“Lissie,” Shaylee asked, her hands cupping the small swell of her belly. “Sit down.”
The invitation was one I couldn’t resist. I refused to go anywhere near the steel chair with the chains, and instead took my trembling legs to the steps where I slowly lowered myself onto the second stair. My hair fell forward around my face, and only then, did I let my body try and catch its heaving breaths.
Minutes passed and no one made a sound until I lifted my head up to meet Tunder’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” I said, the words sounding hollow and shook my head. “I don’t know what came over me.”
His brow creased in confusion, “There’s no reason to apologize.”
“I-I-didn’t mean to lose control,” my voice broke and I felt tears threaten my eyes. Whether they were from frustration or exhaustion I couldn’t tell.
Tunder clasped his hands behind his back and stepped closer to me, “What you just did, proved to me the king was right about you.”
“But you still don’t trust me,” I said, and a sad smile passed over my lips.
“Not as I used to,” he said and shrugged his shoulders unapologetically. I nodded at his admission.
“Can I take her back to my room?” Kryssa asked, as she walked down the steps closer to me. She carefully kept her eyes away from my own, but I noted the way her face had changed. It was softer, the lines around her mouth smoothed over.
“In a moment,” the captain said without looking at her.
“Tunder,” Shaylee said, her tone disapproving, “she’s dead on her feet. Whatever it is, it can wait.”
He shook his head and kept his eyes focused on me. “Tell me why you couldn’t get her to answer your last question.”
I sighed, my own disappointment greater than his own. “She was fighting me.”
“But you were able to get through to her on everything else.”
“I know,” I said and shrugged my shoulders, wincing as it tinged my wounded arm. “She wouldn’t let me in. I can try again,” I offered, but the mere thought of even using my voice in such a way again made me shudder. As my frustration abated with each passing moment, the shock of what I had done crashed over me and I realized, while harnessing my anger, I had also let it overcome me.
“There’s no need to try again,” Tunder said, and turned away from me. “We got all the information we needed.”
As the meaning of his words rang in my mind, I found the strength to stand. “You mean the information you wanted,” I said, coolly. “You don’t want to know what really happened to the king.”
He whipped back around, his frustration matching my own. “I know what happened to him, and it’s your fault he was unleashed upon us.”
“My fault?” I shouted.
“If you had left him alone—” he began, but I cut him off.
“If I had left him alone, then he not only would have killed King Oberon, he would have killed everyone standing here!” My words rang loudly against the otherwise silent room, “You may have forgotten the chance he had against you on the island, but I haven’t. Maybe you should remember that before you accuse him of always choosing death.”
Silence hung throughout the chamber, like the inhaled anticipation after a bolt of lightning. Facing him head on, I waited for the thunder to roar.
“I can escort her to her chamber,” Voon stepped forward, breaking the sudden stillness. Without looking his way, Tunder nodded his head and broke our gaze by turning back to the desk.
His lack of response left me wanting more, and I whipped around on my heel to walk out of the room with as much strength as I could muster. I stumbled slightly as I got close to the door and Voon grasped my arm. His steady hand holding me up in support, and I silently thanked him for it.
We strode down the hallways and past rooms where Lathmorians lingered in the sun-casted shadows of mid-day. Their voices swirled around me, and I knew if it wasn’t for Voon’s hand on my arm I would have fallen forward.
The walls seemed to pass in a blur, but only one thing reigned within my mind. There were whispers all around me from the merfolk as they told those who hadn’t been in the king’s office; one word fell from their lips, and I shivered to realize it was true.
I stumbled forward and the Lathmorian soldier beside me grew frustrated with my sluggishness and scooped me up into his arms. My body shook as he carried me the rest of the way and laid me down upon the bed in Kryssa’s room.
Sunlight poured in through the window but I hid my face from it, realizing the merfolk were saying who I had just become.
Falling into exhaustion, I heard the door close and felt the softness of the bed around me, and as darkness overtook me, one word repeated in my mind.
Siren, siren, siren…
8. Revealed
My eyes flew open, meeting darkness and a pale, moonlit curtain. The bed covers tucked around my body embraced me like water and I shifted beneath them, attempting to untangle my limbs. The rustle of the fabric did little to still the quiver in my stomach.
I tried to remember what had woken me, but the memory was lost.
Reaching toward my forehead, I felt a drip of sweat run over my hand and hit the padded mattress with a gentle splat. Whatever I had dreamt, it hadn’t been good.
Sitting up, I tugged the covers from beneath my body and felt the cool air brush against my skin, making the little hairs on my arms stand at attention.
“Bad dream?”
I jumped, my hand went straight for my dagger, as my eyes met the girl’s in the chair near the door. “Don’t do that,” I shook my head. “You scared me half to death.”
“I know,” Kryssa said unapologetically, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, uncertain.
“I just wanted to check on you,” she said and looked away toward the window.
“Really?” one of my eyebrows rose as I questioned her words and she smiled again.
