Paca swims forward to the center stone. The same shock and confusion she wears on her face thunders through the crowd. What is he doing? Even Nalia seems perturbed at his request. Galen cannot see how any good can come of this.
Grom holds his hand up. “My queen, Paca, will you please demonstrate your special Gift to us once more?”
She nods, uncertain and nervous, but says, “Of course, Majesty.” Then she waves her hand above her, twisting it. Galen has seen the signal a hundred times at the Gulfarium while visiting Dr. Milligan. “Come to me, pets,” she says. “Come.”
Galen has also seen enough of Paca to know that she keeps her dolphins close at hand, in case she’s asked for a show. They practically follow her everywhere and why shouldn’t they? She keeps them full on dead fish, leaving an obvious trail of them behind her wherever she goes. Even now, the dolphins instantly spring from between some Syrena in the Loyal section. Could Grom have arranged for her to have them in the Arena for his testimony?
“Ah, there you are, my pets,” she says, nuzzling her nose to one of the three affectionately. “Shall we show our friends what we can do?” She twirls her finger around and around. Of course, the dolphins swim in circles in front of her. The Arena cheers.
Galen catches a glimpse of Rayna rolling her eyes. Grom nods to the crowd as Paca has her “pets” do more fancy tricks. What Grom could be hoping to accomplish by putting her apparent Gift on display, Galen doesn’t know. But he wishes he’d get on with it.
After a while, Grom asks Paca to rein in her flippered friends. He smiles at her. “Wonderful, Queen Paca.” He turns to Section Loyal. “Would you not agree with me, friends, that she put on a splendid example of the Gift of Poseidon?”
At this the Arena explodes into tail slapping and applause. Grom lets them sound off for a while, then signals for silence again. He turns back to Paca. “My queen, now if you will demonstrate the Gift on some of the other fish around the Arena. Choose any one you’d like.” He motions around him, as if the Arena were stocked with a variety just for her.
Paca’s eyes flit back and forth between several schools of colorful fish. Some swim close to the surface, some swim undisturbed toward Section Triton. Some swim so close to her that she moves out of their path. She scowls. “The Gift does not work that way, Majesty. It only works with dolphins.”
Grom turns to Section Triton. “That is troubling, don’t you think, friends? The Gift of Poseidon is meant to feed us, is that not correct? But we do not even eat dolphins. Not only do they taste horrible, but there are not enough dolphins in either territory for us to survive for very long. They do not reproduce fast enough for any lasting food source. Friends, dolphins are more companions to us than anything else. Many of you even hunt alongside dolphins, and have done so for many generations. Why would the generals provide a Gift that would only allow us to communicate with, in order to consume, such a scarce but valuable resource to our kind? They wouldn’t, friends. They haven’t.”
Jagen swims to the center to interject, but Grom holds up his hand. “You have already given your testimony, Jagen, several times if I recall. I did not interrupt you once. Not while you insulted my family, my ancestors, or myself. I will not be interrupted now.”
Tandel swims between them. “Yes, Jagen, we will return the respect King Grom has shown to us. Please resume your place in the Arena.”
Galen exchanges a surprised look with Nalia. Thus far, Tandel has mostly allowed Jagen to interrupt if and when he’s pleased. Or rather, he’s been unable to stop him, and most who’ve taken the center stone have backed down from Jagen’s aggression. But not Grom.
It’s like Tandel is feeding off his brother’s confidence and strength.
“You are so quick to accuse the Royals of hiding on land, Jagen. But I will remind you that when Toraf, the best Tracker in the history of our kind, found your Paca, she’d been hiding on land as well. She openly confesses that she did so, in fear that King Antonis would send someone after her because of her Gift. I do not see Paca standing in a tribunal for hiding on land. Why is that?”
By now, the audience has packed in together, as many as will fit, and they seem to lean forward as one, listening to Grom’s speech. He turns to Paca. “Do you now deny that you hid on land, Queen Paca? In fear for your life?”
Quietly, she shakes her head.
