“Die, you filthy Half-Breed!” he growls.
And then I do not sense him anymore. In fact, I don’t sense anyone anymore. Not my mother, not Rayna, not Toraf, not Grom.
Not Galen.
Where there used to be a gigantic valley of Syrena pulses hitting me from every direction, there is nothing. The world goes black around me and I can’t tell if my eyes are shut or they just stopped seeing. If I’m losing my sensing abilities, if I can’t see anything, does that mean I’m dying?
I’m not as brave about it as I hoped I would be. It’s one thing to contemplate the possibility of dying. It’s another thing to actually be dying. I’m not brave at all. Ohmysweetgoodness, I’m scared.
I don’t want to die.
And all at once, his pulse resuscitates me, brings me back from the ledge. Galen. His arms envelop me and we are speeding, speeding, speeding through the water. I can’t even open my eyes—it’s like gravity is forcing them shut. I want to sob into his chest but I don’t have the strength. I try to speak, but our pace snatches the words from my mouth.
We have never gone this fast. Not ever.
The pain in my back is numbed by the water rushing against it, and I hope it’s not tearing the flesh open, and at the same time I hope the salt water is somehow healing it. I know I’m bleeding. I feel warmth gather where the numbness starts. I felt Jagen’s weapon pierce me. I felt it touch bone.
I press my face into Galen’s neck. He stops immediately, cradles my cheeks in his hands. If we were going by expressions alone, I’d say he was in more pain than me. “Angelfish,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry this happened. We’re almost to land. No one can hurt you now. Stay with me, Emma. Oh, please stay with me.”
He kisses me all over my face and all I know is that everything up until this point was worth it. The hassle of getting Toraf through security. The terrifying jump from the helicopter. Even the argument I know Galen and I will have about all this later. The agony in my back. The terrifying moment I thought I would die.
He cradles me in his arms princess-style, then picks up the pace again. For a second, it looks like Galen’s fin has more than doubled in size. That’s when I know I’m hallucinating. I don’t know if it’s the pain or the loss of blood or both, but I lose consciousness.
* * *
Right away, I recognize the scent of Galen’s house, of the lemon-scented air fresheners Rachel places strategically throughout. Of the clean linen scent of freshly washed sheets. Of the aroma of fish baking in the oven.
The light of morning creeps into Galen’s bedroom window, casting the start of a new day on the white furniture and cool blue-painted walls. I feel him beside me, hear the even sound of his breathing, smell the delicious saltiness of his skin.
I have missed him.
I move to face him, and that’s when the pain reminds me that I’ve recently been stabbed. I bury my face in the pillow, but it doesn’t quite muffle my yelp.
“Emma?” Galen says groggily. I feel his hand in my hair, stroking the length of it. “Don’t move, angelfish. Stay on your stomach. I’ll go tell Rachel you’re ready for more pain medicine.”
Immediately I disobey and turn my face up to him. He shakes his head. “I’ve recently learned where your stubbornness comes from.”
I grimace/smile. “My mom?”
“Worse. King Antonis. The resemblance is uncanny.” He leans down and presses his lips to mine and all too quickly springs back up. “Now, be a good little deviant and stay put while I go get more pain meds.”
“Galen,” I say.
“Hmmm?”
“How bad am I hurt?”
He caresses the outline of my cheek. His touch could disintegrate me. “Hurt at all is bad enough for me.”
“Yeah, but you’ve always been a baby about this stuff.” I grin at his faux offense.
“Your mother says it’s only a flesh wound. She’s been treating it.”
“Mom is here?”
“She’s downstairs. Uh … You should know that Grom is here, too.”
Grom left the tribunal and headed for land? Did that mean it all ended badly? Well, even worse than my getting impaled? An urgent need to know everything about everything shimmies through me. “Whoa. Sit. Talk. Now.”
He laughs. “I will, I promise. But I want to make you comfortable first.”
