by Anne Stryker
“Everyone can’t be gone.” She hoped. Finding her shell on the sand, she lifted it and stood, taking deep breaths of air to grow used to the different sensation again. “Maybe they’re in a safehouse?”
“The castle would be the safest place during an attack. But the mermaids . . .”
A breeze blew against her damp skin, making her shiver. Dread swelled in her chest, but she pressed her lips together and met his gaze. “I guess you don’t have a choice now. I’m helping.”
His face tight, he looked at her and let a heavily-accented curse spill before he murmured, “Stay close. I don’t want to know what’s waiting for us in there.”
She glanced at his chest, watched another grain of sand fall, and swallowed. She had a sickening feeling she had already tasted what awaited them a week ago. In a chillingly realistic dream.
Chapter Twenty-six
Forbidden
The castle doors opened effortlessly. Both tall, heavily-adorned planks of wood shoved aside like they weighed nothing. Asaria glanced at the thick birch doors then at Yuval. His muscles rippled with each fluid step, and his eyes searched the dimly-lit hall.
Not a single person moved in the shadows.
His fists clenched as he continued straight toward another intricately carved pair of double doors. They slammed open, hitting the walls, when Yuval barged in. Darkness greeted them.
Three large windows lined both sides of the lengthy throne room, deep maroon drapes covering each. The wide stone floor cooled the bottoms of Asaria’s bare feet when she and Yuval stopped, letting their eyes adjust. A dais manifested at the far end of the room, and in unison obscure, dark forms turned toward the entrance.
“Welcome, welcome.” The smooth voice seeped out of the adjusting pitch. “Very glad you finally made it.”
Fear spiked, and Asaria drew back, cowering beside Yuval. She forced her breathing to quiet when Wyre’s outline settled upon a throne pulled from the darkness. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, growing louder.
“So sorry,” Wyre continued. “Perhaps it would benefit you to shed a little light on this scene.” A snap crackled into the air, and a single orb flickered awake near the high ceiling. The light poured into the room, leaving substantial shadows in every corner.
A dozen people stood before them, all facing Asaria and Yuval with their heads tilted. Black veins cut jagged markings over their faces, their cloudy eyes blinking as one.
“Seora,” Yuval breathed, taking a step forward before stopping.
Asaria focused on the woman beside the throne and fought back the chill that took hold and turned her stomach. Throbbing veins fissured across Seora’s face, splitting the beautiful skin. Her eyes moved to focus on Yuval first then Asaria, and a soft cry for help reflected in them.
“Lovely, isn’t she? Put up quite the fight.” Wyre slipped off the coral throne to curl himself around the woman. “I had to treat her special.”
Yuval’s teeth bared, his growl more animal than merman. “What have you done to my people?”
Wyre laughed, and the sound echoed, rumbling in Asaria’s mind. She should have just gone home. She would only get in the way here. Shaking, she curled her arms against her chest and clung to her shell, attempting to find the calm of the ocean and the strength of the sea.
The man spoke through a sharp grin. “You think you’ll get me monologuing? Delivering all my plans and accomplishments? No.” His nose wrinkled. “Too cliché.” His head rolled back, an innocent gleam in his eye. “Well, okay. I will say a little venom goes a long way.”
Yuval snarled.
“I’m sorry. Have you heard of clichés? Read books? All the water just seems terrific for the pages.” Wyre focused on Asaria, his smile spreading. “Maybe I’ll get you a couple while you think about what you’ve done.” Another snap cracked the air, blistering Asaria’s mind. “Guards.”
Yuval turned on his heel when stampeding feet marched into the room. His hand rose, edged with sharpening water, and his eyes twinged with pain. They were his guards, after all.
“I should mention,” Wyre said before Yuval delivered a first blow, “everyone is still alive. Even those who aren’t awake like my trophy.”
Asaria looked back when Wyre turned Seora’s chin to face him. She couldn’t concentrate. The shadows got into her head, so she closed her eyes, but that didn’t help.
