Lirea screamed and dropped her own weapon. She ripped Talia’s knife from her shoulder and flung it aside. “Stay out of my mind!”
Talia was already wading toward the stairs. All she could see was Snow lying on the steps. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to tear Lirea apart with her bare hands.
Lirea disappeared up the stairs, her incoherent shouts echoing throughout the tower. Talia followed into the dark room above. She leaped off of the stairs, balanced to dodge another attack, but Lirea seemed intent on escape. Her footsteps slapped against the stairs above as she fled.
“Snow’s hurt!” Danielle shouted. “We have to get her out of here.”
It was probably the only thing that could have broken Talia’s rage. She hesitated, then turned back.
“What happened?” Talia asked. Now that she had stopped running, her legs threatened to give out. “Snow started to cast her spell, and—” Her voice broke.
“The air spirits flung her against the wall.” Danielle waded through the water, searching the filth on the bottom.
Talia knelt beside Snow. Her illusions had vanished when she lost consciousness, and Talia could see the rise and fall of Snow’s chest with each slow breath. “You said you could do this. Lirea was asleep! You said you were strong enough, damn you!”
“Check to see if she has any other injuries,” Danielle yelled.
Blood trickled along the step from the back of Snow’s head. “Don’t do this to me,” Talia pleaded. “You’re going to be fine. Just wake up!”
“Yelling at her isn’t going to help.” Danielle reached into the water, grabbing the knife Lirea had dropped. “We have to get her out of here.”
“Her skull could be cracked,” Talia said. “Her brain might be bleeding. Snow’s the healer, not me. If we try to move her, she could die.”
“If we stay here, she will.We all will.” Danielle climbed the steps and slapped the knife into Talia’s hand. “I’ve got no way to carry it.”
Talia slid Lirea’s knife into one of her sheaths without taking her eyes off of Snow. “I can’t lose her, too.” She was babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Not Snow. Danielle, I—”
Danielle punched her in the cheek. It wasn’t a strong blow, but it was enough to get Talia’s attention, as much from shock as from pain. Danielle swung a second time, and Talia automatically snapped her forearm up to block.
Danielle winced and rubbed her wrist where Talia had struck. “Help me carry her.”
Talia wondered if she had learned that tone from the queen, or if it was just a mother thing. It was a voice that held no room for argument. Talia took Snow’s arms while Danielle scooped her legs. Together they carried her up the stairs, moving carefully to keep from falling. The air spirits could have knocked them all down with ease, but the air had gone still when Lirea fled.
“She’s probably alerted the other undine by now,” Danielle said.
“We could retreat over land. They won’t be able to follow.”
Danielle shook her head. “Carry Snow across barren rock with no food or water? Where would we go? You’d mock me for weeks if I suggested something like that.”
She was right. Talia might be able to reach the mountains on her own, but she wasn’t sure about Danielle. Carrying Snow, they would all end up dead of exposure. “We can’t fight our way past all the undine.”
“Don’t worry about fighting,” Danielle said. “Just worry about carrying Snow up to the window. That’s a command, Princess.”
Talia felt like a marionette, dragged along by the strings of Danielle’s voice. She continued up the steps, her breath hissing through clenched teeth at every bump or misstep. When they reached the third story, Danielle set Snow down and circled the room, inspecting the windows. Talia pulled Snow close, cradling her like a child. “If you’d let me kill Lirea when I had the chance—”
“You think her air spirits would have let your knife reach her?” Danielle interrupted. “If you want to be angry, fine. But we have to get out of here right now. I don’t see Lirea anywhere.”
“Snow’s still bleeding.”
The rising sun painted Danielle’s face orange. “Talia, please. I know how you feel about her, but I need your help. Snow needs your help. Can you carry her and climb down at the same time?”
Talia scooped Snow into her arms and brought her to the window. Even if she had a way to secure Snow to herself, it would be a slow descent, leaving them vulnerable to the merfolk. She tightened her grip on Snow and steeled herself. “We have to jump.”
“We have to what?”