“Well, then, you need to come over here and switch places with the bed.” A blush fills my cheeks, but I don’t care. I need him. All of him. It feels like forever since we’ve talked like this, just me and him. But talking usually doesn’t last long. Lips were made for other things, too. And Galen is especially good at the other things.
He walks back and squats by the bed. “You have no idea how tempting that is.” It seems like the violet of his eyes gets darker. It’s the color they get when he has to pull away from me, when we’re about to violate a bunch of Syrena laws if we don’t stop. “But you’re not well enough to…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll go get Rachel. Then we can talk.”
I’m a little surprised that his argument didn’t begin with “But the law…” That is what has stopped us in the past. Now the only thing that appears to be stopping us is my stabby condition.
What’s changed?
And why am I not excited about it? I used to get so frustrated when he would pull away. But a small part of me loved that about him, his respect for the law and for the tradition of his people. His respect for me. Respect is a hard thing to come by when picking from among human boys. Is that respect gone?
And is it my fault?
After a few minutes both Mom and Rachel come to my aid. They give me pain medication and water. Then Mom announces that it’s time for a shower and fresh pajamas. She helps me to the bathroom, helps me wash, then helps me put a gazillion tangles in my hair while she shampoos it. And she actually thinks we’re going to leave it that way.
“I’m not going downstairs looking like a hobo,” I tell her. “We have to comb it.”
“That thick mess will break this flimsy comb. Can’t you just run your fingers through it?”
It’s weird to be arguing about my hair when we still haven’t discussed my wound, how I got it, and how I came to be snoring in Galen’s bed. We both seem to appreciate the bizarreness at the same time. Mom raises a brow. “Don’t think you get special treatment just because you can make a whale do the tango. I’m still your mother.”
We both laugh so hard I think I feel a tiny rip in my newly dressed wound. Without warning, Mom throws her arms around me, careful to avoid touching it. “I’m so proud of you, Emma. And I know your father would be, too. Your grandfather can’t stop talking about it. You were amazing.”
Ah, the bonding power of tangled hair and dancing whales.
She releases me the second before it gets awkward. “Let’s get you dressed. We have a lot to discuss. And I bet you’re starving. Rachel made you … uh … Upchuck Eggs.”
“She gets an A for effort.”
Mom hands me my clothes.
* * *
We find Galen and Grom sitting in the formal dining room, talking quietly to each other across the gigantic mahogany table. Steam billows up from several pots spread across it, polluting the air with the smell of seafood. Out of the sixteen glossy high-back chairs, I take the one next to Galen.
He stops his conversation with Grom and leans over to kiss my forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Hungry.”
Rachel sets a plate full of eggs, jalapeños, bacon, cheese, and a bunch of other ingredients that a less-famished person might care about. I don’t even blow on it before I spoon it into my mouth. As soon as I do, of course, Grom says, “Good morning, Emma.”
I nod politely. “Goo monig,” I tell him around my food.
Galen winks at me, then takes a bite of his own breakfast, which looks like a crab cake the size of his face. Also, it smells like dirty socks and sauerkraut.
“Emma, we were just discussing our pl
ans,” Grom continues. “I’m glad you could join us.”
I take a sip of orange juice. “Plans for what?”
Mom sits next to Grom with a cup of coffee. “Plans for living on land.”
“We already live on land.”
“We do,” she agrees. “But it looks like we’ll need to make room for a few additions to our lives.” She doesn’t have to look at Grom for me to know she’s talking about him.
Which means everything I did was for nothing. If Grom is living on land, that means he can’t return back to his territory. “They didn’t believe me, then,” I say. “They still took Jagen’s side?”
“We don’t know,” Grom says. “We left right after you did, during the chaos that followed Jagen’s attack. What happened after that doesn’t matter. I would rather live among humans than see the ones I care about put in danger like that again.”
“Me, too,” Mom says, fury glinting in her eyes. “You were hurt, and I wasn’t waiting around for them to throw us in the Ice Caverns for the next eternity. Idiots.”
