Chapter 3
I gape at Ryke, awaiting an explanation.
What is the Conch of Hippios? I have never heard the name before. Is the horn I attempted to steal some sort of religious artifact sacred to his people?
And what of war?
I was born during peaceful times. My father had never been summoned to war, nor had my wretched husband. I knew not of blood-soaked glass, of dull cleavers. Of swaths of fabric tied on doorknobs or haunted spirits.
But before I have a chance to pose my many queries, a sound rings out from all four corners of the glass oratory, shrill and shrieking.
The most horrible noise I have ever heard, loud enough to wake the devil from his slumber, sharp enough to fill the banshees with envy.
It vibrates through the walls until they shatter, and water begins to flood our hallowed hall.
“What is happening?” My voice is shot through with tremors.
Ryke is already moving about the room. He has lifted his body from the hatch below, his scaled black tail once again transforming into muscular legs. When I realize he is undressed, I look away quickly, my face undoubtedly red. But there is no time for such inconveniences as bashfulness.
Something is deeply wrong.
The sound continues to pulse through my eardrums as Ryke’s haven in the middle of the ocean begins to sink. He is collecting hidden items, I observe, nestled in the ceiling and within trick panels in the tinted glass floor.
He is preparing to make a swift exit.
“We are under siege,” he answers. “Our location is compromised. There has been a breach in the waters surrounding this fortress. We have but minutes to make our escape before they arrive.”
“Before who arrives?” I cry, wishing I could help him prepare.
“The sirens.” His lips are pursed, his expression grim.
“Sirens,” I repeat. “Are you referring to that sound?”
He shakes his head. “Sirens are mer,” he explains.
“Well, they were once mer. Now they are more of a subspecies, one that rules over all of Atlantia. They are power hungry and greedy. It is not enough that they have overthrown our sovereign and conquered the land. No, they also insist on hunting down every mer who poses a threat to their rule to ensure that the rebellion never sees the light of day. Or rather, the light of the seven seas.”
“So your war is civil?” I say, piecing things together. “Brother fighting brother?”
If such is the case, then the mer are truly no different from the men who dwell on the shore.
Impetuous and powered by greed. Hot-tempered, allowing their emotions to overthrow their logic until the only way to work through a disagreement is through violence and conflict.
I have read the histories, heard the stories whispered around campfires.
Neighbors becoming enemies over a border dispute.
Friends becomes foes because of a love match gone wrong.
People are feebleminded and shortsighted, whether they lack the ability to walk a day in each other’s shoes or swim a mile in each other’s tails.
“In a sense, but the sirens have a wholly unnatural asset that gives them an unfair advantage, a strength that the mer lack no matter our numbers: raw magic in its purest form. We call it life force. True energy.”
Magic.
Magic is…real.
Magic exists.
The truth hits me like a thunderbolt. I am unsure why it takes me by surprise. After all, I have seen Ryke’s flesh turn to fin before my very eyes. But I realize I was waiting for some sort of scientific, logical explanation. I have always been ruled by fact.
Rarely have I been asked to believe in anything.
“And there is no way for the mer to acquire this forbidden magic and even the playing field?” I ask. “After all, the sirens were once mer. Surely it can be done.”
Before I can react, Ryke is right in front of me, covering me.
So close I can feel the heat of his body warming mine.
I will myself to not look down, to ogle at his form.
He hooks one hand beneath my chin and forces my gaze upward.
I look directly in his gleaming eyes, now darkening with the threat of danger.
My pulse skips. I grow lightheaded, faint.
“Not without becoming monsters ourselves. You see, little minnow, the mer might be as strong in mind, body, and spirit as their siren kin, but they have a weakness. One they are unwilling to sacrifice. A weakness the sirens willingly exploit.”
His breath ghosts across my lips.
My toes curl against the glass floor.
“What is this weakness you speak of?” I whisper.
“Not a what. A who.”
Ryke looks at me pointedly.
My stomach flips.
Then the sound swells, somehow growing louder and more urgent. I lift my hands to my ears, expecting to feel blood smearing across my palms. Ryke collects his objects in a sack made of an odd soft, malleable material and turns back to me.
“There are many questions you have yet to ask, Merriah.” My name falls from his lips, sweet as honeysuckle. “And much I must tell you. But not now. That conversation must wait until we reach the underpass.”
My eyes widen. “You cannot possibly mean…”
“I am taking you home,” he confirms, his head hanging in resignation. “To Atlantia.”
“But I cannot swim!” My panic bleeds from each syllable.
For the first time since the alarm began to sound, Ryke offers up a coy smile.
“That is no issue, my minnow,” he says.
All at once, I am consumed by the rush of a riptide.
And then the world around me grows still.