“If we push off together, we should clear those rocks.” Talia was already turning around, sitting on the sill with her back exposed to the morning air. She scooted to one side to make room. “Sit beside me.”
Danielle looked past Talia, then nodded. “Will this hurt her?”
“Maybe.” Talia bowed her head. “Probably. How much depends on how serious her injuries are.”
“I’m sorry,” Danielle whispered, squeezing onto the sill beside her.
Talia bent to kiss Snow’s forehead. “So am I.”
Each of them wrapped an arm around Snow’s body, holding her close. With her other hand, Talia grabbed the back of Danielle’s belt. Danielle did the same with Talia.
“We’ll hit the water hard,” Talia said, trying not to think about what they could be doing to Snow. “Keep her close so our bodies cushion her, especially the head. We go on the count of four.”
Talia counted fast, leaving no time for fear, and then they were kicking out from the window. Snow started to slide free, but Talia dug her fingers into Snow’s skin, holding her tight.
The impact slammed the air from her lungs. They sank through the water, hitting the rocks a moment later. Talia pushed Snow and Danielle up before following. As far as she could tell, the water had protected her from broken bones, but her back would be an interesting collage of cuts and bruises.
The merfolk were already closing in, swimming through the wall and spreading out to block the moat.
“Where’s Lirea?” Danielle asked.
“Gone.” Talia picked up a rock and hurled it at the approaching warriors. It glanced off the side of a merman’s head, knocking him back. Another threw a spear, but the throw was clumsy, and the spear ricocheted off the wall behind her. Talia drew the knife they had taken from Lirea. “They’re sluggish, as Morveren said. Distracted. Get Snow and the knife away from here. Stay near shore but far enough back to avoid their spears. If . . . when Snow wakes up, she should be able to summon the Phillipa.”
Talia tossed Lirea’s knife onto the rocks by Danielle, then reached into the water for another fist-sized stone. The merfolk slowed. They might be tired, but they weren’t stupid. She counted at least twenty, with more likely hidden beneath the water. Even on land Talia would have been hard-pressed to fight so many, and Lirea had a literal army waiting beyond that wall. Talia threw, but this time her target twisted aside, and the rock splashed harmlessly into the water.
Three merfolk swam through the moat, weapons extended like lancers charging. Talia leaped back as the merfolk burst from the water. Talia twisted sideways, bending her legs in a sik h’adan fighting stance. She sprang between two of the merfolk, positioning herself close enough that they shouldn’t be able to spear her.
They floated low in the water, most of their bodies beneath the surface. Talia struck one with her knee, but in the deeper water she lacked the power to do much damage. Still, the blow brought the mermaid’s face up, allowing Talia to smash an elbow into her nose. She spun sideways and hit the merman behind her with the same elbow.
“Get ready,” Danielle shouted.
“I thought you were supposed to be retreating!” Talia grabbed the mermaid’s hair, twisting her around to keep her between herself and the uninjured merman.
Beyond the wall, one of the kelpies reared from the water and bellowed an enormous Gronk! Bowing its head, it lunged toward the lar
ge central archway of the wall.
Blocks tumbled from the arch as the kelpie burst into the moat. Waves surged ahead of its passage, tossing Talia and merfolk alike. Talia scrambled back, trying to escape from the kelpie’s path. She could see a lone rider clinging to the kelpie, pounding its neck and shouting.
“Your doing?” Talia asked.
Danielle smiled. “Could you do something about that merman on our kelpie?”
Talia’s next rock hit the rider square in the back. He yelled and dropped into the moat.
“Don’t be afraid,” Danielle shouted. She returned Lirea’s knife to Talia, then waded into the water. “We’re not going to hurt you!”
Two enormous flippers, each one longer than Talia herself, dug into the rocks as the kelpie reared back. The kelpie’s underside was pale blue, darkening into bands of brown and muddy green. Huge nostrils flapped open, snorting sour air. Its head was vaguely equine, with an elongated snout and spines along the neck. Dark ropes nested behind each of the bony ridges circling his body. Each rope was knotted with large loops for riders to cling to.