Grom nods. “Friends, my younger brother, Prince Galen, is the ambassador to the humans, which requires his presence on land from time to time. It is his belief that Paca possesses, not the Gift of Poseidon, but the skills of a human. Prince Galen has informed me that humans use their hands to instruct dolphins. They do this for entertainment. And indeed, it is very entertaining, is it not? But the Gift of Poseidon is not intended for entertainment. It is intended for our very survival. I fail to see how asking dolphins to twirl in place will ensure our survival. What’s more, friends, is that it is a well-known fact that the Gift of Poseidon is the result of vocal commands. I have seen with my own eyes, just as you have, that Paca indeed talks to these dolphins. Now I would ask my queen to instruct them to action without using her hands.”
Paca bites her lip. “My pets are tired, Highness. They can sense the tension among us and it makes them nervous.”
“Of course, I understand that, my queen,” Grom says, not unkindly. “But I must insist that you do it, just the same.”
She looks to her father for help, but Jagen does nothing except seethe in his rapidly declining section of Loyals. Galen swells with pride for his brother.
That is, until he senses Emma. Toraf is close behind her.
No!
Now is the worst possible time for Toraf to throw a Half-Breed into the now-receding turmoil. To throw Emma into it. Grom is doing so well in reasoning with the Arena, winning them back over to the side of logic. Emma’s appearance will surely deflate Grom’s arguments. Which is probably Toraf’s plan.
Rayna tenses up, alert to her mate’s presence drawing closer. A Loyal Tracker whispers something in Jagen’s ear and he smiles wide. No doubt the Tracker has confirmed Toraf’s—and Emma’s—imminent arrival.
Grom continues, oblivious to the chaos about to unfold. “It is my belief that the Royals, from this generation and the generations before, have never strayed. It is my belief—” Grom stops, staring past the rim of the Arena over the hot ridges. He glances back to Nalia, who’s expression is a mixture of terror and desperation. She nods to him.
Emma.
Suddenly, a commotion begins at the side of the Arena, where Emma’s pulse is coming from. Why is Toraf so far behind her? The least he could do is see her safely arrived.
Apprehension stabs Galen all over like the sting of a man-o’-war. He silently curses Toraf for bringing her, and Emma for believing whatever it is that he’d told her to convince her to come. He squints in the direction of her pulse and sees what looks like an underwater cloud moving toward the Arena. Galen has never seen anything like it.
And apparently, neither has anyone else.
What could it possibly be? A human military experiment? Are Emma and Toraf caught in the middle of it? Galen knows that in the past, humans have experimented with their sonar weapons and underwater bombs. Could this be a new way to wage war?
As it moves closer, Galen can make out smaller bodies within the mass. Whales. Sharks. Sea turtles. Stingrays. And he knows exactly what’s happening.
The darkening horizon engages the full attention of the Arena; the murmurs grow louder the closer it gets. The darkness approaches like a mist, eclipsing the natural sunlight from the surface.
An eclipse of fish.
With each of his rapid heartbeats, Galen thinks he can feel the actual years disappear from his life span. A wall of every predator imaginable, and every kind of prey swimming in between, fold themselves around the edges of the hot ridges. The food chain hovers toward, over them, around them as a unified force.
And Emma is leading it.
Nalia gasps, and Gal
en guesses she recognizes the white dot in the middle of the wall. Syrena on the outskirts of the Arena frantically rush to the center, the tribunal all but forgotten in favor of self-preservation. The legion of sea life circles the stadium, effectively barricading the exits and any chance of escaping.
Galen can’t decide if he’s proud or angry when Emma leaves the safety of her troops to enter the Arena, hitching a ride on the fin of a killer whale. When she’s but three fin-lengths away from Galen, she dismisses her escort. “Go back with the others,” she tells it. “I’ll be fine.”
Galen decides on proud. Oh, and completely besotted. She gives him a curt nod to which he grins. Turning to the crowd of ogling Syrena, she says, “I am Emma, daughter of Nalia, true princess of Poseidon.”
