57. Maren
57
Maren
“ Y our blood is tainted,” Sidra observed. It wasn’t an accusation like the one Aegir had once hurled at me across the sand. She said it casually, the way she might have something as banal as shifting clouds, though her silver eyes cut into mine with anything but nonchalance.
“Yes,” I said, deciding it best to not lie.
“And you are claimed,” Sidra continued.
Not knowing how to respond, I kept my eyes firmly on the queen’s.
A half-smile lifted the corner of Sidra’s mouth. “A brief tour of our nest?” she offered, extending an open hand in invitation. “Have you ever been inside a house of Naiads?”
“I haven’t.” I glanced back at Nori and Olinne as I stepped forward. They remained exactly as they were, heads bowed, eyes closed. Biting my lip, I followed.
“I seem to remember inviting you once before,” Sidra drawled, her narrow back to me as she strolled ahead. You rejected my request, lingered unsaid in the air.
“I’m sorry,” I said, drinking in the sweep of the stone, easy and flawless under the blue light.
Sidra turned sharply on her heel, forcing me to stop. Her eyes cut across my face. Evaluating. “Someone has taught you manners.”
I fought the urge to step away. “Someone has.”
Sidra gave her half-smile again. “How loyalty crumbles under the weight of a single dry season. I raised you, child, and you keep secrets for another.”
“I keep nothing that isn’t mine to share.”
“Speaking in riddles, too? How Naiadic of you.” She tilted her head, amusement playing with her mouth. “Do not worry. You may keep secrets from me, you may keep secrets from him , but Theia knows all, and there is nothing you can keep from her.”
“Him?” I stopped under an open, arched threshold that led out to what resembled an empty ballroom. The long floor ended in twin staircases, grand in their simplicity. Intricate patterns lay carved into the walls and ceiling, too small for me to decipher, and there were no railings on the side of each stairway, nothing to catch someone if they misplaced a step.
“This is where you will dine,” Sidra said, ignoring my question to wave a careless hand across the room.
I glanced at the open space ahead. There were no tables or chairs, nothing at all to seat a group of people for a meal. Though it was smooth under my feet, it was also unyielding. Did they eat standing? Sidra watched me carefully, as if waiting for me to ask.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, unwilling to take the queen’s bait, though I didn’t quite know why. It seemed like a benign question. But some instinct deep inside me warned the answer was treacherous.
Straightening her shoulders, Sidra turned again, passing through the open entryway under the joining stairs. I trailed her, padding quietly on the cool stone. She led me past a flock of open tunnels, each leading down, out of eyesight. “The rooms of my Domus, ” Sidra explained, stopping at the final passage. “And my private quarters.” She inclined her head, inviting me first into a room elegantly bare. Unlike Laurier Palace, no decorations adorned the walls, no statues or tapestries. No furniture, no chandeliers, no golden candlesticks. The room resembled the inside of an eggshell, domed high and round, as if the pounding of the sea had carved the stone into itself.
A pool of water sat in the center, surrounded by the strange spiky plants, the water a soothing shade of blue, lit from within. Shallow stairs led to the middle of the waiting water.
“Sit with me,” Sidra ordered, entering the first step. I wondered if she’d peel her gown off. Naiads were nothing if not unbothered by nudity. But she kept it on, wading down the stairs and sitting on one side. I followed, leaving my gown on as well, ignoring an eerie feeling that skittered between my shoulders. Never would I have imagined myself sharing a pool in the Juile Queen’s private quarters.
I drifted in, eyes following the floor of the water where it dipped into a tunnel that led somewhere unknown.
“So I can leave in a hurry, if we are ever threatened,” Sidra explained, her gaze trailing the direction of mine. “Though I would never abandon my home to my enemy. I would drown under their thumb before I would ever willingly leave.”
“Why not block it off?” I asked, sinking into the luxurious warmth of the water. The salt kissed my skin, and I sat on the rim of the pool, gazing back at the Queen. And froze.
Hanging from Sidra’s neck, its shape suddenly clear as the wet gown plastered itself to her body, was something shaped very much like a stone prism I knew.
“I use the exit every day,” Sidra answered, still studying the tunnel. “I am a Steward of the Sea. I tend to the ocean life, from the smallest plankton to the largest whale. That is what Naiads are meant to do, what I spent so many years training you for. You care for your home, and your home cares for you. The more of a bond you build, the stronger your power will grow.”
Raising a hand from the water, she reached a palm to me, as though inviting me to study the lines and ridges of her hand. “Other Naiads have lost the ways of our ancestors. They’ve grown so lustful for power, they forget it can be built from the smallest of actions. A foundation for every drop of Theia they could ever hope to absorb. Every Naiad is born with a love for such things, you yourself should know. But love needs direction. Cultivation. Room to grow and bloom. Many colonies ignore it. They corda-cruor , thinking that the bond of another will strengthen every skill they could hope to achieve. And in doing so, cut their potential short.”
