by C. S. Wilde
Cheers erupted from the crowd, but a nearly equal amount remained silent. Mera didn’t know what to make of it.
“I don’t care what you call me,” the queen continued. “Yes, I ask much of you. But sacrifice yourselves to Poseidon, and he will bring you back on the day of Regneerik!”
“She’s a liar!” Mera told them. “You will all die under her rule!”
“The sheer defiance!” The queen barked before boosting forward in rage.
Their tritons clanked loudly as she pushed Mera in a downwards spiral, forcing her to the bottom of the arena, where the lava pit waited for them. “Burn!” she bellowed, yellow and red flares highlighting the madness in her face.
Something inside Mera snapped.
Words could be a funny thing. She’d spoken them, she’d known their meaning, but it only hit her right then.
The queen had to die.
No matter what.
A strange force growled underneath Mera’s skin, clawed at her veins. It spread from her core toward the crowd in a pulse, and suddenly she held all the lives of Atlantea in the palm of her hand.
She could feel their heartbeats. Their blood pumping. Their bellies rumbling.
Mera could feel everything.
She gaped at her own fingers, tightly wrapped around her triton as the heating water stung against her skin. She then turned to the queen, who smiled as they approached the lava.
Mera could feel her heartbeat, too.
The power that had spread across the arena sunk back into Mera, focusing on one Atlantean.
Her mother.
It pierced into the queen’s magic as if it had been made of paper, and Ariella’s pulse quickened.
She swam back at once, untangling her triton from Mera’s, eyes widening as small veins bulged underneath her neck and cheeks.
“Impossible,” she croaked.
The queen’s magic tickled against Mera’s macabre. She was trying to block her, but she failed miserably.
“I never mattered to you!” Mera shouted as she pushed her power forward, squeezing her mother’s blood in and out of itself.
The queen yelped in pain. Ariella looked small, so very small. And Mera was big; no, she was enormous and unending.
Like the entire ocean.
“Your own people never mattered to you!” Mera faintly remarked the surge of power that pulsed from her, rippling toward the pews in the arena. Her fingers twisted, forcing the blood on her mother’s hand.
The queen dropped the royal triton with a furious scream, and it sunk quickly into the lava below them.
She gaped at Mera, fear and anger fitting well inside her glassy green eyes. Ariella’s macabre pushed against hers again, but Mera’s power didn’t budge.
“Mark my words, Mother,” she vowed through gritted teeth. “I will make sure Poseidon never finds you, even if it’s the last thing I do.”
Stone rumbled around them, and merfolk screamed.
The power inside Mera had spread through the sea, pushing against the pews and the arena, the water thrashing wildly… everywhere.
She couldn’t understand what was happening. A storm had taken over the space, rumbling toward the surface. The arena shook. Stone collapsed and Atlanteans shrieked in fear, but no one dared swim away, maybe because they didn’t understand what was happening; maybe because the water outside the arena had become a flesh-ripping maelstrom.
Was Mera doing this?
Her mother took advantage of her distraction and freed herself from the macabre. She threw herself at Mera, howling her hatred away.
Out of instinct, Mera pushed her triton forward.
And into the queen.
The maelstrom vanished as Mera’s power sunk back inside her core. The screams waned. Mera couldn’t hear the rumbling of stone, or the rushing of water anymore.
She glared at her impaled mother, and twisted the triton. Blood puffed in clouds around the wound, and it also came out from the corners of Mother’s lips.
“You little—” the queen choked on her own blood. “You. From all who tried to end me… you,” she spat, fury scorching her tone.
Mera’s teeth gritted so hard she thought they might pulverize, but she didn’t let go of the weapon.
The queen had to die.
She twisted it yet again, perfectly aware of the rivers of tears she gifted the ocean.
“I will never be like you, Mother,” she croaked.
“No, weakling…” Staring at her, Ariella Wavestorm smiled. Her hand reached for Mera, caressing her cheek for the first and last time. “You’re so much more.”
