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 knelclass="underline"
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