23. Sweet Dreams | Lyra
Lyra’s body floated on top of the water, carried on rushing waves towards the shore.
Birds cried overhead, and she could hear them, hear the wind that sang to them.
Her skin was hot beneath the sun’s rays. It was so lovely to be on land again.
She sighed, but water splashed down her throat, and she choked on it. Her eyes were leaden as she struggled to open them, the water rushed constantly over her face.
Lyra gave up trying to see.
This was a dream, she realized when she heard Wilder’s voice.
A dream she did not want to wake from. Her heart galloped in her chest, and she focused on the water beneath her and the feel of the sun above her.
He was telling her a story in a lilting and melodic voice, like when the willow sang to her.
Long ago, Ennosidas overthrew Tiandra with the help of the Na Tuinnes.
Lyra’s head tilted to the side of its own accord. She had heard that name whispered about before. She just couldn’t remember where.
The water beneath her turned to sand, and she could feel tendrils of it stick to her wet skin.
The Na Tuinnes and Mharas were the first peoples of Atlantis—or so the legends go.
A smile curled her lips as she finally remembered where she had heard the name. Her father had spoken it years ago when she asked about the first tribes he had descended from, the Na Tuinnes.
It was why he deserved the throne.
Lyra saw the sea as it was before, vast and wild.
The reef had gone straight through their kingdom and was much larger than it is today. But a dark shadow gathered in the distance. She backed up instinctively as it came into view.
A creature that should not exist anymore.
But an ancient monster roamed this land first, making it deadly for any who tried to live here. They begged their goddess, Tiandra, for a way to vanquish the beast, and instead she gifted them magical powers.
Wilder’s deep voice had lightened, shifting from masculine to feminine.
Lyra struggled to hold on, to keep him here. But he faded away. She tried to scream and beg him to stay, but her body would not cooperate.
She had sunk into the sand, and the weight of it kept her limbs from moving.
Even with all their magic, they couldn’t slay the beast, but they did manage to sing it to sleep.
It was her mother’s voice.
Lyra’s heart slowed its racing. The sorrow that had begun to creep over her was washed away by the next wave that rushed across her skin.
Her mother, who had birthed her in this realm before vanishing.
Lyra was floating in the corner of the room, watching a woman in labor. She was beautiful even in pain.
Her red hair was as bright as the blood that seeped from her.
She was life.
But birth was more violent than Lyra thought it would be. The woman thrashed upon nets, screaming around a piece of driftwood she clamped her jaws down on.
Eyes of pure green stared right through Lyra, nailing her to the corner of the room.
A baby wailed.
And the woman slumped onto the bed as if her life were fading away.
Lyra tried to approach to get another look, but the scene disappeared like morning fog in the sun.
It wasn’t long before all seven seas saw a drop of magical blood from the Mharas and Na Tuinnes. But the power wasn’t enough for those who yearned for it.
Lyra was back upon the sand. She shifted, feeling it collect under her nails. She knew what was going to happen but was utterly powerless to stop it.
Ennosidas was mighty, but not as mighty as Tiandra. It was jealousy of her rule that propelled him to make a bargain with the Na Tuinnes. He promised them some of his magic, and in return, they would bring him Tiandra’s trident.
Lyra frowned as she put the pieces together. It all came down to the same two things: greed and power.
Time and time again, power corrupted minds and spirits.
She blinked, and a merman was slipping through the palace, this palace. Somewhere in the distance, a baby wailed.
A groan slipped Lyra’s lips. It was a legacy of murder and lies.
No wonder their magic had faded.
Ennosidas didn’t care about them. He had only ever cared about himself. Lyra opened her mouth, trying to speak, but nothing came out.
They destroyed monuments of Tiandra and temples built in her name.
Murals were plastered over, and history books were destroyed.
It was as if she had never existed. To speak her name was a crime punishable by death.
In just two generations, no one even remembered that she had existed. Except those who keep stories.
Questions piled up like sand around her.
Story keepers?
Lyra shook her head, trying to force her mind and body to cooperate so she could get the answers she sought. But the sand didn’t move beneath her head.
It didn’t cling to her hair or stick to her wet skin. The ground was soft now, but it wasn’t ground.
The heat from the sun disappeared, as did the wind and the sound of the birds.
There was a thrumming around her. She tried to pry her eyes open to break free from sleep’s hold and awake. But it was futile.
There were sounds around her—voices.
She focused on those, latching onto anything she thought would pry her from sleep.
“Anything?” a masculine voice asked.
Lyra couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like Drystan.
“No. Estria gave her the tonic a little while ago, but she said it could be another day,” a woman’s voice replied.
Lyra thought it might be Nerida.
A hand grazed Lyra’s arm, and goosebumps trailed in its wake.
“I’ve been speaking to her. It seems to calm her down from what I can tell.”
Someone picked up something on her vanity and then set it down. The glass clinked against the coral table.
“She’s always been a fitful sleeper,” Drystan replied, his voice coming from the opposite side of her room.
“I don’t think this is sleep,” Nerida replied.
Her voice was soft, tender, almost. She brushed a lock of hair off Lyra’s face.
“Magic is balance,” she said so quietly Lyra almost didn’t hear it. “Rigel said she wielded magic he’d never seen before.”
Drystan snorted. “I’ve heard rumors that your husband often seeks your guidance within his territory. I didn’t realize he might also share vital council information.”
There was a pause, and Lyra strained.
Nerida brushed another hand across hers. Lyra tried to hold her sister’s hand, but all she could manage was a twitch of her fingers.
“He knows what she means to me, means to all of us. It goes without saying that I would protect her with my life.”
Lyra’s chest ached. She had no idea what she meant to her sister, had never felt sisterly bonds with any of them.
“Then why did you feel the need to say it?” Drystan asked.
Lyra knew by the tone of his voice what kind of disgruntled look was upon his face.
“I know what she means to me. But other than a bargaining chip for your throne, I can’t quite figure out why you’re here. Looking as if she means more to you.”
Lyra would flinch if her body had allowed it. Her sister’s words were very direct.
“It’s no secret, my affections for Lyra,” his reply was bland. It sounded rehearsed.
But she felt his presence stir as if he were drawing near to her. “I don’t know how to be what she needs.”
If Lyra could pull her eyes out of her skull to see his face right now, she would.
Nerida chuckled. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you could ever be what she needs. No one can.”
Lyra imagined Drystan looking confused, the way his brows would draw together and the slight plumpness of his lips.
“What do you mean?”
“My sister is for this world.”
There was a long pause.
So long, in fact, Lyra had thought they had left, and she had tumbled further into the nothingness.
“She should be awake by now,” Drystan grumbled.
She could feel him floating from one side of her room to the other. He was pacing again.
“There’s so much about bargains we don’t know,” Nerida began, her voice sounding distant and near. “But what we do know is not good. It will claim her life if she does not complete it.”
Lyra felt the tension in the room rise as if the water had warmed.
“It will kill her?” Drystan asked, voice hollow.
It came from one position. He had stopped pacing.
Nerida sighed, and it, too, sounded empty, like she didn’t feel relief from exhaling.
“I’m afraid it already is. She is weakening. Her limbs are growing thin, and her face is gaunt. The bargain is siphoning her life-force. Surely you noticed by now?”
“I thought it was because she was unhappy. I hadn’t realized—” there sounded like anguish in his voice. “This is my fault.”
Nerida shifted beside Lyra, and she imagined it was because her sister was gaping at Drystan.
“I put her into their hands.”