Galen’s heart aches for them both.
“Stop calling her his mate. And she’s lucky she brought that many protectors with her. And she’s lucky I didn’t have my lionfish—”
Galen holds out the fish again. “You should really eat.” Right now what Nalia says is treason. Paca is still a Triton queen at the moment. Everything she says can be used against her at the tribunal. And Galen has no doubt the Trackers outside have been instructed to listen intently.
She turns away from him. “I’m not hungry.”
“Highness,” he says sternly. “Sulking will not help anything. Eat. This. Fish. It will give you strength. It’s a gift from Grom. He says these are your favorite.”
She whirls on him. “Cod? He knows I hate … Oh.” She eyes the fish more closely, notices the point protruding from the last cod’s tail. “Oh. Yes, I do enjoy cod.” Nalia relieves Galen of the gift. He hopes she understands that she’s only to use it if things go badly with the tribunal. A last-resort kind of thing, in case Jagen’s influence is more than Grom anticipated, and as much as Galen dreads it is.
The lionfish spike is imbedded into the last cod. Galen wonders that she feels comfortable carrying it at all—lionfish venom is deadly—but Grom insists she’ll know how to handle the thing. Grom is not who Galen thought he was all this time. And neither is Nalia.
“He asks that you only eat them if you have to, Majesty.” Which sounds so ridiculous that Galen shrugs at Nalia when she rolls her eyes. The guards don’t seem to notice the lack of sense in the conversation. But it does appear Nalia understands his meaning.
The tribunal starts tomorrow. The decision would normally be left up to a group of Commons who volunteer for the duty, but since the matter involves Royals, the jury will be made up of a mixture of Archives from both houses. Galen can’t recall ever hearing of such a thing, a tribunal being held for a Royal. But since Nalia’s identity is apparently still in question, and she attacked the current Triton queen in front of so many witnesses, the tribunal will also function as a trial. If Jagen is as smart as Galen is starting to think he is, he already has the verdict tucked neatly into his capable hands.
Her identity will not be confirmed. And she’ll be found guilty of treason.
If that happens, she’ll be imprisoned in the Ice Caverns until she takes her last breath. And Emma will never speak to him again. He might as well accompany Nalia to the Ice Caverns. The Ice Caverns are more vast than any human prison, and considerably less populated—the Archives estimate that only forty or so Syrena have ever done something grave enough to be sentenced there. It would be a boring, lonely life—and death.
Of course, Galen is hoping that Grom and Antonis will not allow that kind of outcome. He’s not sure what kind of alternate plan the two kings have conjured up, if anything at all, but surely for all the desperation he sees in their eyes, they’re hiding something more useful than despair behind their anxious expressions. Doing this all the right way is one thing. But there might not be a right way, with Jagen’s influence marring the judgment of the Syrena.
Surely, if the right way fails, the two kings will not watch Nalia be imprisoned.
Grom would not suffer all those years only to lose her to the Ice Caverns. But going against the decision of the tribunal would be … Galen doesn’t want to think of the consequences of that right now. Too much is at stake, not only for Grom and Nalia, but for Galen and Emma as well. If the Archives won’t allow Grom and Nalia to unite, the possibility of Galen and Emma ever mating under Syrena tradition is all but obliterated.
The tribunal has to return a positive solution. It just has to.
And if it doesn’t? Galen can’t fathom what Jagen could possibly hope to gain if the Royals were displaced. The kingdoms? Hardly. The Syrena version of a kingdom differs greatly from the human version. When humans say the word “kingdom,” they mean palaces, mansions, wealth, people. When Syrena say the word “kingdom,” they mean endless strips of ocean. Fish. Reefs. Caverns. The Syrena do not need gold or jewels or paper money for their wealth. The only wealth the Syrena boast of are one another. They trade services sometimes, but mostly they help one another in times of need. They take care of their elderly and young ones.
So then, the only benefit of controlling the kingdoms is to change their way of life. But what would he possibly change?
Galen nods at Nalia, who has apparently been watching him think things through. He wonders what she saw in his expression. “I’ve got to get back now,” he says. She shrugs.
