by Starla Night
And since no one had ever accused her of too much discretion, Hazel scrubbed her face and unburdened herself. “I do like Lotar, a lot, even though right now we’re fighting. He kicked me out to hunt a traitor who’s poisoning his brother, and his dad’s blaming me for it.”
She grunted.
Hazel sighed. “How do you know Lotar?”
“I’m his mama.”
“Oh.” God. “Oska, he’s… I’m so sorry to tell you this way.”
She waved. “We’ll sort it out.”
“We? You’re going back to Syrenka?”
“No more signing treaties for my tribe, no more raising lazy boys to fulfill our traditions. My work is over. Now, it’s vacation time.”
The story came out.
Lotar’s mother was one of those amazing women who fit into one year what most people struggled to cram into a lifetime. She’d grown up knowing her duty to lead her tribe as well as her duty to become a sacred bride, and so she’d checked off joining the mer and having Oska and Lotar right away. Then, in accordance with the All-Council ancient covenant, she’d been required to surface and never see them again. She’d gone on to marry a human husband and have a family to support her tribe.
It wasn’t clear how many kids she had total, but they were all adults and held important positions. Anyway, brides or people who had a lot of exposure to Sea Opals always seemed younger than they really were.
“I saw your party, and I told my tribe I will go, join my first husband. But they say, no no, it won’t happen, something will sabotage. But I say, just you wait. And here you are. Ha! Early retirement.”
They had to wait while officials counted her reindeer. That was why the official had come with a cell phone. Because of the government. Anyway…
“And you?” Lotar’s mother sipped her tea. “You return to New York or Syrenka?”
“Well, I…” Hazel toyed with the crumbs.
Lotar had ignored her wishes, opinions, and experience. He’d made a life-altering decision without consulting her. Even after all this time together, when he knew her inside and out, he thought she wasn’t capable. She wasn’t smart enough or good enough to figure out a solution with him.
And that was the crux.
He might want to be partners, but he didn’t treat her as a partner.
So, what was she going to do about it?
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “If I go back, will he think he can dump me whenever it’s convenient? I might have even agreed to come to the surface if we’d talked, but he didn’t do that. So…yeah, I don’t know.”
If she returned to New York, she’d have to start over. The MerMatch office had closed. She’d need a new job, a new apartment to accommodate a baby and a new life.
But she didn’t want to go back to New York. The All-Cities Gyre wasn’t finished. The party invitations were still unsent, and although it was awesome that maybe more brides like Lotar’s mother were out there silently planning to retire early, Hazel needed to do this herself. She wanted it. She was getting good at it. She’d earned it.
And she was starting to like it.
Plus there really was something rotten in the state of Denmark, and if she left now, she’d never see it excised.
Every single time she’d run into a serious problem with her partners, she’d accepted their treatment and moved on. Picked up the pieces and kept going. Searched for the next great business idea.
She’d never turned around and confronted anyone who had done her wrong.
She’d never demanded justice from the guys who’d stolen her prototype money and defrauded the Young Entrepreneurs.
She’d never called out the girls she’d planned a joint graduation party with for bailing on the actual work or organizing.
She’d never gotten anything from the women who’d encouraged her to invest in barista training or print up pet personal assistant business cards.
She’d never held anyone accountable and demanded an apology.
Or respect.
And sometimes that was because it was impossible.
But sometimes?
She hadn’t even tried to push back.
Yes, closing statements had given her closure. They deserved a place in her toolbox, but they weren’t the only tool. She’d accepted a lot and moved on, but she didn’t want to move on from Lotar.
Not this time.
Lotar’s mother put on another kettle. “My sons are the same above and below water. They think they know the best right way. But you know? My father had a saying: ‘The snow falls, the wolf hunts, but you choose your destiny.’ He always said that. ‘You choose your destiny.’” She shook the half-empty box of chocolate crackers. “They don’t have this down below, you know. Retirement will make me skinny.”
“Oh, most queens run up to the surface. You can visit and get your chocolate fix.”
“Visit? No.” She snorted and gestured at the official, who’d entered the house again. “My tribe will save work for me, but they must resolve our problems now. Don’t tell them I will come back.”
The official shook off the snow and traded words in the other language with her. He handed over his cell phone.
Lotar’s mother switched to English and chatted with the foundation staff, sharing Hazel’s location, and looked up at Hazel. “Your friends call back to arrange the travel to New York. What do I tell them?”
You choose your destiny.
Lotar’s mother had sure chosen hers.
Hazel still sat naked and abandoned in the middle of a stranger’s kitchen in a foreign country. But the stranger was her mother-in-law, and she was also now quite stuffed with chocolate crackers and tea.
This wasn’t about Lotar.
This was about Hazel.
Did she want to run to New York and the familiar that was different and start again?
Did she want to dive to Syrenka, unmask a traitor, and give Lotar a piece of her mind?
Did she want to start over as a reindeer herder in Lapland?
At this exact moment, with Lotar’s mother holding the phone, literally anything seemed possible. All she had to do was decide.
“I’m going back,” Hazel said.
