by Plum Pascal
Opeia’s grand plans always result in trouble, which we already have in spades. Whatever she’s scheming, I don’t particularly want to be part of it, even if I love my auntie beyond the bounds of rationality.
But we’ve essentially been backed into a corner and we have little options left to us.
Bastion shrugs. I sigh.
Then, we follow in her wake.
THREE
ARIA
Opeia’s home isn’t palatial, like the one I grew up in, but it’s cozy and makes up for the lack of space with charm.
The network of caves stretches for miles, heated by an underwater volcano that lies smoldering and mostly tame. A layer of bioluminescent algae carpets the floor, gently pulsing blue and green. A dozen of Opeia’s scrying orbs litter stone shelves, providing further illumination. She has a horde of human treasures here, salvaged from sunken ships. She particularly values the gilt-backed chair she retrieved from the wreckage of a royal envoy’s vessel. She lounges on it now, violet tail draping over one side as she rests her back against the other arm and regards us both with interest.
Bastion and I sit tensed on a stone shelf across from her, waiting. Bastion sits close to me and I relish his strength and friendship. Without him, I don’t know what I’d do…
“We lost twenty-six soldiers today,” Opeia says, voice tight and pained.
The news draws a gasp from me, and involuntary tremors rack my body. Twenty-six? That was over half our fighting force! We were too few in number already. How will we be able to face the rest of the grotesquerie when it inevitably surfaces again? Opeia’s spells can’t contain them for long. “How?” I ask as my stomach falls.
She nods. “When the leviathan surfaced, it snapped them all up in its jaws and ground them between its teeth before anyone knew what had happened.”
Bastion’s eyes are downcast, his face a rictus of sorrow. He knew more of the dead than I did. As a general, he was trusted to lead them—they were his men. And he’d been elsewhere when they died. I reach out a hand to him, trying to offer him some comfort, but he draws it back, shaking his head.
“Don’t, Aria,” he mumbles.
“Bastion?” I ask, surprised he won’t let me touch him. Usually he loves my touch.
But he shakes his head. “I’m disgusted with myself already. I don’t want your pity on top of it.”
I let my hand drop, oddly hurt by the rebuff. There’s little Bastion and I don’t share. But he’s been cold lately, and I can’t fathom why.
My throat closes around a keening sound. What are we going to do? For ten years, this has been my only home. The thought of seeing it destroyed threatens to break me.
No. Never!
I refuse to let Triton steal this home away from me and from Bastion and Opeia! My father’s already stolen so much from us as it is.
Opeia continues, in tune with my thoughts.
“We need help. I’ve got enough magic left in me to hold the grotesquerie off for perhaps another month before I’ll need to rejuvenate. And in that time, something has to change. That’s why I’d like to send you both to the surface.”
I blink at her in surprise.
“What?” Bastion starts.
I nod, seconding his shock. This was the last thing I expected to hear! “The surface? Auntie, you know that’s a death sentence?”
“We most likely would not survive the surface,” Bastion says in agreement.
“You know Andromeda and her guards are waiting for us to do something just like that!” I continue, shaking my head because I’m amazed she would even consider it, let alone voice it. “It’s too dangerous!”
Opeia slams a fist against the arm of her chair. “It’s too dangerous to stay here, child.”
“I understand it’s dangerous here,” I argue. “But up there… it’s suicide!”
She shakes her head. “Listen to me. I have a plan.”
I fall silent, grimacing. I hate being treated like an errant child. Opeia does it so rarely that it’s easy to forget she’s been more of a mother to me than Andromeda ever was, even when Andromeda was playing simpering caretaker. It was probably a relief for her to drop the act when I was banished.
Opeia’s expression softens, her translucent hair fanning lazily around her head. It’s tinted lightly blue, the light of the algae floor reflecting back up to her, giving her a royal appearance. “That was rude,” she says with a little smile aimed in my direction. “I’m sorry, Aria.”
“It’s okay,” I say with a smile. Then my attention returns to the problem at hand. “Why are we going to the surface, Auntie?”