“So maybe there’s more of a reason,” she chuckled and looked back in my direction. “How are you feeling after, you know—”
“Tired,” I said and an unwarranted yawn passed through my lips. “But I’ve been worse.”
“True,” she nodded.
A question formed in my mouth, but I had trouble getting the words through my lips. After swallowing around the dryness in my throat, I let the words come forth. “How’s Verna?”
After the events of the day before, I wondered how she was. The image of her slumped body hanging between the Lathmorian guards was one I wouldn’t be able to forget. The exhaustion on her face, after I had controlled her mind, was unlike anything ever seen before. I shivered to think I was the cause of it.
“She’s exhausted,” Kryssa said, her voice the only sound in the dark room. “but she’ll recover.”
“And Tunder?” I asked.
She inhaled deeply, “He trusts you a bit more.”
I nodded and looked down at my hands, fumbling with the corner of the comforter. I flicked the edge back and forth between my fingers as though it was the most interesting game in the world; all the while feeling the tenderness in my body. Even the simple movement of my fingers caused a soreness to spread up my arm and into my shoulder.
What had happened the day before was not something I had expected. Going into the interrogation, I had prepared myself for the fatigue and concentration I would need to get through it, but nothing could have prepared me for the way instinct had taken over. Within those few minutes, I had forced my voice upon Verna; desperately trying to get her to confess who had killed the king. Something I couldn’t explain had taken over my mind and body. The anger and frustration I felt had only forced me onward, and I had called out to her in a pitch, which until then, I didn’t know would cause pain.
I winced as I crossed my legs beneath the sheets. Whether it was from the soreness in my muscles or from the memory of what Verna had experienced by my doing, I couldn’t tell.
“What about yo
u?” I asked, looking back up.
“I think I’m getting back to where I can trust you,” she said the words quietly. There was a question in them; a fine print clause to really determine where my loyalties lay.
“Have they told you anything?” I asked, knowing the answer was no. She shook her head and looked away. I silently thanked her for not questioning me. “Come here,” I said and patted the mattress in front of me.
She unfolded her long lean frame and quickly sunk onto the bed, her dark hair shimmered in the moonlight and when her green eyes met my own, I saw the curiosity she didn’t voice.
“Where should I start?” I asked and was rewarded with a half-smile.
“How about with what really happened when you went home,” she suggested and shrugged her shoulders, as though it was of little importance to her. Her eyes spoke differently.
It was my turn to give a small smile and without any more encouragement, I let the words pour out. They came in a torrent, sometimes crashing forth with a ferocity I couldn’t name and other times pulling back, as though resisting the surge of the memories pounding in my mind. It all began with the first night I had seen his face, and though I heard her sharp intake of breath, I didn’t pause as I described each visit he paid in Coveside. Looking over the moments in order, only made me realize how closely he harnessed his anger when he was near me; especially in the beginning. Whenever he was away from my presence, he was under the control of Morven, off doing his master’s bidding, or killing those who attempted to take me back to Hyvar. The events with Verna confirmed he was able to keep the anger at bay and use it to protect others.
I have to learn, I thought even as I continued to tell her what had happened.
From my mouth, came the various times he had saved me. I had thought I would shiver when I spoke of the night he rescued me from Bolrock’s men on the beach near the theater, but in some way, I seemed resistant to the memory. I passed through it without regard for its strength.
Every now and again my eyes would shift up toward Kryssa’s. Her face was blank as she took in my words, her gaze far off, as though seeing the events in front of her. I told her of his threat when he left me in Coveside—the night he had threatened to kill me—and my own perspective of the attack on Lathmor. I idly wondered how different it looked from her point of view. It wasn’t until I spoke of how he had almost killed me in the cave, that she inhaled sharply once more, her eyes finding mine.
“He couldn’t do it,” I said, lifting my shoulder and feeling its familiar pang.
“But he would have, if you hadn’t—” she placed a hand over her mouth and I nodded.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” I agreed. “He would’ve killed me and never thought of me again if I hadn’t made him look at me, but as soon as he did, it was all gone.”
She shook her head as though she couldn’t believe it, and I let her sit in the silence to gather her thoughts. It was a lot to take in. When I had first seen him, it had taken me days to sort through my feelings.
“What did you mean when you said Tunder saw him? Does he know who Zale is?” Her eyes burned with curiosity.
“Yes,” I sighed, “he knows.”
“Then how can he call for his death?” she asked, her mouth hanging open, as though astonished her leader could do such a thing.
“Because he remembers something I prefer to forget,” the familiar cloud of dread spread through me, coupled with a dose of guilt, which until recently had never formed. “Even though he’s changed, there’s still the fact of what he did during the attack. The evidence can prove it.”
Her eyes snapped, and I saw the difficult comprehension pass over her face. Until now, she hadn’t realized the true dilemma of what had taken place.
Before that fateful night, Zale had been a dangerous threat. His actions during the battle stated otherwise. What he had done during the attack was enough to cause every Lathmorian to want his blood, and no explanation was going to overpower the conviction they had toward him. Even now, I could see the anger in Kryssa’s eyes, though she tried to quell it.