Lotar’s mother raised her brows.
“To Syrenka,” she hastily clarified.
“Ah-ha.” Lotar’s mother handed Hazel the phone to finish updating Mel, the head of the foundation, about the Syrenka situation and her plans.
Mel, like Lotar’s mother, had no judgment about her choice. She got Hazel what she needed to proceed.
While she finished the call, Lotar’s mother washed up their dishes, pulled off her apron, and hung it on a peg above the sink. Hazel returned the government official’s cell phone.
“Right. Brilliant.” Lotar’s mother brushed her hands. “Let’s go.”
Two snowmobiles roared up outside, and the thickly bundled drivers ferried Hazel and Lotar’s mother to the seashore, not to where Hazel had come up, but to a large, weather-worn stone braced by the crashing waves and storm currents. A group of formally dressed men and women in thick coats and primary-blue-and-red embroidered fringes and hats greeted Lotar’s mother. This must be the reindeer tribe. They were doing a send-off.
“Onto the ice floes,” Lotar’s mother joked to Hazel as she unbuttoned her thin housecoat and dress, stepped out of her boots, and let the wind whip her gray hair. A man gave her a blanket like Hazel’s, and she wrapped it around herself before addressing her hurriedly gathered family and friends.
She spoke a bunch in her language, and there was a moment where she pointed at Hazel and everyone clapped. Good times. Then Lotar’s mother finished with a big English, “Thanks again! Happy retirement! Big vacation.”
They cheered, clapped, and stomped in a snow-muffled celebration.
She threw off her blanket, walked to the edge of the frozen shore, and dove into the frothing black water.
Wow.
Hazel dropped her blanket—er, should she fold it? Oh, neve
r mind—and ran after her, tripping off the end into the sea.
The currents dragged her around, wild and scary, and she clawed her way to calmer water.
Lotar’s mother emitted a thrilled shout. “This is living, yes, Hazel? This is the life!”
Her heart pounded. “Uh, yeah. Whew. And you threw off your blanket in front of everyone. It was so confident.”
“Eh, you get older, you care less.”
God, Hazel hoped that was true for her too.
Lotar’s mother selected a current and swam into the deep. Puffy-headed beluga whales dogged their descent, silly and cute. She rolled out of the current and played with them.
“Ah, I think we should hurry.”
Lotar’s mother pshawed her. “We arrive when we arrive. And when we arrive?” She smacked a fist into her open palm. “We sort it out.”
She’d spent her whole life taking care of business, and she wasn’t going to stop now.
Hazel was the one who’d changed.
She’d spent her whole life accepting that she wasn’t the one who could make things happen. She’d overinflated her failures and refused to recognize her successes. She’d let her partners determine her destiny. And never held them accountable.
That stopped now.
Lotar wasn’t alone anymore. She had his back. Which meant he had better darned well have hers. She knew what she wanted now, and she would demand it.
Hopefully, it wasn’t too late.
Thirty-Three
Lotar’s father floated back and forth, pacing in the cell beneath the city. “How could you betray me?”
The room held ten or more prisoners, which was big enough to imprison a large raiding party or a whole family during a succession dispute.
Behind his father, the opening yawned to the rest of the ocean. A guard was stationed there.
“You. Oska’s own brother.”
Lotar wriggled his wrists, testing the bonds. He touched his index fingers to his nose, slid the hard knot over his teeth. It would not yield.
They had not bothered to bind his fins. The wrist manacles’ woven tether was fed through the coral floor. He could barely sit up.
“Only finding the traitor could have moved me from my vigil. And to learn it was you…” His father choked.
If his father was here, it left his brother unguarded.
No one would suspect the first lieutenant. He could disperse the guards and stab Oska right through the heart.
Lotar had been stupid.
So stupid.
And now the one who paid would be Oska.
“You used to love Oska, but then you changed, wanting what he had, and now, to hurt him like this?” His father choked again. “I do not know you. You are not my son.”
The familiar accusations sliced into his chest.
Just like in childhood.
Warlord Yashu floated down from the city and dismissed the guard.
Oh?
Perhaps help was coming.
Warlord Yashu floated inside the cell, his chest glowing with steady sympathy as Lotar’s father ranted. In the past, he’d offered condolences. Kind words his father would never hear.
But not today.
Today, his father’s lacerations fell onto a hardened heart.
Since childhood, one thing had changed.
“Why did you begin to hate your brother?” his father asked the ceiling.
Lotar would no longer remain silent.
“I have never hated my brother,” Lotar vibrated. Soft, incisive, but undeniable.
His father blinked and lowered his bleary gaze, not used to Lotar answering back. He frowned. “Then why did you poison him?”
I did not.
That reply would never reach his father. “How clever of me to poison Oska so many times from afar and in front of you. How sad that my plan failed in such a stupid way.”
“Yes. Well.” His father rubbed his temples. Even in his exhausted, grieving state, he sensed the flaws. “I no longer know you. Your hatred ran so deep, you had to leave.”
“I left out of fear.”