A small smile graces her full mouth. “Always straight and to the point. I love that about you, dear.”
“Opeia?” Bastion says, clearly trying to keep her on topic.
“Yes, I intend to send you to the surface,” she says. “And I’m fully aware it sounds ludicrous and I’m aware it might appear to be a suicide mission. But, the truth of the matter is, if you stay here, it’s simply a matter of time until your father’s forces come for us. And when that happens, we will all be killed. We’ve lost too many of our soldiers and our numbers are too small. We need aid. Combatting the grotesquerie is a fruitless effort at this point, unless we have more people to back us. To that end, I want you to approach the King of Delorood. Make a deal with him.”
“A deal?” I ask. I know nothing of the King of Delorood.
She nods. “If he sends worthy warriors to help us stage a coup against Triton, we can guarantee him safe tides.”
Once again, I’m left blinking at her in shock. Of all the things I expected to fly out of her mouth... Has she lost her mind?
“They’re mortal, Auntie,” I say, frowning. She does realize the king and his soldiers are human? “And they’re land bound. They can’t help us with our battle beneath the waves. They’d all drown.”
“The Kingdom of Delorood is more advanced than the rest of Fantasia,” Opeia insists, her lips tight. “They have aquatic suits and artificial lungs which means they would be equipped to fight alongside us, beneath the water.”
“But they’re human,” I return to my original point. “And humans hate our kind.”
“Just as we hate them,” Bastion adds. I can tell by his expression that he’s angry and doesn’t agree with Opeia’s plan but he’s too polite to say so.
“I want you to at least petition the king,” Opeia continues. “If such fails, all we’ve lost is a little time. If you succeed, though, the benefits to us are vast. If we have the benefit of the king’s men backing us, that means our position will be incredibly bolstered and we would actually be given the opportunity to throw your father off the throne.” She pauses. “This is the only way we have of seeing someone new take Triton’s throne.”
“You,” I say quickly. “You should take his throne.”
Bastion nods.
The throne should have been Opeia’s by birthright. She’s older than my father by over a decade. But Poseidon hadn’t wanted a woman on the throne. An inevitability at this point, because Triton’s fucked Andromeda until her tail chaffed for years and still she’s only produced daughters.
Opeia’s smile is weary. “No. I’m needed here. It has to be you, Aria.”
But I don’t want it—I don’t want the throne. And she knows that. I’ve seen the corruption of absolute power. I don’t trust myself not to become drunk with it, just like my father. I don’t want to rule the seven seas. I hate the thought.
Bastion sighs, scoots closer to me, and shoves his hand into mine, squeezing gently. He misinterprets the anguish on my face.
“I’m here for you, Princess. However it turns out. I’m here for you.”
He’s always been there for me so this isn’t a surprise. I just wish I had the same faith in myself that he does. Bastion has always been consummately loyal, even when I don’t deserve it.
“It will be difficult for both of you on land,” Opeia warns. “Human forms are awkward, but you�
��ll need legs to navigate and to fit in.” She faces me then and worry seeps into her features. “Things may be... requested of you, Aria.”
“Things?” I repeat.
She nods. “From the King. The sorts of things Sen wishes of you. It’s how humans often seal alliances. If you aren’t willing...”
“I’ll do it,” I say softly.
What choice do I have? Taking Triton on now is suicide. And if he doesn’t kill us, the grotesquerie will finish us off soon enough. We’re running out of options. If I must lay my body on the line, so be it.
Bastion’s hand slides out of mine. His eyes, blue as cobalt, seem to ice over. His expression twists once before going completely blank. I can’t understand why, but I sense I’m being rebuffed. The rejection stings all the more in light of what we’re facing. I can’t do this alone. I need him with me, supporting me the way he always has.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat as I face my aunt again. I can’t focus on Bastion’s changing moods. Not when the future facing us is as bleak as it is. “How will this work?”
“I will bespell you both,” Opeia explains. “When you emerge from the water, the transformation will begin. After that, you have precisely two weeks before you need to return to the water or your legs will return to tails.”