“We’re not going to hurt you, you coward!” Danielle shouted. “We need your help.”
Talia searched for a weapon. “They’ve trained that animal to obey. If you can’t control it—”
“I don’t control them,” Danielle said. “I ask for their help. But he knows we’re not undine, and he can probably smell the blood in the water. I think he’s scared.”
The undine had fallen back to avoid the kelpie, but they appeared to be regrouping. The three Talia had fought were circling around, while others crept toward the shore behind the kelpie. “How scared?”
“Can’t you see him shaking?”
“Good. Tell it Halaka’ar the three-headed sea dragon is coming. Halaka’ar consumes light and breathes darkness, and he wears the skulls of his prey around his necks. His gaze petrifies all who look upon him, and his jaws devour body, mind, and soul. I know the prayers to divert Halaka’ar’s wrath, but it has to help us.”
Danielle stared. “Remind me not to let you tell Jakob any bedtime stories.”
“Halaka’ar guarded the river of the dead,” Talia explained. “My tutors taught me the old religions.” She shook her head, remembering. “They also told me Halaka’ar would come for any child who snuck sweets during lessons.”
Danielle closed her eyes, presumably relaying Talia’s story. Moments later, the kelpie dropped flat. The merfolk hesitated, clearly distrustful of their beast’s strange behavior. Talia grabbed Snow and waded toward the animal’s harness. She hoisted Snow up, threading her arm through one of the loops on the harness. “Hurry up, Princess.”
The kelpie’s body was warm, trembling hard enough to send wavelets knocking past Talia’s legs. She finished pushing Snow’s other arm through the harness, then grabbed another rock. The rock knocked the closest merfolk back, giving her time to grab another of the kelpie’s loops. She held the back of Snow’s harness with one hand, keeping her tight against the scales.
“Hold on,” Danielle warned, taking the next loop of rope beside Snow.
The kelpie reared up and twisted to face the wall behind. Merfolk fell back as the kelpie surged toward the arch and the open sea. Talia swore and pressed herself and Snow flat as they passed through the arch. The rock scraped skin from her shoulder blades and backside. Any tighter and she would have been torn free or crushed.
The kelpie began to sink as they reached deeper water. Talia shoved Snow higher on the kelpie’s back. “Danielle?”
“We can’t breathe water,” Danielle shouted. “And my friends are injured. Their blood could attract sharks!”
The kelpie bobbed up like a cork. Its long tail undulated like a snake, shooting them through the water.
“They have other kelpies,” Talia shouted. “They’ll be after us as soon as they regroup.”
Danielle nodded and closed her eyes, resting against the kelpie’s body. Talia didn’t know what she said, but the kelpie began to swim even faster, paddling with its large fins. The movement of its body reminded her of a horse’s gallop.
Talia stretched her legs, bracing her feet against the bony ridge behind her to take some of the weight off of the loops around her arms. This would be more comfortable if she could get Snow to the top of the kelpie, where they could rest on a relatively flat surface. But she couldn’t climb and hold onto Snow at the same time. Even with Snow’s arms through the harness, her body draped down the kelpie’s side, her toes trailing through the water.
Blood dripped slowly down Snow’s neck and back. The bleeding didn’t look too bad, especially for a head wound, but she still hadn’t woken up.
“I shouldn’t have made her cast the spell on me, back at the Phillipa,” Talia said. “Morveren told me to let Snow conserve her strength.”
“Snow thought she had enough power—” Danielle began.
“Snow’s a powerful sorceress,” Talia said. “Almost as strong as she thinks she is. But she’s never been good at accepting limits.”
“Unlike you?” Danielle teased. In a softer voice, she added, “This isn’t your fault.”
Talia twisted her head, looking back at the shrinking shoreline. Danielle was right. Even if Talia had tried to kill Lirea while she slept, the air spirits likely would have thwarted her attack. Knowing that didn’t lessen the anger. “Can’t this stupid thing go any faster?”
