. “I think you need more weapons.”
Behind her I can see the others loading up as well. I take a
skinny blade with a bronze handle and hand it to her. She doesn’t
hesitate when she takes it, but her hands are shaky.
“The way things are going,” I say, “we’re going to need them.”
Leaning against the side of the ship, we’re still surrounded on
all sides by nothing but water. “I thought you said we were nearly
there.”
Arion lowers himself on his black ropes. “Take a moment, Master
Tristan. Close your eyes.”
It sounds hokey, but I do it.
“Envision your destination.”
“But, I’ve never been there before. How will I know what I’m
envisioning?”
“It’s a feeling, Master Tristan. Knowing you have arrived.”
I peek from my left eye. The others are standing with their eyes
shut facing the water. Arion nods encouragingly at me.
I know I should be picturing a strip of land. Maybe a white sandy
beach. Or a port? A small town where the oracle will be living. The
truth is, I have no idea what I should be picturing. I keep thinking
of the Coney Island skyline-the pier, the dark water pulling in with
the tide, the silhouettes of the Wonder Wheel and the Parachute Jump.
It warms my insides because I know when I see that, I’ve come home.
When I open my eyes, I have to rub them shut again. A coastal town
flickers in the distance.
“Whoa.” Layla points at it. “Vanishing Cove. They weren’t just
being funny when they named it.”
“Yes, Miss Layla,” Arion says. “Humans, even some of our kind,
will sail past without knowing it’s there. If you know what you’re
looking for, sometimes it’s easier to find.”
As we get closer, I can make out the ascending line of crooked
homes along the jagged coast. Ships bigger than ours are docked
farther out, letting down rowboats full of passengers. From a tiny
strip of beach on the far side of the island, I can see a recently
extinguished fire still smoking.
Arion moves his hands skillfully, molding the air. The masts and
sails bend in turn to his movements, adjusting to catch the wind from
a different angle until we’re nestled in the port between a
weather-beaten ship called the Golden Rose and a nameless narrow black
ship with a dragon carved into the bow.
The port market smells like the time my friend Angelo’s mom made
us go down to Biddy Early’s pub to tell his dad he had to come home.
Beer, men, and burning meat. Merchants argue in loud languages I don’t
recognize, but the hand gestures suggest the speakers are not exactly
loving each other.
“Those guys look friendly.” I set foot on the dock. A wobbly
sensation washes over me, as if the sky and the ground have switched
places. I know my feet are firmly planted on the ramp, but somehow