Her body went limp on the triton.
A high-pitched tune took over Mera’s ears, her vision blurring. Blood rushed through her veins and breathing became harder.
She’d killed her birth-giver.
The mad queen was no more.
Mera’s hands brutally quivered, and the trembling swam through the triton, into the corpse, making her mother shake in an eerie dance.
A great sorrow filled her to the brim, soon becoming a dark boulder that crashed upon her without mercy. Mera hoped she would feel relief and joy, not this gut-gnawing anguish. Not this pain she couldn’t understand or describe.
The arena was deadly silent. It looked off shape too—the tower bent slightly to the left.
The glares of Atlantea burned through her.
Professor Currenter dashed into the center and shook her awake from her shock. “You did it, little fry!”
A bulky waterbreaker with light-blue skin and hair yellow like the sun, floated above, in the middle of the arena. He nodded at her with a kind smile, then turned to the crowd. “Merfolk of Atlantea,” Uncle Barrimond began, but Mera’s attention drifted back to her triton and the dead body at its end.
Professor Currenter moved to take the weapon from her. “It’s over, dear. You’ve saved us all.”
Had she?
“She used the macabre!” someone yelled from the crowd.
“She nearly destroyed the arena!” Another waterbreaker added. “How do you explain that maelstrom?”
This time it was Belinda who rose fiercely. “She saved us all, you ungrateful fools!”
The arena erupted into arguments, waterbreaker against waterbreaker. Uncle Barrimond tried to keep the order, but it seemed impossible.
Mera’s people both hated and loved her.
Mother was right. Perhaps, they weren’t so different after all.
She studied Ariella’s body, feeling jaded and numb. Mera had made a promise and she intended on keeping it.
Besides, the law was the law. Even if she was right to kill the queen, she had used the macabre. Which meant the merfolk had the right to claim her life.
Atlantea would always be the place where Mera’s life began and ended. The place she loved and could never return to.
Pulling her triton away from Professor Currenter’s grasp, she yanked it from her mother’s body.
Ariella’s gaping, lifeless eyes kept locked on Mera as her body began to sink, but Mera grabbed her by her long red curls.
“I made a promise,” she spoke quietly.
Death wasn’t enough for her mother. The mad queen had to be buried on land, but not in the Isles of Fog, where they worshipped her.
No, she had to be buried where she was hated.
In dishonor. In shame.
Professor Currenter must have read her intentions, because panic overtook his semblance. “Mera, you will die. Please, let me speak to your uncle, and—”
“I know I’ll die. Either way, I’m a walking corpse.”
He blinked, his jaw hanging. “I can’t let you go.”
“I know that, too.”
With one twist of her fingers, a wall of rushing water burst between them, and Mera boosted toward the forbidden zone, not caring to look back. If she did, she might lose her courage.
She hoped she would have enough time to bury Mother. If not, they’d burn into purple and black ashes toge
ther.
Somehow, that seemed very fitting.
Chapter 20
The sandstone street turned into a long promenade that followed the shore.
Tir Na Nog’s market stalls lined the path with brown, red, and beige tents that matched perfectly with the amber path, giving the entire area a touch of the Mediterranean—Mera knew it from the pictures of Hakin and Rahal the Cap showed her when she was a kid, and from the stories Professor Currenter used to tell.
“A Rahallian Moussaka is an explosion of flavor, my dear princess.”
Getting to the Mediterranean nations was a problem, though. The passage had to be made by Nightbringer, and the prices were steep. Still, Mera promised herself she’d go there one day, if only to taste that Moussaka.
Merchants yelled offers into the air, while Bast and Mera walked down the path. Some stalls sold fruits, vegetables, cheese, and meat as in any other market. Other merchants however, offered spells, potions, and magical items such as a mirror that could show one’s true intentions, or a dagger that would always hit the target.
In a borough brimming with magic, it often became a commodity.
