29. The Survivor | Lyra #3
“Early reports indicate there were a few, but they were too badly injured to travel,” Caspian replied, shaking a scroll tucked tightly in his fist. “Estria only had enough potion left for one.”
The mention of the sea witch had Lyra cocking her head to the side. What kind of potion did the survivor require?
Lyra’s attention clashed with Hadrian’s across the room, and the prince’s mouth parted as if he were about to say something before the door to the chambers was violently thrown open.
Caius gripped a merman beneath both arms and heaved him into the room. He was older, or perhaps that was a trick of the light from the bruising and swelling that comprised most of his face, chest, and arms.
He appeared to have been beaten within an inch of his life.
His tail swished uselessly beneath him as if he wasn’t capable of using his muscles properly.
“It’s not legs,” Caius grumbled, straightening the merman’s arm and hoisting him upright.
The merman struggled to stay aloft, and Caius resorted to keeping an arm around him.
Lir snorted and gestured with an upraised arm. “Can he even speak? His face has been beaten to a bloody pulp.”
“Aye,” the merman spat. “I’ve just been on land for thirty years. The water takes some getting used to.”
Lyra pressed her lips into a thin line.
It was a scout.
She was inclined to agree with the scout’s complaint, having struggled herself to readjust to the water.
“Tell us what happened,” Drystan ordered, crossing his arms over his chest.
Lyra studied his profile, the smooth, clean lines of his face and the way his jaw feathered as he scrutinized the grisly appearance of one of their own.
“We had traveled from Briton to the Danes and stopped over on this isle …” his accent was different from what she was used to from a merman.
It was gruff and elongated, more like the humans she had heard on her first night on land.
“There was a tavern near the dock, and we wandered in, in search of food and ale. The humans there were strange, but we didn’t think much of it. ”
He attempted a laugh that quickly cut off into coughs.
Lyra felt a twinge of sadness watching him clutch his ribs with a grimace.
“We’re used to questions. A group of foreigners appearing usually brings that sort of thing. But these were pointed questions, Your Majesty.”
Drystan’s arms slipped to his sides. “How so?”
“They asked what we were doing there and if we had any dealings with merfolk.”
Caspian shook his head, and his white hair waved like a flag. “Do you often get asked about merfolk?”
“Nay,” the scout replied. “That was what was strange. Most humans act as if we’re a myth. A ghost story you tell at night to warn children away from the shore. But then we heard whispers of the Tidal Tithe.”
Silence rang like a struck bell at the mention of the Tithe, and Lyra found herself watching each reaction play out across the princes’ faces. From shock to confusion.
“And what did you say?” Lir asked, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“We said we didn’t know of such a thing.
We were passing through in search of work.
But it was the wrong answer.” The scout shivered and then grimaced, clutching his ribs once more.
“They drew blades and attacked with a fierceness no human should have been capable of. We were losing immediately and fled for the boat.”
Horror had twisted his face. The whites of his eyes were now visible despite the heavy bruising that had almost swollen them both shut.
“We have never seen anything like it before. They were so fast and so strong.” His words came out clipped and broken, as if he were reliving the horrors. “They weren’t human.”
“Elvish?” Caspian asked, shock raising his brows.
The scout shook his head. “They weren’t elvish either.”
Lyra could feel the temperature in the room plummet with the scout’s words.
“What do you mean they weren’t human or elvish?” Drystan asked. His voice had turned darker, more deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey before an attack.
“They had to have been human. They bled like mortals, but they didn’t fight like them.” He shook his head as if he could shake the memory from his mind. “I don’t know how else to explain it, sire. It was like … magic.”
The words echoed and twinned with those of the scout’s claims from earlier. He had said that there was a dark magic surrounding Badenvaria.
Drystan didn’t take his eyes off the scout, and neither did anyone else.
“Did they say anything useful to you or the others as they butchered your squad?” Caius asked. From the snarling of his upper lip, it was obvious his poor opinion of the scout.
“They just kept asking about the tithe and?—”
“And what?” Lir barked. His face had turned a ruddy shade of red that almost matched the red of his hair.
“And about the princess,” the words tumbled from the scout’s lips, and Lyra could feel every pair of eyes settle on her.
Except Drystan’s. “Which princess?”
The scout raised a gnarled and broken finger, pointing it directly at her chest.