“You could kill them,” Wyre mentioned. “You may have a chance of defeating me if you defeat my army. You were a good king, once, so you probably know that though.”
“I will not pay for my mistake with my people’s lives.” Yuval’s eyes flashed, and he turned to face Wyre again.
“Suit yourself.” The man chuckled.
Yuval made it several long steps across the room before guards piled on top of him. He fought forward but to no avail.
Asaria leaped when a single hand locked onto her arm, and she looked up into a blue man’s dead eyes. His lips slackened, but that was all. She had to get out of her head. She had to help. She had to take deep breaths. Count down.
Be strong.
Tearing her arm away from the guard, she darted to Yuval’s side. Planting her hands around a guard’s broad shoulders, she threw him off. Then another. And another. But with every one she removed, two more took the vacant place.
None bothered with her.
“Let him go!” she cried.
Wyre’s chuckle rolled into the air, and she twisted to face him. His tentacles unwound from around Seora in his approach, and Asaria stepped back. The light flickered above. His smile bored into her mind.
“Don’t touch her!” Yuval’s yell was lost beneath the arms of his guards.
“Why not?” Wyre asked casually. “She was mine first.”
“What?” Asaria choked on the word.
“Hm.” One of Wyre’s tentacles shot toward her, wrapping around her arm before she could get away. “I’m hurt you don’t recognize me. But also, I didn’t really expect you to.” He coddled her head with another slimy appendage, and she went still. He ran his fingers through her still-wet hair and glanced at Yuval. “Oh, the things I could do, just to be a tease.”
The single blue eye that Asaria could see among the mass of arms and legs shook, flicking between her and Wyre.
“Take him to his special room,” Wyre told the guards, though Asaria doubted he had to speak at all. He continued, “I’ll be with him shortly.”
Yuval’s screams rent the room as he plowed through his guards, but his army continued, like a wave, and it dragged him away until his yells were little more than a distant call, like the ocean in a shell.
A shell.
Asaria lifted her hand, pulling on her magic to edge her shell with a blade, but nothing happened when she made her attack. Wyre caught her wrist in his hand and squeezed. “You think you still have magic? That’s honestly adorable. Need I remind you you’re human again?”
“But—”
“But,” he whined, mimicking her. “Humans don’t have magic. You aren’t special. You’re just a brat who accidentally stumbled into a world you have no business in.” He paused, letting everything she’d already told herself once or twice or a dozen times before sink in. Then, he slipped her shell from her fingers and crushed it, letting the shards drop from his hand and sprinkle onto the stone floor. “That’s that,” he murmured, turning back to his throne.
Tears filled her eyes. In a matter of moments, everything she’d built in herself over the past month had shattered with her shell. She couldn’t get a solid breath. She couldn’t find a shred of peace in her mind. But she had to.
“You can’t.”
Her head jolted up. “What?”
“You can’t find a shred of peace.” He sat, leaning his chin against his fist.
Terror paled her cheeks, but his grin only broadened.
“How?” she whispered.
“It’s chaos in that pretty head of yours, dear girl. Full of fear and pain and guilt. A plentiful
helping of anxiety.” His eyes flashed on the word, and an image scoured itself into her head. She rocked on the bathroom floor. Breaking. Then Yuval reached for her, but got him instead. “That’s it,” Wyre consoled. “Step by step. Like an infant learning to walk.”
“You’re . . .”
“Forbidden magic can have such strange outcomes.”
“. . . my anxiety?”
His lips thinned, sharp teeth displayed fully. “Hello, love.”
She stumbled back, falling to the hard ground and hissing when the pain rattled her bones.
“Now, I would say that I’ve evolved. Strong forbidden magic courses through my veins. The knowledge of everyone I’ve taken hold of throbs in my skull. And the thirst for power.” His head rocked to either side, and he shrugged. “Okay, well, that’s pretty much the same.”
It was her fault. If she had just been a stable, normal girl, when Yuval reached for her, however wrong reaching for her was, he wouldn’t have drawn a monster out of her mind.
He—
Asaria screamed, gripping her head. “Get out!”