Without further encouragement, I finished the rest of my story. Some of the moments I had shared with him I kept private.
She listened solemnly, her eyes growing wide as I described the events when Bolrock found me. As I spoke, her eyes drifted to the scar blatantly running down my arm toward my elbow. She shivered.
There was a trembling in my stomach as I spoke. It was the first time I had actually talked about everything that happened that night. I told her of the pain, the way my vision had clouded, and what I had seen as Bolrock hit me over and over again. A lump formed in my throat but I fought against it, knowing I was stronger than what had happened to me. The tears wanted to come, and yet I felt an underlying anger from the memory, and resentment about how I had been unable to defend myself. Calling forth my control, I harnessed the feelings of those terrible moments and pushed them aside.
As my story came to a close, I brought her up to speed about everything. She nodded, as I told her how Tunder and Elik had come upon us and when I spoke of her father, her head bowed forward. Though she tried to hide the tears, I saw the remnants of their wetness as they fell onto the light-colored sheets. With cold fingers, I reached forward and grasped her hand within my own, letting the silence comfort her as she stilled the sadness pouring from her body.
She cast her eyes up and looked toward the darkened window. Nothing remained of the tears, though she struggled to calm her breaths.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and I squeezed her hand. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
I nodded.
I was forgetful of all she had lost in this war. When I was a young child, I had lost my mother, but my father had always been there for me. And Jillian was the mother figure in my life, to even think of losing either of them was unfathomable. With more understanding, I waited as she continued to compose herself.
“I think he would’ve wanted you to know,” I said and squeezed her hand once more. She turned back to me, her bright-green eyes shining.
“Maybe,” she said and let a smile pass over her mouth. “Do you think Shaylee knows who Zale is?”
“I would think so,” I said and bit my lip. It was possible the eldest princess knew what had become of Patrick, it would be difficult for her husband to keep something so vital to the war effort away from her.
“I don’t understand why they wouldn’t tell me,” Kryssa voiced her wonderment and I was uncertain if I had an answer for her.
“It might be my fault,” I said and bit my lip again. “I didn’t want any of you to know.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” she said and shook her head. I let my fingers fall from around her hand. “Why wouldn’t you tell us about him?”
“Would you have believed it?”
“Maybe,” she said, but her face told me otherwise. “But you could have at least tried.”
“At one time I might’ve,” I shrugged, “but when you saw me at my house, you told me what he had done to the scouts. I knew then he was seen as an enemy of Lathmor, no matter what his circumstances.”
She ducked her head and a section of her dark hair fell across the top of her shoulder in a wave. It lingered for a moment and then settled against her skin, finding its resting place. It grew silent between us once more.
Unconsciously, my hand found the handle of my dagger and I traced the carved merfolk tails. My fingers ran against the smooth ridges, trailing along the fine lines which detailed where one tail began and the other ended. The twists and curves along the lifelike carving sent a pang of hope through my heart for when I would see his face again.
“Why won’t you tell him?” the sudden words, from the princess brought me back to the present.
“Who?”
“Zale,” she said, her voice hinting at the obvious. “Why won’t you tell him who he is?”
“Ahh,” I said, and it was my turn to look out the window as I tr
ied to put my thoughts together. “At first, I wasn’t so sure, but now it’s something I’m afraid of.”
“How so?”
“I—I” my words stumbled for a moment, “I didn’t want to tell him and see the blank look in his eyes. I didn’t know if I could take his denial.” I gulped for air and pressed on, “He was in the room the night we went to rescue Patrick. He was the merman who told me there was no human in Hyvar, and he was right, he wasn’t human anymore.”
“Maybe he couldn’t see you clearly,” she suggested and I appreciated her effort.
“No,” I shook my head, “there’s a small window in the room. I was standing in the moonlight. He saw my face, and he didn’t know who I was. Morven had already made him his.”
This time Kryssa squeezed my hand, but her fingers trailed up my left arm to where the dagger lay against my skin. “Did he do this?” she asked, and I nodded.
With a soft grind, the dagger slid out of its sheath and I handed the weapon to her, handle first. In the dimness of the room, she peered at the wood and slid her fingers over the intricate carving. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “You know, you never told me where you got it.”
“It’s from the chamber in Hyvar,” I knew she would understand which one I meant. Upon my rescue, I had been prodded for any information I could give about the interior of the castle. The room had been of great significance as I related it to the one in which Patrick had first been placed by Nerissa hundreds of years ago. “That’s the blade Patrick used to kill Nerissa.” I pointed as though she needed to know which one I spoke of.
Her jaw tightened as I said the name of the woman who had fatally wounded her mother, she returned the blade to me without saying another word. I sheathed the dagger and traced my fingers over the carving once more, as though it might give me comfort.
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” she asked and I cocked my head to the side, uncertain of what she meant. “There’s another reason why you won’t tell him who he is.”
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