Galen places a hand on my thigh under the table and gives it a gentle squeeze. It’s not meant to be sensual at all, but I’ve been going through Galen-withdrawals and I can’t help but acknowledge the sensation of lava flowing through my veins. I try, try, try to respect that it’s meant to comfort me. Galen must see it on my face because his eyes widen before he moves his hand away from me. “There’s nothing for us to go back to, Emma,” Galen says, clearing his throat. “That tribunal should have never happened. The Syrena world we once knew doesn’t exist anymore.”
So I was right. The only thing stopping him in the bedroom earlier was my wound. Not Syrena law. Not Syrena tradition.
“It just seems that way right now,” I tell him. “Give it some time, then go back.”
“No,” he says. “I gave it enough time. Day after day, they didn’t listen to reason. All they want is change. They don’t care if it’s good or bad. Now they can have it. Without the Royals.”
The Syrena might need time, but Galen needs time, too. It’s too soon for him to be making judgment calls like that. He’s been too loyal to his kind for too long to cut them off cold-turkey. But he wouldn’t appreciate me telling him so in front of his brother. Or in front of my mom. I change the subject. “Speaking of Royals, where are Rayna and Toraf? Sleeping in?”
Galen’s jaw tightens. “Toraf is not welcome here. Rayna has chosen the company of her traitorous mate over the company of her family.”
“Galen, Toraf isn’t a traitor,” I tell him gently. “He did what he did to save Rayna. To save you. What would have happened if I hadn’t come?” But I can’t convince myself that the outcome would have been different if I had opted to stay on the cozy shore. Rayna still could have—would have—saved the day.
It looks like Galen is thinking the same thing. “Then you wouldn’t have been hurt,” he says stubbornly. “Grom was making headway. It would have turned out fine.”
“You can’t be sure of that. And Toraf wasn’t taking the chance.”
“I’m sure he’s told you some noble story. But he brought you to the Arena. He risked your life, Emma. And look what happened.”
“I did what I thought was right,” Toraf says from the threshold of the living room. Rayna stands behind him, indifference sheathing the nervousness I know she’s probably feeling at bringing him here. Over Toraf’s shoulder I see another Syrena, older and taller and lankier. I’ve never met him before, but I think I know who he is.
Too bad there isn’t time for introductions.
Galen’s abrupt stand sends his chair crashing to the floor behind him. He half-leaps, half-slides across the table, sending pots and pans and barely touched breakfasts everywhere. Within a second, he has Toraf by the neck, pinning him against the wall.
“Galen, no!” Rayna screams, beating against his back.
“Get away, Rayna,” he grounds out.
Toraf takes advantage of the distraction by punching Galen in the mouth. Galen releases him, but recovers quickly, burying his fist in Toraf’s gut.
Toraf swings.
Galen dances away.
Everyone at the table falls back to the wall, giving them a wide berth and the dining room as their boxing ring. Even Rayna resigns herself to the wall beside me.
“They just have to fight it out,” she says, sighing.
“Until what?” I say. “Not to the death or anything stupid like that. Right?” The Syrena as a species tend to live a peaceful way of life. I can’t imagine they would have a provision in their law that stipulates it’s okay to fight to the death.
Except, Galen isn’t concerned with the laws anymore.
Thankfully, Rayna shakes her head. “Until they’re too tired to hate each other. I hate when they do this.” She appears burdened with years of experiencing this.
But I can already see from the way they fight and struggle that they don’t hate each other. They are not trying to kill each other. They are both hurt inside, and want to translate that into physical blows. This brawl is a conversation. An understanding. And hopefully, a healing.
“Getting tired already, minnow?” Toraf taunts as he wraps strong arms around Galen’s neck in a choke hold.
Galen promptly flips him forward and onto his back. Toraf bounces once with the force. “You must have been drinking salt water,” Galen returns, “to have delusions like that.”