Get back to what? he thinks to himself as he leaves her chamber. He’s already roamed through the tunnels of the Cave of Memories twice, and each time he’s found himself back at the ruins of Tartessos, at the wall where he first figured out that Emma was a Half-Breed. The wall where he’s unable to take his eyes off the picture of the Half-Breed girl whose curves remind him of Emma.
Instead of returning there to torture himself, Galen decides to seek out Toraf. His friend has still not pulled himself from his gloomy trance, so at the very least, they could be miserable together. Toraf is close enough to sense, but Galen hesitates. Paca is near as well, and in the same direction he’d need to go to reach Toraf. He’s not particularly in the mood for a run-in with the fraud queen.
Still, he has an almost-urgent need to mull things over with Toraf. To miss Emma and Rayna with Toraf. Simmer with Toraf in mutual lovesick misery and anxiety and insecurity.
So when he gets within earshot, he’s not expecting to hear Toraf and Paca laughing. Together. Not just a polite laugh, either. They are enjoying, genuinely enjoying, a moment together. A private moment.
A private genuine moment that makes Galen ball his fists. What is he doing?
They stop laughing when he reaches them. “I hope I’m not interrupting something,” Galen says sourly.
“Of course you’re interrupting,” Toraf says, slapping him on the back. “It’s what you do best, Highness.”
Paca giggles. Galen has never seen her like this. Almost at ease, completely natural, instead of uptight like she always is around her father. Completely natural—except for the fact that she still claims to possess the Gift of Poseidon.
“Toraf was just reenacting his recent run-in with a fleet of stingrays. I never realized how entertaining your friend is, Galen.” Paca touches Toraf’s shoulder in a way that makes Galen think this is not the first conversation that has passed between these two.
“I’d have to agree,” Galen says curtly. “He’s full of entertaining surprises.”
Paca sighs, apparently reminded of the situation at hand. That she’s a fraud, that the Royals are on to her, and that they intend to extricate her from the Triton king and her claim to the throne. “I’m afraid I have to leave now. My father is expecting me.” Without further explanation, she swirls away.
Galen waits until she’s out of sight before turning on Toraf. “What was that about? Were you actually flirting with Paca?”
Toraf shrugs. “I’m just trying to make the best of the situation, minnow.”
“What could you two possibly have to say to each other?”
“You’d be surprised.” Toraf starts to swim away, but Galen catches his shoulder.
“Enlighten me, tadpole. If anyone needs an entertaining distraction, it’s me.”
They lock eyes with each other. Toraf is definitely hiding something. He’s hiding something and he knows that Galen knows he’s hiding something. “I’m sure I’ve already told you about the stingray incident, Galen.”
“Toraf.”
But his friend shrugs off Galen’s hand. “I don’t have time for a retelling, Galen. I’m meeting with King Antonis soon and I can’t be late.”
“Why are you meeting with Antonis?”
“He wants to hear the stingray story, too.” Toraf is not a good liar, even when he tries. But right now, Galen can tell he’s not even trying. Either he doesn’t care that Galen knows he’s lying, or he’s trying to tell him something
with the lie.
Either way, Galen can’t figure it out.
“Then maybe I could come and listen to the story.” This feels weird, to say things between words with Toraf, his best friend since they were fingerlings learning how to swim straight.
Toraf starts to pull away again. “Sorry, Highness, but His Majesty requested a private meeting.”
He never calls me Highness in private. He knows I hate it. Why is he going out of his way to irritate me? Does he sense we’re being monitored? Or is this a new Toraf, formal and rigid? Galen watches until his tail disappears into a cloud of krill passing through. And he decides that he doesn’t like a formal, rigid Toraf.
So then, there is definitely an alternate plan in the works, and Toraf is part of it and clearly Galen is not.
Which could mean several things. They may not trust him. Why, he couldn’t possibly imagine. Or, they could be reasoning among themselves that they’re “protecting” him from knowing whatever it is they’re planning.