He hears murmurs of “Half-Breed” but it sounds more like awe than hatred or disgust. And why shouldn’t it? They’ve seen Paca’s display of the Gift. Emma’s has just put it to shame.
She gives the Arena time to digest that, striking a regal pose she only could have learned from Rayna. An undertone of shock rumbles through the assembly. Some can’t take their eyes off the mass of darkness surrounding them. Most can’t take their eyes off Emma.
After a while, she raises a finger to her lips, the human signal for silence. The Arena seems to know what she means. “I’ve come to testify on behalf of the Royals. As you can see, I have some evidence that might have been overlooked.” She motions to outside of the Arena, where her collection of meat-eaters hover in wait of her next order.
When Jagen detaches from the crowd and comes toward Emma, Galen puts himself between them. “You’re not welcome here, Half-Breed!” he snarls.
Grom joins the three of them at the center stone. A crowd gathers around them. “You yourself summoned her here,” Grom says. “Did you not, before everyone, insist that Toraf bring the Half-Breed here?”
“You’re Jagen,” Emma says, crossing her arms. “You’re the cause of all this stupidity. Where is Paca?”
“Paca has nothing to say to a disgusting Half-Breed,” Jagen spits. “In fact, none of us here have anything to say to one!” He looks around the growing ring of onlookers. He gets very little support.
Emma treads back, nodding. Searching the faces of the throng surrounding them, she says, “It’s true. I am a Half-Breed. Nalia is my mother. My father, a human, is dead. And as for me being welcome here, that’s not a decision for one Syrena, but for all of them.”
Indecisiveness ripples through the masses. They pack closer to get a better look at Emma. Galen doesn’t like the suffocating number of them. Some are still loyal to Jagen. Some of them might want to hurt her.
Jagen pushes against them in warning, forcing them to maintain at least a small center stage. He turns on Emma. “Actually, it was decided for them all. Our great generals effected that hundreds of seasons ago. ‘No contact with humans.’ If you’re claiming Syrena heritage, you should at least learn some of our laws, young human.”
Emma laughs. Galen recognizes it as her go-to when she’s about to prove him wrong about something. But he doesn’t want her to prove Jagen wrong. He wants to get her out of here. His whole being thrums with the need to steal her away.
But Emma is determined. “Now you’re concerned with the laws? I didn’t realize you could pick and choose which ones to follow, Jagen. That sounds pretty convenient, huh?” She earns a few nods of approval from their audience, not the least of which comes from King Antonis. He watches her intensely, pride stuck on his face like squid ink. Galen knows the feeling.
Emma pauses, and her whole demeanor changes from huntress to mother as she looks to the accumulation of fish above her. “Those who need air may surface. Come back when you’re done. Young ones go first.”
Emma turns her attention back to the Syrena. “I possess the Gift of Poseidon. Look around you and deny it.”
Jagen’s nostrils flare. “Do not let yourselves be charmed by this Half-Breed, as Poseidon did so long ago. That’s why Triton ordered all Half-Breeds killed in the first place, is it not? And now you would allow her to defile the sanctity of our Arena with her lies of having the sacred Gift of Poseidon?”
Rayna pushes through the audience, and to Galen’s dismay she’s holding Toraf’s hand. She propels them both into the center. Toraf and Galen exchange nods, but Galen feels as though icicles run through his veins. Emma shouldn’t be here. And she’s here because of him.
“I, for one, do not believe she has the Gift of Poseidon,” Rayna says gleefully. “If you have the Gift of Poseidon, make those hammerheads attack Jagen where he stands.”
Galen pinches the bridge of his nose. Toraf smirks at him, but Galen will not return the sentiment. Not now and not in a thousand years.
Emma mulls over this for a moment, then points to a female Syrena on the front line of the ring. Galen recognizes her as Tira, a Triton Tracker’s daughter. “Pick,” Emma tells her.
Tira’s lip trembles. She tries to back out of sight, but someone pushes her forward. “Pick … Pick what?”
Emma motions to the halo of predators above them, around them, everywhere. “Pick two. Any two you want, and I will have them divide Jagen’s body evenly.”