Toraf kicks Galen’s legs out from under him, and the scuffle is taken to the floor. Just when I wonder how long this can really go on, the older Syrena steps into the dining room and confirms his identity with the authority in his voice. “That’s enough. Get up.”
Toraf scrambles to his feet and steps away from Galen, who reluctantly complies. “Yes, Highness. Sorry, Highness,” Toraf says, breathless. There is not a small amount of shame on Toraf’s face.
In fact, even Galen looks conscience stricken. “Apologies, King Antonis,” he says quickly. “I didn’t see you there.”
King Antonis. Mom’s dad. My grandfather. Holy!
Antonis lifts his chin, satisfied. “I didn’t think so.”
Mom steps over the dish debris and embraces her dad. “Thank you for interrupting. It was getting a tad boring. It was obvious no one would win.”
Mom is such a dude sometimes. Grom winks at Galen, who shrugs.
“What brings you inland, Father?” Mom asks. “Besides the entertainment, of course.”
“I’ve brought news,” he says. “Toraf was kind enough to escort me here.”
“What news?” Galen and Grom ask at the same time.
That Galen is interested in any kind of news from the Syrena world is a good sign. He’s not as ready to give up on them as he thinks.
Antonis motions toward the living room. That’s when I realize he’s wearing a pair of Galen’s swim trunks—and they’re in danger of slinking to his ankles. “I assume these structures are made for sitting?”
We follow him and seat ourselves on the sectional. Rayna seats herself on Toraf’s lap. We all lean in toward my grandfather. It’s so weird to think of him in those terms.
“Much has happened,” Antonis begins. “The commotion caused by the Gifts of Triton and the Gift of Poseidon attracted some human attention.”
“Gifts?” Galen interjects. “You mean my sister’s Gift of Triton. The power in her voice.”
Ah. So her insane screaming fit did create the waves. It wasn’t just my imagination. But if that wasn’t my imagination, then Galen’s fin—
“It is rude to interrupt a king,” Antonis says sternly. Then his face softens. “It has come to our attention, young prince, that you, too, possess the Gift of Triton. We believe that since you are twins, the Gift was split between you. To our knowledge, this has never happened before.”
Galen shakes his head. “But I don’t—”
“It’s your speed, squid breath,” Rayna says, rolling her eyes. “Have you seen your fin lately?”
Galen mull
s over this. “I’ve always been fast. It was never called ‘the Gift’ before. What’s the difference now?”
“You’ve never been that fast, minnow,” Toraf says. “You divided the water like a shaker divides land.”
“It was most impressive,” Antonis says. “As was my granddaughter.” He gives me a smile bursting with pride and approval. Apparently my grandfather is no longer prejudiced against Half-Breeds, if he ever was. I wonder if this is one of those defining moments in life where a relationship starts.
And I hope it is.
“And it all makes sense, of course,” Mom says.
Everyone nods knowingly. Which drives me mental. “What makes sense?” I decide they’re just going to have to make concessions for me; I didn’t have the luxury of growing up to Syrena fairy tales.
Grom is the first to answer. “It is thought that the Gifts only occur when there is a need. With everything going on, and the stress my brother and sister were under, the Gifts made an appearance. Rayna used it to save you. Then Galen used it to save you. The same way you used it to save them. The purpose of the Gifts is survival, after all.”
It feels like the world suddenly got bigger. Awareness of things greater than me and Galen and everyone in this room settles on me like a coating of insight dust. The Gifts appear when needed. The first time it appeared for me was when I was drowning in my grammy’s backyard pond. I used the Gift to talk to the catfish, who pushed me to the surface. It was life or death. Just like it was life or death back at the Arena.
“Does that … Does that answer your question?” Galen says softly.
I nod. The room is quiet, in a sort of collective reflection. Then Grom reminds us all why my grandfather is here.
“You said humans came?” Grom says.
Antonis nods grimly. “They’ve captured two Syrena. The humans are holding them on the inhabited island closest to the Arena.”