Mera inhaled the salty tang of the ocean, a certain ache spreading in her chest. Clifftown was located one hour away from the sea, and sure, she could’ve visited, but what was the point if Mera couldn’t enter the salty water without morphing into a siren?
An unnecessary suffering, really.
Just the scent of the sea made the longing in her chest squeeze harder.
“You okay, kitten?” Bast asked from beside her, a curious frown on his face.
“Great.” She nodded absently. “So, how do we find this mad seer?”
Bast dodged a pudgy banshee in rags who held three kids. She yelled at them to behave as the older one escaped her grasp and dashed across the street.
“She’s here most of the time,” he said, watching the distancing banshee with amusement. “She’s a confidential informant for Fallon. Most of her clientele is made of smugglers and small gangsters, so she knows a lot about what happens in the underworld.”
“Really? Criminals take a psychic’s vision as truth?”
“Kind of. Certain courts such as Autumn and Summer can be stupidly gullible. They like to check if their endeavors will be successful, so they get her blessing before going ahead.”
“What if she says their projects won’t work?”
“She never does. Never says they will, either. So, it doesn’t matter if their plans work. In the end, the mad seer is always right.”
“She’s smart.” And not the most reliable source of information out there.
Bast winked at her. “Faeries do appreciate a good old word play.”
Very true.
They passed by two Sidhe females wearing flowing floral dresses, their hair pink and blue, their bodies moving with the elegance of gazelles. They eyed Bast with starving lust, but contrary to every other male on this street, he paid them no attention.
A light, fluttering sensation spread on Mera’s chest.
“It’s nonsense, if you ask me,” he assured as they moved forward. “She’s a seer. Pay her enough, and she’ll tell you what you want to hear.”
“It sucks a seer is our single lead,” she grumbled. “We’ve been having a world of trouble because of stupid visions.”
They passed by a brown tent with colorful knickknacks that called her attention, even if for a second.
“Want to grab a male’s heart, madam?” The bearded merchant inside the tent quickly offered, showing her a round glass with purple liquid inside. “One drop, and he’ll be all yours.”
The siren strongly considered it, but Bast had already pulled his badge and shown it to him.
“You’re selling love potions?” He put the badge back in his pocket. “Do you hate being a free faerie, baku?”
“Come on, officer.” The fae smiled, but when he saw Bast wasn’t joking around, fear bloomed in his face. “My apologies, sir!” He scrambled to put his potions away. “I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again!”
Yeah, right. He’d probably move to another spot and keep selling that shit the moment they walked away.
“If I see you around here again, I’ll take you down to the station.” Bast stepped forward and grinned, displaying sharp canines. “You don’t want to upset a nightling, do you?”
The man nodded shakily.
Bast stomped away, his shoulders slightly raised, his muscles clenched.
Mera followed him.
“He saw my uniform,” he grumbled as they walked. “He saw I was a cop and he didn’t care. He just assumed I was corrupt like the rest of them.”
“But you kind of are, Bast,” she countered, though there was no way to put it simply. “You took Zev’s phone. You murdered the witch and the bounty hunter.”
Halting his steps, he turned to her, and his nostrils flared.
Her hands lifted in surrender. “I’m not saying you didn’t have to do those things. I get where you were coming from, even though I don’t approve. But you have to admit, you don’t walk a straight line.”
“Yes, but my goal, Fallon’s goal, has always been establishing order.” His tone was strained and heavy. “If that means we have to bend some rules here and there, I’m fine with it.”
“I know,” she agreed. “You bend the rules to solve cases. They bend the rules for their own interest. There’s a world of difference.”
He frowned at her, his jaw hanging open as if he couldn’t believe how clearly she saw him. Yet, she did.
Bast was both chaotic and kind—if one was careful enough not to piss him off, that is. In his core, he might just be one of the best landriders Mera knew.
She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his back, pressing her forehead against his chest. “You’re doing your best, partner. That’s all any of us can do.”