“Two weeks?” I say, shaking my head. “That’s not nearly enough time!”
She nods. “I know it seems rushed but I can’t conceivably stretch the spell any longer and keep the grotesquerie in check at the same time.”
Bastion’s voice comes out terse when he finally speaks. He’s been rather laconic through the discussion. “So, what’s the plan to get us to the surface, Opeia?” His lips are tight and his posture is rigid. I don’t understand why he appears irritated. Have I done something? Said something?
My aunt grins. And then she explains. I feel my heart drop down to my stomach and Bastion looks like he wants to throw up.
“You’re insane,” I say as Bastion merely nods beside me.
“I know,” she says with a delighted laugh. “Now, let’s get you going.”
***
I have to agree with my previous thought. This is insane.
We’re poised above one of the cracks that lead to the fathomless parts of the deep. The part that usually spills forth monsters. The part that is currently trying to disgorge yet another kraken.
Aunt Opeia lifts a small section of the spell to allow one through. This one is barely out of its infancy, smaller than the one that attacked the ship that bore the name Jolly Roger. I normally wouldn’t be afraid to face it, especially because we’re counting on the kraken to shock and frighten Andromeda’s brood long enough to allow us pass… except, Opeia’s plan is so much worse!
“I can’t believe she wants us to ride it,” Bastion mutters, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Even kraken babies are deadly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was trying to get us killed.”
“But you do know better,” I answer.
He nods. “But I do know better.”
The red luminescence that edges the kraken’s tentacles and suckers is meant to draw in prey. Now the glow just looks like a death omen as the thing finally wriggles free of the spell. As promised, Opeia’s magic snaps the crack shut after this last kraken escapes, preventing anything else from emerging.
Thank the gods.
The kraken’s sense of smell is fantastic, and I expect it to come hurtling at us. But Opeia’s cloaking spell is too thorough to allow for that.
“Get ready,” I advise Bastion tersely, hoping my voice doesn’t betray my screaming panic. This had better work…
The kraken passes by, tentacles trailing in a gentle locomotion, unhurried as it pulses its way toward the surface. I take a deep breath, reach out, and anchor myself against its squid-like head. Bastion attaches himself on the other side. The tentacles would be easier for us to keep hold of, but one brush against the poisonous suckers could be fatal. Better not to risk it. Besides, the kraken’s skin gives easily beneath the pressure of our fingers, allowing us to hold on. It’s intensely warm for a creature so used to the depths.
It would be pathetically easy to kill this thing, if I had a mind to do such a thing. A spear to the eye, driving fast and hard into its brain, and it would crumple to the ocean floor like a flimsy bag. But I won’t. Opeia’s plan is the only one we have to reach the surface unmolested. The enchantment allows us to appear as innocent barnacles attached to the thing’s skin. It’ll ignore us, for the most part.
But it won’t ignore the merfolk waiting above the trench, hoping for me to reemerge. They scatter quickly with panicked shouts and curses. Sen has to pull Piper out of the way before she’s crushed in the grip of the baby kraken’s tentacles. They disperse, but not quite fast enough. Kendosk is snatched mid-stroke and dragged screaming toward the underside of the kraken, where its mouth lies.
The scream cuts off abruptly and is followed by a series of horrific snapping and slurping sounds as the beast devours its meal. Only a hand escapes consumption, floating languidly toward the surface with the fingers splayed open, caught in that last moment of agony.
I shudder. Even if Kendosk was despicable, he didn’t deserve such an ignoble end.
Sen and the others are woefully underprepared to deal with the sea monsters, after so many long years of not facing them. Their spears and darts do little against the kraken. And so we ascend, higher and higher, toward the wavering light of the surface.
Hours have passed. The sun is shining weakly through the water, casting brilliant beams down on us. Even in our grim hour, I can still find some joy in that.
If Opeia’s plan works, I may never have to descend to the dark again. Wouldn’t it be glorious to live in a world awash with light—to never have to worry about my father and his evil plans again...
