8. Hairpins & Stabbing Wit | Lyra
With her hand still clasped in his, Drystan led them through the towering, kelp-draped hallways.
Shining orbs of amber were suctioned to porous walls, lighting their way in the halls too deep for the light of the surface to reach.
The water became cooler as they traveled farther into the belly of the palace.
Sea lettuce and Irish moss undulated as they swept past. The palace had remained unchanged in her absence, but there was a hollowness within the coral walls.
It was as if the lack of her father’s overbearing nature could be physically felt.
Fans of nitella on either side of the wall grazed against her shoulder as they rounded the corner. They were rough against her skin, and she winced.
“Missing your legs?” Drystan asked conversationally.
But there was a slight edge to his voice, as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know the answer or not. Yet he couldn’t help but ask.
Whatever his intent, Lyra could feel its insincerity and chose not to reply.
Swimming was easier than walking had ever been, but she resented how quickly her body had reclaimed what the sea demanded of it. As if it had been waiting to pull her back into obedience.
Drystan readjusted his grip on her hand and threw another concerned look at the bruise now marring her arm.
“Odd that the elves would want to keep you,” he mused, more to himself than to her. “It’s not like you’re capable of stimulating conversation. Other than your ethereal beauty, you’re quite dull.”
Lyra blinked and bit her tongue to keep from giving him the reaction he was desiring.
This had been commonplace in their relationship before her adventure on land. He would say something so infuriating that her mask would slip, and she would respond before thinking.
Drystan had basked in victory when he had burrowed himself beneath her skin. Practically pulling violent responses from her lips with his bare hands.
This was one of those times.
Lyra mastered her face, slipping it into a placid expression, and kept her breathing slow and steady.
“Nothing to add?” he asked, and there was such a boyish expression on his face it caught her off guard.
Drystan was giddy with excitement, which was astonishing, given that mere minutes ago he had been furious enough to threaten murder.
He was beyond volatile.
A pendulum swinging from one extreme to the next.
Lyra arched an eyebrow. “If you had something worth responding to, I might consider it,” she replied.
There, let that put an end to it.
But his booming laugh startled her.
It echoed all around them, carried by the ever-churning water.
He threw his head back, and his chest vibrated beneath the breastplate. He was enjoying this too much.
With a powerful whip of his emerald tail, Drystan threw himself into her path and halted them at the same time.
“I know you think of me as a monster,” he began.
She studied her nails to keep from looking into his eyes.
He was too close to her, and it made her uncomfortable. She could never tell if he was going to kiss her or hurt her, but that uncertainty didn’t stop her from replying to his remark.
“Actually, I don’t think of you at all.”
His reaction was immediate as he shot a hand out to grab her chin.
Lyra surged backwards to keep him from touching her, but she had forgotten he was a warrior—a quick one.
Drystan snaked an arm low around her back and pulled her body against his.
“You think your snarky words give you power?” he murmured into her ear.
She could hear the clank of armor behind them from Fang and Angler.
At least there would be a witness to his cruelty if he hurt her. She didn’t think for one second they would intervene, but if Drystan ever lost his position, it would be yet another strike against him.
“I think it reminds you who I am,” she shot back.
Drystan tilted his head, his eyes devouring hers as they flared with delight.
“I know exactly who you are.”
His thumb rubbed circles against her flesh, and Lyra’s spine stiffened.
His touch always felt demanding, never tender and adoring, just a reminder that in the eyes of their society she belonged to him.
It made her skin crawl, knowing she had no real power here. Other than the magic that still dwelled dormant in her chest, there was nothing she could do or say to keep him from taking what he wanted.
“Your Majesty,” a feminine voice called from the other end of the hall.
The voice dragged Lyra from her thoughts. She knew that voice, but couldn’t quite place it.
Drystan leaned away from Lyra, but kept a firm grip on her arm.
“Vanora,” Drystan called.
Vanora.
“And is that my baby sister?” she trilled, her voice singsong.
Lyra’s brows furrowed, and she watched as Vanora and her husband, Prince Lir, approached.