“No!” Jagen screams, his face contorted in terror.
Emma cocks her head at him. “Jagen, make up your mind. Didn’t you just say you don’t believe I have the Gift? So then why should you care if she points to some harmless sharks?”
He clamps his mouth shut, but the look of panic stays.
Tira says, “I couldn’t do that, Highness.”
Highness! Someone called Emma “Highness”! It’s one of the many names she calls Galen when she’s mad at him. The irony is not lost on Emma. Her death glare cuts off his snickers.
She turns back to Tira. “Of course you can. There’s nothing to worry about because Paca has the Gift, remember? Isn’t that what you all believe? She would never let any harm come to her own father, would she? I know I wouldn’t. So go ahead and pick. Paca will save Jagen.”
Clever little angelfish. Galen smirks at Jagen, who won’t meet his eyes. Nalia and Grom make their way to the edge of the center. Grom grins at Emma likes she’s his own daughter. Which is very weird for Galen.
Tira takes a deep breath. “Okay. Since you put it that way.” She eyes the living wall surrounding the Arena and points. “Those two right there. The two striped sharks.”
Emma smiles. “Excellent choice.” She waves to the tiger sharks. As she opens her mouth to give the command, Galen sees a movement from the corner of his eye. A Loyal Tracker raising his hunting spear.
“Galen, watch out,” Rayna rasps, remnants of her voice coming through in fractured rifts of clarity. The water around them seems to rumble. Could one of the volcanoes be awakening? An eruption on the full assembly would be the worst possible thing Galen can imagine.
Apparently startled, Emma moves in front of Galen, poised to shield him—from the spear or the eruption, Galen’s not sure. In a swift motion, he tucks her back behind him.
The weapon leaves the Tracker’s hand. It’s the longest second of Galen’s life, waiting on that spear. Instinctively, he snatches Emma closer to him, covering every inch of her with him. He feels the small wake of the spear as it swipes past them. That was too close.
At first, Rayna’s growl barely gets Galen’s attention. After all, it sounds like mere frustration, the familiar beginning of a normal tantrum. But this growl builds, swelling into a roar. The cracks in her voice seem to meld together again, creating something new. Something that hasn’t been seen in many, many generations.
She draws up, as if collecting some invisible power around her.
And her scream moves the water.
19
ONE SECOND I’m clinging to Galen for dear life, the next I’m separated from him and pushed back by … Rayna’s scream? Is that possible? I look around at the new faces of Syrena surrounding me, eyeing me as if I pulled them back with me. They are all as shocked a
s I am. Five seconds ago, we were about thirty yards closer to her.
She blew us over like empty aluminum cans in the wind.
And it looks like she’s about to do it again. She turns, takes a big breath of water into her lungs, and screams at a large Syrena male who just tried to spear us, near-hysteria on his face. The momentum of her voice is visible, causing the water in front of her to warp and surge and spread like giant hands reaching toward the Syrena with the weapon.
He doesn’t have a chance to get away. The sound wave slaps him dead-on, carries him up and over the crest of the small valley—are those freaking volcanoes?—and through my wall of sea creatures surrounding us. It even pushes back some of the biggest whales.
The upchurned earth starts to settle around us. It looks like a dust storm in the desert, but the water eases the sand back down instead of all at once. The valley looks freshly swept. All eyes are on Rayna, who is now bordering what looks like a major case of hyperventilation.
“Nobody hurts her, you understand?” she says, her voice now completely intact. “I won’t … I won’t let you.”
Some of them back away from me. Others talk among themselves. “Gift of Triton,” they whisper to one another. Toraf looks like his jaw might fall off.
Rayna has the Gift of Triton. She’s living proof that the Royals never strayed. And now I’ve blown my cover for nothing.
But there is someone who’s already recovered, someone who has already thought this through and found the result lacking to his satisfaction. And while everyone—including me—is paying attention to Rayna, he sneaks up behind me out of nowhere. Jagen’s pulse hits me just before the sharp jab in my back. I know I’ve been stabbed, but at first it just feels like a pinch. And then the pain consumes me.