“Oh, so you are getting wise.”
“You tell lies! I’ve always known you to be a liar!”
Wyre laughed. “Lies are so close to truth. Who’s checking anyway?”
“I am!” Tears poured down her cheeks to drip onto her legs. She pulled them against her chest. “I am . . .”
She had to breathe.
“Yes, yes. Count down from ten too. Oh, I know something that will make you feel better! When was the last time you apologized for the mess you inevitably make wherever you go?”
Her heart cracked when Wyre laughed again, but she dared to look over her knees at him.
He wiggled his fingers in a wave, then sighed. “Don’t give me that face. I can’t feel sorry for you. I’m an emotion, but it’s not pity.”
She held his gaze for as long as she could but closed her eyes, feeling more tears flow down her cheeks. “You’re not an emotion. You’re an illness.”
“And you’re pathetic.” He scoffed. “Darling, could you please lead our treasured guest to her room? Daddy has some work to do. There’re two big, beautiful worlds out there just waiting for me. And one guardian is already down for the count.”
Asaria opened her eyes as Seora stepped off the dais, her movements stilted in her approach. The woman’s hand reached down, offering, and Asaria took it, the semblance of a friend the smallest bit of comfort she could find in the chaos. Even if her fingers brushed stained ones.
Closing her eyes, she followed Seora’s lead and forced her breaths to deepen. She had to do something. She had to find her strength again. She had to save Yuval, Seora, everyone.
Before guards closed the throne room doors behind her, Wyre laughed, his voice speaking directly into her head: “But can you?”
It wasn’t whether she could or not. It was simpler than all that.
She had to. She just had to.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Waiting
Asaria gripped Seora’s hand, following the woman down halls like a child would. Every thought she had, he knew. She couldn’t plan. She could barely breathe. Anything she did would result in failure.
“No,” she whispered. “That’s not me. That’s him. I’m Asaria. I’m—”
A mistake.
She choked on her tears and squeezed Seora’s hand. “The dawn. A fresh day. A new hope.”
Weak. And silly. Do you even hear yourself?
She stopped walking, and Seora paused as well. The doll looked back, the woman’s eyes focusing on her, clear.
Asaria’s lips trembled. “I’m so sorry.” The words barely made it past the lump in her throat, but Seora heard them.
The woman’s eyes dropped, sparked with determination, then bobbed up and down as though they were nodding. Her arm tugged on Asaria, guiding her again. The halls stretched in darkness, every window they passed covered.
Seora opened the door to a bedroom and stepped inside. Asaria’s stomach twisted, her last meal in Mori threatening to revolt. The walls had once been a mural of a beach covered with dozens of giant shells, but now ink cut through the soft creams and light blues.
YOUR FAULT.
Everywhere she turned to look those two words plastered across the floor and walls. Someone had cut them into the pillows. The comforter. They screamed at her, pounding in her head, thundering through her mind, and in the distance—or maybe the background?—Wyre laughed.
“Why?” She turned on Seora, staring into her eyes. “Why bother torturing me?” She was insignificant, useless, not even worthy of more than a single, unarmed escort.
Seora’s lips opened and hung, but Asaria stared into the woman’s eyes, at the closest thing she had to a friend. They hardened and dropped, staring at her neck.
Before Asaria could gather her thoughts, Seora’s arm shot forward, reaching for the shell necklace and pearl. Jitters or skill, she wasn’t sure, threw her back before the woman’s hand could make it.
Her mind worked fast. And her eyes widened. Holding the shell, with Seora lunging, she made a wish. “Release us from his hold!”
“No!” And then silence. Peaceful, open, hope-filled silence.
Seora halted, her arms outstretched, then the black veins melted through her pores, dripping to the ground to meet with the ink words that blamed Asaria. They blurred into a puddle. Seora shook her head, blinked several times, and took a breath, before something sparked and a grin widened across her face. “Good girl.” Seora snatched her hand. “And to answer your question: because you can fix everything.”
Before Asaria had a chance to understand, Seora tore the curtain off the window, threw the pane open, and tugged her over the edge, into the sea.