Lir and Vanora were mirror images of each other, both with fiery red hair and tempestuous expressions.
Their appearance was common in their territory.
Olous was known for its stormy seas and rolling hills of sea moss. In a strange way, Olous was the ocean equivalent of the Wilds.
As the northern neighbor of Atlantis, Olous was sandwiched between Huron and Pavlopetri and was the idyllic transition to either territory.
Huron’s harsh rocks with steep, mountainous cliffs gave way to the soft hills covered in the barest amount of green of Olous, before turning into the rich cypress forests of Pavlopetri.
Lyra studied Vanora with an appraising look, neither condescending nor kind. She worked to mask her expression.
Her sister appeared well as she flicked lazy strokes of her mauve tail. It was such a soft color. The exact opposite of the frigid stare Vanora gave her.
It had always seemed strange to Lyra that Vanora and Cora were twins, when their dispositions could not have been more opposed.
Vanora floated closer, but Lir tightened his hold on her. She gave Lyra one last look of disapproval before turning a callous expression onto Drystan. Her full lips parted as if she were about to speak, before thinking better of it and clamping them together.
“A bit late for the meeting, aren’t you?” Drystan said by way of greeting and directed the full brunt of his attention onto Lir.
It was a slight to her sister, but one that a mermaid would have been accustomed to—or at least should have been.
Vanora was one of those mermaids who felt herself above the mistreatment of her own kind.
The problems mermaids faced didn’t affect her, so she turned a blind eye to them. Everything she did was a way to pit herself as superior.
So when she was treated just like the others by Drystan, Vanora’s lips thinned just a fraction.
Lir’s bright-blue eyes narrowed, and he flicked his burgundy tail with an agitated flourish. He wore no armor except dark brown metal vambraces that covered his forearms and wrists.
They had the smallest scale-like pattern carved over them and somehow reminded Lyra of sea turtles. His bare, broad chest was chiseled and formed shadows from the deep lines of his muscles.
“The seas were rough for travel,” he grumbled. “And have been as of late.”
It wasn’t unusual for travel to be slowed by storm season, but it was spring. Had storm season come early?
Drystan nodded. “I will see you inside.”
He dismissed Lir without so much as addressing Vanora’s presence.
Lir’s broad chest expanded with the breath he sucked in.
It appeared Drystan wasn’t winning himself any loyalty by treating his councilors with such disdain.
“Wife,” Lir addressed Vanora with strange formality as he fixed her in his gaze.
Vanora leaned into him as he pressed his lips to her cheek, her attention staying locked onto Lyra.
It was a strange sort of show, them flashing this affection in front of them. Boasting a loving partnership when they obviously couldn’t stand each other.
As far as Lyra knew, they hadn’t sired any children together. She wondered if that had been done on purpose.
Vanora swept her gaze across Drystan, raising her chin a fraction, before retreating back down the hall. She moved at a leisurely pace, and Lyra couldn’t help but want to follow her instead of entering the council room.
The massive, looming door to the council chambers was silent as it closed behind Lir.
There was a nagging suspicion in Lyra’s mind that Lir would not be an ally, no matter how much she proved herself to him. That was not a merman capable of viewing her as anything other than Drystan’s property.
Drystan brushed a hand down Lyra’s arm, and she flinched, bringing her attention back to him. But his eyes were lingering on her injured arm still. He seemed to grapple with something, eyes churning like rough seas.
“I haven’t done well explaining the changes in Atlantis,” he began, and then snapped his jaw shut.
Lyra almost felt sorry for him, almost.
He tucked whatever he was struggling with away with one last feathering of his jaw.
“For right now, I need you to remember something.”
Lyra scoffed, rolling her eyes, but he stayed silent, staring at her until she relented and looked him in the eye.
“You are not just the princess of Atlantis in here. You are the future queen. Every word, every action you make is a direct reflection of our rule.”
She felt the skin around her eyes tighten as she narrowed her gaze.
“Our rule?”
He jerked his chin down, reaching to open the door.
“Ours.”