CHAPTER 10
LIREA CLUTCHED HER ARM where the human’s knife had stabbed her. Voices taunted her as she fled, mocking her weakness and her fear, but she couldn’t stop swimming.
She had been dreaming of Gustan, so real she could still feel his hands on her body, the tiny hairs on his legs that tickled her skin as he moved. She could smell the sweat that dampened the curls on his neck. He had never been gentle with her, but humans were known to be rough.
And then her dreams had shifted.Tears streamed from her eyes as she staggered up the beach, smiling through the pain of each tortured step. Naked and pathetic and human, she called out to him. She had been little more than a child, weak and desperate. She had begged for his love, and in doing so earned only contempt.
And now that weakness surfaces again. The voice sounded distant, though the words were no less sharp. How could Gustan ever love such a coward?
They came to my home, Lirea protested. Cracked open my mind like a seabird digging the meat from a snail.
So you flee like a child frightened by a passing cloud.
Another whisper, this one almost lyrical in tone. Lannadae . . . Morveren . . . the humans . . . you’ve failed too many times, and soon you will be punished.
More voices joined in, coming from all around her. There is no escape.
No matter how far and how fast you swim.
You’ll never be safe.
Lirea swam to the surface and screamed until the sound threatened to scrape the skin from her throat. Only when her lungs gave out did she look around to see the undine gathered behind her. Nilliar was the closest, watching her with worried eyes. Beyond them, Lirea’s palace was a shrunken smudge in the distance.
Lirea waited, but her screams appeared to have drowned out the other voices for now. They would return soon enough. They always did.
“You’re injured,” Nilliar said. “What happened?”
“They stole my knife. They tried to steal my thoughts.” Lirea’s scales flared, and she shivered at the memory. The pain in her arm was nothing compared to the touch of another’s mind in her own. “How did they find me, Nilliar? They came into my home and ripped open my head and—”
“I don’t know, but you’re safe.”
“No. None of us are.” Why was she so afraid? Where was her strength? Lirea squinted at the horizon, searching. “Which way did they flee?”
Nilliar pointed to the west.
“They must have a ship. Why didn’t we see them approaching? Who was patrolling those waters?”
An older warrior named Toskoth s
wam forward. He had served Lirea’s mother and father for most of his life.
“I spoke with three undine who said they wished to join our tribe,” he said. “I was there when the humans escaped. They were the same. Somehow they were able to take our shapes.”
“Morveren.” Her grandmother must have enchanted the humans so they could come here to destroy her. Lirea beckoned, and Nilliar pressed a spear into her hand. “You were my father’s spearbearer, Toskoth. Did you ever once allow murderers to attack him?”
“I’m sorry, my queen.”
Lirea thrust her spear into his chest, pushing until the tip broke through the skin of his back. His gills flared, but he made no sound. Lirea shoved him away. Blood and bubbles rose from the wound as Toskoth sank through the water.
The other undine spread back. Even Nilliar appeared shocked, but none dared to speak. None but the whispers in Lirea’s mind.
Toskoth played with you as a child and sang songs of times long past.
Lirea ducked beneath the water. This time her scream was sharper, a summons loud enough to be heard by every kelpie in the tribe. Once she heard their answering cry, she surfaced and said, “They mean to carve me apart until there’s nothing left.”
“You need rest,” Nilliar said softly. “You’re hurt, and you need time to recover. The tribe is in the midst of breeding. You can’t—”
“They’ve torn me in two.” Lirea swam closer and ripped the second spear from Nilliar’s harness. “But a queen must be strong.”
White crests approached from the shore, marking the arrival of the kelpies. Lirea gripped the spear in both hands and whispered, “I will be strong.”
The harness straps dug deep into Danielle’s arms. She would be horribly bruised . . . assuming they survived at all.
A faint call carried over the waves, and the kelpie slowed. He looked behind, his body quivering like a horse preparing to bolt. Danielle didn’t know if the call was a summons or simply a cry of pain, but it was obvious the kelpie had been trained to respond.
“Please don’t go,” Danielle said. “You have to get us to our ship. It’s the only way to stop Halaka’ar.”
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