Or worse, they think he would disagree with their plans and try to thwart them.
Which can only mean their plans involve Emma somehow.
13
I RUN the faucet until it’s scalding hot, then dump a dab of dish soap into my empty oatmeal bowl to soak. Behind me, I hear Ranya huff as I pick up my backpack. “Why can’t I go to school?” she rasps. “Galen went to school. If he could fit in, I could fit in.”
Oh, there are so many things I could say to that but Rachel silences me with a look. She walks over to Rayna and squeezes her shoulders. “Oh, sweet pea, you don’t want to hang out with those silly humans.”
“Yes, I do. Especially because they’re silly. It’s so boring here without—” She straightens up. “It’s just boring sitting here watching television all day. I want to do something. I can’t even get in the water. Toraf will know as soon as I put my toe in.”
This surprises me. “I’m not allowed in the water. They never said you couldn’t get in.”
“Toraf told me not to. He said it was dangerous for me to get in the water, too. He made me promise on our sealing that I wouldn’t.”
I put my backpack down and sit on the bar stool next to her. “Dangerous how?”
She shrugs. “He didn’t say. But I could tell he was serious.”
I don’t like this. This new explanation doesn’t make sense. In the beginning it made sense to leave Rayna behind because of her fat mouth. It made sense for Galen to ask me to stay out of the water. I’m a Half-Breed. The danger to me is obvious. But Rayna is a Royal. If anything, Royals are the most protected of all Syrena. Theoretically, the safest place for Rayna is the water. Or so I’d thought. No wonder she was so listless when they’d left. I wish she had told me this sooner.
I feel my throat closing up. If Toraf thinks Rayna is in danger, does that mean Galen is in danger, too? And what about my mom? Would Galen—would Grom—lead my mom into danger?
The biggest obstacle was supposed to be getting Paca and Grom unsealed. Danger was never a factor in all this.
Rachel hands me my backpack, her expression full of meaning. “I’m sure everything is fine. You have the luxury of going to school to keep your mind off things for a while. Be glad. In the meantime, I’ll take sweet pea here shopping or something. And I’ll try to find you both a distraction for after school.”
“I’d rather go shopping than to school,” I offer, but she pushes me toward the door and hands me the keys to Galen’s SUV. Arguing with her is like arguing with Mom. She wins, I lose, and it’s usually for the best anyway. I take the keys and go.
* * *
I don’t know how I ever survived school before Galen. Then I realize exactly how—Chloe. There was never an uninteresting day of school with Chloe around. I pass the locker we shared our junior year. The grimy outline of the stickers we slapped all over it still mar it in places. Our initials are still carved in the corner. I wonder if the school decided to leave it that way out of respect because of what happened over the summer. I wonder if after I graduate, they’ll clean it up and repaint it. Right now Chloe would be texting me, or walking beside me, or waiting for me at that locker.
But last summer changed all of that. When a shark plucked her from our surfboard and pulled her into the Gulf of Mexico by the leg. Her life ended soon after that. And my life changed. That day marked the first time I used my Gift since I was a small child, though I didn’t realize it then—and I certainly didn’t realize it while flailing for my life in Granny’s pond. It was also the day I met Galen. The first time I sensed him. Really, it was the summer of many firsts.
And now I feel guilty. Have I allowed Galen to replace Chloe? Or worse, have I used Galen as a replacement for Chloe? Did I grieve long enough for her? Did I cry hard enough? What if she never died? What if she were still alive? Would there have been room for Galen and Chloe in my life? Would they have liked each other, or would I have had to choose between them? And who would I choose? And why do I feel guilty even thinking about who I would choose?
I feel like the person who takes her mind off a headache by stomping on her own toe. I’ve just exchanged one anxiety for another. Worry about Galen and Mom, or worry about what-ifs over Chloe. It’s all the same. It’s all worry. I look around the school hall and begrudgingly watch all the kids whose problems amount to homework, getting grounded, or what to wear to prom. Even now, a group of them has gathered around a prom poster, probably discussing how they’ll get there, who they’re going with, blah blah blah.