She wanted to say so much more…
Mera was sorry for assuming he was an asshole when they’d first met—though to her own credit, Bast was kind of an asshole. She was sorry someone was out to kill him, and that he’d lost his father but couldn’t mourn him—she knew that agony too well. She was sorry he’d spent years trying to bring justice to a corrupt borough, and that he’d lost Captain Asherath—for now—his only friend in this madness.
Bast hugged her back, the silence around them soothing, binding, somehow.
“Thanks, kitten,” he whispered as he laid a hand on the back of her head. “Some partner you got, heh?”
“One of Hollowcliff’s finest,” she countered before stepping back.
They watched each other, a flurry of words hanging in the air around them. As Bast studied Mera, a soft smile hooked the corner of his lips⸻a tantalizing, extremely dangerous kind of smile that made her legs weak.
‘Tell him,’ her siren urged.
Tell him what?
‘The truth.’
No. Never.
Sure, he was her partner, and such a bond demanded honesty, but she’d never told Jules, and she would never tell Bast either.
Still, in a fit of madness, her lips parted.
“Bast, I—”
“We should get going.” Clearing his throat, he continued down the street.
A relieved sigh escaped Mera as her heartbeats drummed in her ears.
Saved by the bell.
They walked for a while in silence, until Bast stopped and stepped back. He observed a stall with a velvet red banner. Silver threads spelled “Madam Zukova” on the fabric.
He nudged Mera with his elbow, and pointed at an old Sidhe sitting behind the stall, facing another faerie.
The Sidhe had rosy hair, woven into a low braid that cascaded down her back. She was clad in a cerulean dress with golden embellishments on the hems, and gold jewelry shone at her wrists, neck, and ears.
“I think that’s her,” he whispered to Mera. “Fallon mentioned the mad seer was Spring Court.”
Her semblance seemed to confirm it
.
The old woman held on to her customer’s hands, her eyes closed. The male faerie, Autumn Court if the bright red hair was any indication, watched her intently.
Bast opened his mouth to speak.
“Madam Zukova will attend to you soon,” the woman cut him off, though her eyes remained closed.
Her thick, heavy accent was typical from the north. She might be Spring fae, but she hadn’t been raised in Tir Na Nog.
“Give her red roses, yes?” she told the faerie sitting before her.
“That’s it?” he asked with an incredulous grin. “She’ll accept my marriage proposal, then?”
“The red of the roses signifies the red of her love. Madam Zukova does not lie.” She opened her eyes and tapped his palms. “That will be twenty gold coins.”
“Sixty dollars?” Mera asked. “Seriously? She didn’t give you a proper answer!”
Madam Zukova’s head snapped toward Mera, her eyes narrowed. “Silly humans. They do not understand how Danu works.”
“Yeah,” the Autumn Sidhe added. “Your undeveloped mind can never understand our ways.”
Getting the coins from a pouch in his pocket, he handed them to Madam Zukova. He then kissed her hands, put on a brown fedora, and gave Mera the evil eye as he left.
“Maybe her clients are the mad ones,” she whispered to Bast, and he held down a chuckle.
Madam Zukova leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She watched Mera and Bast intently. “What do you want with me? Your start was not very good, yes?”
“My partner didn’t mean to offend,” Bast explained as he stepped in front of Mera, removing the badge from his pocket. “We’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s all right? It’s about Zev Ferris’ murder.”
Madam Zukova raised one eyebrow at him. “I heard they caught the killer of Zev.”
“They caught a patsy,” Mera retorted, stepping beside Bast. “Someone high up murdered the Summer King and infiltrated their henchman into Tir Na Nog police. We need to find out who.”
Madam Zukova narrowed her eyes at Bast’s badge. “I do not trust police. Criminals are more reliable.”
“I’m a friend of Captain Asherath.” He shoved the badge back in his pocket.
“Fallon can come to me himself, yes?” Before Bast could argue, she lifted her hand. “You say you’re a friend of Fallon, but Fallon is not here to confirm. You understand, no?”