“Fear?” His father puffed water out of his mouth. “Of what?”
“Fear that someday your accusations would become true.”
“They are true. You always pushed yourself to make Oska look bad.”
“I push myself to outperform everyone.”
“But you will never be a prince. When you were a young fry, you understood the reason, but as you grew, your honorable intentions became twisted.”
“That is what happened to you, Father.”
“I have never changed. Only you changed.”
“Father, I am not as exceptional as you believe. I will never be the stealthiest warrior in Syrenka, but any successes I have had, you converted to failure.”
“You knew why, and you resented Oska—”
“I am the stealthiest warrior in Atlantis by infinite measure, but there, they do not curse me when I show my skills. They ask me to teach. They assign me the most difficult missions to scout.”
“Are you bragging? Do you think this attitude will earn my forgiveness?”
“I came because the All-Cities Gyre leads to Syrenka, but I will not stay. I serve a new king now. King Kadir. My castle is in Atlantis. When I leave here, I will never return.”
His father studied him. The dark shadows under his eyes emphasized his confusion.
“Until the next time,” Warlord Yashu vibrated.
“Yes,” his father said. “Your All-Cities Gyre is a guise. You have always wanted to be king.”
“Never.”
“You told me so when you were a young fry.”
Lotar vibrated an incredulous bark of laughter. “When I was a young fry?”
“And you have acted that way ever since.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. All the time.”
“I do not remember, but desires change. I have a bride.”
“You sent her away.”
“Because you were not acting in your right mind,” Lotar told him bluntly. “I will not endanger her, especially now, as she carries my young fry.”
His father’s eyes bugged. “She carries your young fry? She should have sheltered in your castle.”
“My castle is in Atlantis.”
“That is not the city of your ancestors.”
“No, it is not, but it is my castle.” He fixed his father with a hard gaze. “And my young fry will not be the first to grow up never knowing his grandfather.”
His father floated in shock.
A warrior swam full speed to the cell. “I have an urgent message for the king.”
“Is it about Prince Oska?” Warlord Yashu asked.
“No.”
King Falki waved the messenger away without lifting his gaze from Lotar.
Warlord Yashu shooed the messenger away an appropriate distance to wait.
“You are not lying,” his father finally said.
Lotar shook his head.
His father rubbed his chin, squeezed his eyes shut, and scrubbed his hollowed face.
This, then, was Lotar’s closure. He had spoken his truth.
When he left Syrenka, he would not return. He would collect Hazel and they would continue on the All-Cities Gyre. And it might be sooner than he thought. A sensation of knowing pinged deep in his bones. Wasn’t she closer than before, already on her way back to him?
“You are right.” His father dropped his hands. “I have not been thinking clearly since the day First Lieutenant Anik brought my son’s lifeless body. There are things I am missing. How did you transfer the poison to your bride?”
Lotar shook his head.
“And how did she transfer it without suffering its effects?”
“What you are missing”—Warlord Yashu crossed deeper into the cell—“is that Lotar should not have taken a bride before Oska. Oska is older and a prince. Lotar embarrasses his brother by even having a bride.”
That was
n’t the kind of thing Warlord Yashu would usually say. Even his father frowned at his oldest friend. “What?”
Warlord Yashu shrugged to show it wasn’t his opinion. “It is what the others say.”
“Let them say it.” The king lifted his trident. “And they would be wrong. Many warriors received their brides out of order. I was ranked higher, yet I was away during the annual ceremony, so you received your bride before me.”
Warlord Yashu nodded thoughtfully. “You are right. I had forgotten.”
“Oska was furious when you left, Lotar.” King Falki studied the ceiling of the prison. “He told me over and over that I had treated you unfairly. Me.” His father shook his head with the ghost of mirth. “When all I have ever tried to be is fair. But he said that while championing one young fry was fair to the other warriors, it was not fair to you. And that if you did change and hate him, the reason was my unfairness.”
“I never hated Oska.”
“He said that as well.” His father kneaded his face. “He said I crushed your strong heart. The heart Irina gave you. I knew you could endure my harsh words, and I took advantage, so I destroyed you. Why am I remembering these arguments now? I could not believe he was right. That would be torture.”
“I am not destroyed,” Lotar said simply. “And my heart is stronger now because of Hazel.”
“Hazel…” Lotar’s father knelt and gripped the line anchoring Lotar’s wrists to the coral. “Do you not hate Oska? And me? For all the things I have said to you?”
A hard lump formed in Lotar’s throat.
Lotar shook his head.
“There is a traitor here.” His father rested his hands on his knees, the binding trailing from his lax fingers. “He has laughed at my grief, impersonated me on the echo points, and even sent secret messages to the All-Council army. Oska was investigating that when he was injured. But the traitor has made one mistake. He—ungh.”
His father jolted and looked down in horror.
The central spine of a trident protruded through his father’s chest.
No!
Warlord Yashu leaned over the king’s curved back, the trident base in his firm hands. “It is you who have made the mistake, my old friend.”
“You…” His father could barely vibrate.
Electric eels surged through Lotar’s veins.