This time last year, I’d be standing next to that poster doing the same thing. Chloe and I had decided in the sixth grade that when we got to be seniors, we would go stag (or “stagette,” as Chloe called it), even if we both had boyfriends. We declared at the age of eleven that prom was for us, not for anyone else, and it would be the best night of our entire existence. Period.
Now that she’s gone, I wonder what I should do. Should I uphold that agreement, and go stagette and deprive myself of the sight of Galen in a suit, squirming under the pressure to dance with some kind of grace in front of humans? Or would I even get the chance to go with Galen, given all the things going on right now?
That’s when I decide that prom is stupid. It’s just a dumb dance that might have meant something to the old me, but the new me doesn’t really give a flying frick.
And that’s when Mark Baker, whom I now refer to as Galen’s BFF because of their testosterone-enhanced run-in last year, walks up to me. “You got your dress picked out for prom? Let me guess. It’s violet, to match your eyes.”
I raise a brow at him. Since Galen has been gone, Mark has been awfully attentive. Not that Mark isn’t nice, and not that if it were a year ago, I’d be a babbling idiot if he took the time out of being godlike to ask what I planned on wearing for prom. But like everything else, Mark is so one year ago.
And I don’t know if I like that.
I shrug. “I’m probably not going.”
Mark is not good at hiding surprise. “You mean Galen won’t allow you to—”
“Knock it off. I know you think Galen is controlling or whatever, but you’re wrong. And anyways, I can hold my own. If I wanted to go to prom, you can bet your sweet Aspercreme I’d be going.”
Mark holds up his hands in surrender. “Simmer down, skillet. I was just asking a polite question. Did you want to talk about starving children or government conspiracy instead?”
I laugh. I’d forgotten how easygoing Mark is. “Sorry. I’m just in a bad mood I guess.”
“You think?”
I punch his arm, then feel guilty about how flirty it looks. “Well, nobody’s perfect.”
The bell rings and he starts walking backward, away from me. “But some people who shall remain nameless are pretty close to it.” He winks, then faces the other direction.
Mark is so likeable and good and boy-next-doorish. For a second I fantasize about not being a Half-Breed whose mother is a long-lost mer-monarch and whose boyfriend has
a fin or hairy legs, whichever the situation calls for, and whose whole life isn’t toppling like a stack of dishes in an earthquake.
I allow myself to think that I am just me, and that Mark is taking me to prom, and that I am going to buy a violet prom dress now because he suggested it, and we will be pronounced prom king and queen and we will dance some of the night and kiss for the rest of it. A small part of me wants it. Not Mark, not exactly. A tiny fraction of me just wants to be normal.
But the bigger part of me remembers what my dad taught me about the undertow when he was trying to coax me into the water to teach me how to swim. “If you ever get caught in the undertow,” he’d said, “just let it take you. Just let it pull you right out. Whatever you do, don’t fight it and waste your energy and oxygen. That’s how people die. The people who don’t die wait it out. The undertow lets go eventually, right when you think you can’t hold your breath any longer. You just have to be patient.”
Because right now I’m caught in an undertow. And I’ve got to hold my breath, be patient, until it gives me my life back.
So I stop thinking about everything in the entire universe and I go to class.
14
THE BOUNDARY has never been so full—at least not as far as Galen can remember. This thin strip of neutral territory runs around the entire earth and is the only place where a tribunal may be held. It reminds Galen of an upright, human version of the equator because it’s exactly that—and invisible boundary separating half the world. Syrena from both houses of Royals, and those who crossed over to Jagen’s “house”—the house of “Loyals” as they call themselves—cram into the Arena.
The shape of the Arena reminds Galen of the giant bowl Rachel uses for her breakfast cereal. Surrounded by a ring of hot ridges—the humans call them volcanoes—the Arena is a natural valley, flat and boring in contrast to the surrounding landscape. The hot ridges haven’t erupted in many years, since before Galen was born. Some of the Archives living today remember stories passed down from older Archives, but no one living today has ever seen an eruption here.