Asaria took a deep breath before water enveloped them, but a bubble of air surrounded her head. Seora grinned back, winking, and excitement bloomed in Asaria’s chest. A chance. All she needed was this chance.
Kicking her legs, she followed Seora’s lead down and through a window into her house.
“He’ll be searching here first, but we need to make sure you can survive in water.” Seora snatched a leaf off a waving plant and handed it to her. “Now that you aren’t cursed, eating food here will take your humanity, except for in rare cases like this herb. It’s not food. It’s a spell, and it will let you breathe underwater.”
Asaria didn’t doubt her as she shoved the leaf into her mouth and swallowed. Moments later, water filled the bubble, and she didn’t hesitate to inhale, as though she were welcoming back an old friend. On her exhale, she met Seora’s gaze and held it. “Okay. Do you have a plan? It seems like you have a plan.”
“I have an idea.” Her eyes shifted toward the window. “But we need to keep moving.” Before they did, Seora squeezed her shoulder. “You are all right, though, yes?”
Asaria looked down at her hands. Was she? Wyre’s words cut. Or they had. Now that voice had vanished. Gone. Her heart still pounded, a little anxious about what came next, but she was free. The overpowering hold could no longer reach her. “I’m better than all right.” She smiled, actually smiled, in the face of darkness, zombie merfolk, and kidnapped kings. “I’m a little determined and a little mad.”
“That’s a good combination.” Seora took her hand, leading her out of the house and back up to the island’s roots. “Let’s hope he’s in too many minds to have already thought about this.”
Letting go of Asaria’s hand, Seora moved through clusters of roots, talking quickly as she worked her way up. “Wyre came from a spell that Yuval and I performed in an attempt to reach you, which I assume at this point you already know.” She glanced back, and Asaria nodded, pulling herself up behind Seora. She continued, “Well, the spell is still active. Yuval and I tried to destroy the medium, but it’s protected as long as Wyre exists.”
“So we need to find a way to destroy the spell?”
“We need to return Wyre to you.” Seora settled herself i
n the roots and reached for a rusted handle hidden among the dirt. “We need to change the spell. But we’ll need both my magic and Yuval’s as well as something from you, like your hair. You and Wyre are still linked, even if you’ve severed the mental connection; we need to strengthen the link and force him back.” The trap door came loose, and Seora pulled herself through.
Asaria followed, pushing into a dark room that smelled like cinnamon. She didn’t like the sound of having him back in her head, but as nothing more than an emotion—her emotion—he couldn’t hurt anyone here, and someday, maybe, she’d achieve control. “Do you know where Yuval is?” she asked.
A muffled reply.
Asaria’s head jolted up right when a flickering light filled the room. Two guards held Seora, one with a hand over her mouth. She squirmed, getting an arm free. Jabbing her elbow behind her, she yelled, “Run! Find Yuval, then—” The guard pressed a needle—definitely laced with poison—into her skin and drew it back; she stilled. Black flowed from the spot, filling her veins again until they cracked her face anew.
Asaria couldn’t spare another moment. She threw open the door and launched herself into the dimly-lit hall. Eyes locked on her from the shadows, merfolk moving as one, women and children alike under Wyre’s influence.
Ink dripped down the wall in front of her, forming a puddle on the floor that Wyre slipped from. His hand to his head, he sighed. “You’re far more trouble than you’re worth, my dear.” His tentacle caught her around the neck, and she gasped, clutching at it for air. “You can’t win. You have never won.”
“You’re lying,” she hissed, keeping her eyes on his, unwavering. “I’ve done incredible things,” she choked. “So many incredible things, even with you inside my head. Now you’re out here, so—” she coughed “—you better watch out.” Hopping up, she swung back her leg and jabbed it forward, landing a solid blow to his gut.
His hold slackened, and he bent forward, curses rushing from his lips.
Turning on her heel, Asaria swallowed lungfuls of air. For the moment, his army remained stationary, so she darted around them and kept her eyes scanning every door she passed.