“Did you cordae ?” I asked, remembering Selena’s story of how rarely Videres corda-cruor as I fought the urge to look at the stone. I hadn’t seen it in seven months, but I still remembered its weight in my hand, its warmth against my skin.
Sidra inclined her head. “I do not see what business it is of yours, child.”
Mihauna damn me for a fool. Had I offended her? I glanced up to find her examining me.
She smirked. “I did. To a Naiad born in these waters.”
“Born in these waters?”
She nodded.
“To who?” I asked, wondering which of the Naiad women outside held the tether to the queen.
Sidra merely watched me, leaning elegantly against the wall of the pool, the contours of her neck and spine a grand and haughty curve.
“Tell me how you came to leave the island,” she commanded. “And perhaps I will share what you ask.”
“Your Naiads killed six sailors throughout my life.” I mirrored Sidra’s graceful arc into the side of the water. “And because of that, my uncle attacked me, and I killed him.” My belly gave a small lurch. “I was arrested for your crimes.”
“Who arrested you?” Sidra cut in.
I exhaled, slow and steady. “If you know my blood is tainted, then you know the one who tainted it.”
Tilting her head, Sidra slid forward, drawing her face near mine and sending ripples of quiet water over the water’s surface. “Show it to me.”
My muscles tensed. “Show what to you?”
“Your vow.”
Soft water plashed against my frame. I shook my head. “I signed it months ago. I don’t remember what it says exactly. I could barely read the words when I signed it.”
“Read the words?” Sidra’s brows pinched. “Every blood vow you make is within you. The promise lives in your body. The object you signed means nothing. Ask your blood to show you.”
“How?”
Sidra’s eyes carved into mine as if rooting for lies hidden in my gaze. “Draw your blood and ask.”
“What with?” I glanced about for a blade, but there was nothing on the bare floor but the green spiky plants.
Sidra gave no indication either way. Our bodies still closer than I would have liked, the Queen blocked the stairway out of the pool. My eyes fell to my hands. Pinching the pad of my thumb between my teeth, I bit down until I felt the painful sting of split skin. Three drops ran down my wrist, hitting the water and diluting into pink mist over the surface.
Sidra grasped my hand, firmly guiding the cut thumb down my opposite forearm as Selena had done to herself when I’d had demanded to know if she was cordaed to Thaan.
“Call to your vows,” Sidra said, watching the jagged red line.
Ignoring the throb in my thumb, I focused on my blood. Sidra’s instruction was vague, but as soon as the vibrant crimson appeared, I somehow knew what to do. Like summoning water, but deeper. Thicker. A harder ebb and flow that came from within me. I whispered my vows into written word, and they appeared, separating the smear into tiny lines and curves.
One. I, Maren of Leihani, consent that I am bound by the promises I make in my life-blood, here within this contract.
Two. I will not repeat the contents of this contract to any person or Naiad.
Three. I consent to a betrothal between myself and Nikolaos Laurier of Calder for the duration of three years, at which time, the engagement will dissolve.
Four. I will attend private lessons to strengthen my Naiad skills. I will not speak about these lessons to anyone not expressly involved in them, even my betrothed. If I try to speak, I acknowledge my voice will be lost, and no sound will leave my lips.
Five. I will not willingly admit my Naiad heritage to anyone who doesn’t know who I am, for it is against Naiad law to do so. If I speak the words, my voice will be lost. If I physically expose my Naiadic nature, the life of the human I reveal myself to will be forfeited.
Six. I promise to make my lessons my priority. I will work tirelessly to increase my skills in Naiad transition, water manipulation, and human incantment. I will learn and perform the customs of Naiad culture when appropriate, while identifying the sophisticated practices of royal life and adapting my personality to the demands of a future princess.
Seven. I agree, upon the given order, at a date and time to be determined, that I will assist and carry out the death of Prince Hadrian of Calder, heir to the throne.
Amendment: This contract will remain in effect until I am queen. I understand the consequences for breaching this contract are imprisonment or death.
Sidra read the lines of my arm with cool indifference, but as she released her gentle grasp on my hand and floated back to her side of the pool, a triumphant smile shadowed her pink mouth. The words began to fade, and I read them again, committing them to memory. I made a note to write them in my journal later.
Gazing at me, the elderly Naiad reclined into the wall of the pool. “I was born a Naiad child in the waters of the Parian Sea, near what is now called Cressi. I was the third daughter of the Videre , the unpreferred choice for an heir to our Siliqua Domus —not that my father planned to deliver his title to his firstborn. He was a young Videre himself and went on to hold the head of the colony for four generations. But I was a Prizivac Vode , a royal descendant of his blood, all the same.
“Some weeks before my eighteenth birthday, a Videre from the Juile Sea came to visit.” She tilted her head with calculation, ensuring I paid attention to her words. “In those days, it was known as the Safiro Sea.”