We release our grip on the kraken as it surfaces and then we swim away from it as quickly as possible, going in opposite directions just in case it picks up the scent of our trail. The baby kraken can’t follow both of us. We agree to meet near the tide pools on Cassio Island.
***
I hesitate for the briefest of moments when I approach the island. The pools are on the opposite end of the island from the fisherman’s shack. I feel the need to stop and check on the captain of the ship—just to make sure he’s still alive.
It will only be a brief delay. Bastion will forgive me, right?
I change direction, gliding instead for the north end of the island.
Time to check on my sailor.
FOUR
HOOK
My head aches.
My mouth tastes like I’ve licked a Beluga’s asshole, and the inside feels like gritty rock when I run my tongue over my teeth.
I must have swallowed saltwater after...
I sit upright, realizing seconds too late, doing so is a bad idea. Pressure and immense pain harpoon the side of my head. Black spots dance a reel before my eyes, and dizziness threatens to drag me down to the mattress again. I’m more fucked up than I first assumed. I must have drunk in more than just the saltwater. Perhaps a little bit of that sea bugger’s venom has gotten into me, too.
By sheer, unadulterated stubbornness, I manage to keep myself upright, digging the fingers of my good hand into the windowsill nearby for support. I squeeze my eyes shut, count to ten, and take deep breaths, working to swallow. The sides of my throat rub together like sandpaper. Water will help clear the worst of the aches, if I can find any. A tricky proposition, when surrounded by the sea. I don’t know which of the small islands near Delorood I’ve washed up on.
“You ought to be careful,” warns a softly lilting voice from the corner of wherever the fuck I am. “Move too quickly and you’ll be sick.”
The voice is quiet and lovely, but not familiar. Not Kassidy’s. That brassy lass would never be so softly spoken.
My eyes wheel, looking for the source. Fuck, I’ve been so discombobulated, I haven’t even considered the
fact someone might be here with me.
Then, I see her. At first glance, she almost blends in with the metal walls of the fisherman’s shack I find myself in. But as I blink the film and black spots from my eyes, I see she’s a different shade than the rusty tin siding. Her opal skin has a soft, almost pearlescent glow, like a betta fish. And her hair… when she moves, it ripples, changing colors as I view it. It’s utterly breathtaking all on its own.
But that’s not what has my mouth hanging in the sea breeze. When she steps into the light filtering through one of the many holes in the shack, I see her full silhouette.
She’s completely naked and she’s goddamn beautiful, in an alien, ethereal sort of way.
Because there’s no doubt in my mind—she s not human. No human has eyes that large and that shape. The lashes are thick and brush her cheekbones when she glances down sheepishly at her feet. Those cheekbones. Intricate patterns in sage green sweep from the outer corner of each eye and drop down to dust along her cheeks, moving inward and stopping shy of her pert little nose. She has a lovely rosebud mouth, just full enough that a man might imagine what it’s like to kiss those lips.
Like I am now.
And her hair... It seems translucent, reflecting the color of the light around her. Now, it’s the palest blue, the shade of the sky outside.
I lose the battle with my good conscience and let my eyes sweep over the rest of her. Every. Bare. Inch. She’s completely starkers.
She’s lean and well-muscled, like one of the lasses back home in Neverland. Ah Neverland…
Home has never been a kind place, and does not produce kind people. No rest or repose for any of us. My first lovely lass had been cut from similar cloth. If, in fact, this lass hails from such a rough place.
She’s got scars that crisscross her shoulders and trail down her back. She’s seen battle. I’m not certain why but this realization surprises me. Perhaps it’s owing to the fact that she’s as strikingly lovely as she is.
Her breasts are bare, nipples pointing forward, the taut peaks absolutely mouthwatering. I want to feel the skin beneath my tongue. Or maybe I’d rather be fixed between those pale, sinuous legs. The vee between her thighs is bare and her quim glints prettily. She touches it with a frown, bringing her glistening juices to the light as she examines them curiously. My cock goes rigid, straining toward her.