Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Aurelia
The tunnel stretched ahead like hollowed-out glass. I half expected the weight of the river to crash down on us, but the current curved around the passage—smooth, seamless, full of a magic I’d never witnessed before.
The naiad princess, whom I could only assume was one of Naliadne’s sisters, didn’t reappear. I hesitated, staring into the murky descent of the tunnel, trying to see the end of it. But it went on and on, deeper into the river’s depths—beckoning for us to follow its trail.
The others crowded in behind, but no one volunteered to go first. Even Amanti hung back, waiting. For me to lead, I realized. As if he’d read my thoughts, Rydian nudged me to start moving, and we stepped inside.
The air shifted immediately—humid and dense as it pressed in around us. Beneath my boots, the ground looked like sand trapped in amber. The light that came through the walls wasn’t sunlight anymore but something stranger: diffused, green-gold, and rippling, like the shimmer off fish scales.
Behind us, the crash of water rang out like a deafening roar. I turned just in time to see the river close over the tunnel’s entrance, the surface smoothing itself until there was no tunnel at our backs; no sign we’d ever been there at all.
Rydian tightened his arm around me, pulling me in closer to his side as we walked. “An intimidation tactic,” he whispered.
“Effective,” I couldn’t help but admit.
He grinned, and I caught a glimpse of the confident prince, the one drunk on his own ego but also obsessed with using it to impress me. For some reason, it reminded me of Callan.
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about a little water?” he teased.
“I’m more worried about the king whose will it bends to.”
“Patamoi won’t kill us without looking us in the eye first.”
“That’s so comforting,” I said wryly. “And his half-naked daughter, whom you seemed to know quite well?”
He smirked. “Jealous, Furious?”
“Hardly. But to know you is to want to kill you, and I think that is the kind of information I deserve to hear before I visit her home, don’t you?”
He laughed—a rough, low sound that made me forget for a moment that we were walking straight into mortal danger.
At least, the horses would be safe; at least, according to Daegel, who’d woven a shadow-shield around them before Thorne had whispered some kind of spell work in their ear that had sent them trotting for Frithhold.
“In that case,” Rydian said, “Her name is Cerynth, and she was just as warm and friendly the first time we met as she is today.”
Slade snorted.
Ahead, the tunnel sloped downward. The deeper we went, the more pressure I felt. I kept glancing up, half expecting cracks or leaks in the walls as the water pressed in, but the magic held.
Eventually, light glimmered ahead until we turned a corner—and the world opened.
The first glimpse of the naiad kingdom stole my breath.
The tunnel emptied into an expanse of light and color that shouldn’t have existed this far below the surface. A city suspended beneath the river, alive and glowing. Coral towers rose in spirals, latticed with pearlescent bridges. Bioluminescent plants pulsed soft light in hues of blue and pink.
Naiad swam through open arches and across glowing currents that flowed like streets, their long tails flashing green or blue or silver. Mer-children darted along, laughing as their tails flashed, reflecting the light off their scales.
Slade muttered a curse at my back. “Look alive,” he warned.
I scanned until I spotted the wide platform just ahead where a dozen naiad guards stood.
Two legs had replaced each of their tails, and while their hair still dripped with water, the air around them was dry as they waited for us inside the tunnel’s walls.
Their armor was made of shell and light, their spears and tridents gleaming like shards of the moon.
Cerynth appeared on the other side of the tunnel. Her bared skin was covered in scales, and her hair floated eerily around her face in the still water. With a small motion of her hand, she beckoned us toward the platform.
“Welcome Beneath,” she said. Her voice vibrated through the tunnel’s walls, only slightly muffled as it reached us on the other side. “The king is expecting you.”
We climbed up onto the platform, crowding the small space. Above, the roof of the cavern shimmered like an inverted lake reflecting sunlight.
Guards collected our weapons at the entryway. I set Dorcha and Latha carefully on the offered stand, the hilts catching the light and setting the gemstones ablaze.
My palms itched to reclaim them the second I let go.
One by one, the others handed their weapons over. Keres was the least willing, scowling and glaring at the naiad soldier as she produced blade after hidden blade.
“Gods Above,” one of the soldiers muttered. “How many does she have?”
Keres shot him an acidic glare. “You better not lose a single one of these,” she warned.
“You’ll get them back when you leave,” he said.
Keres huffed.
We were escorted along a path made of translucent stone. Everywhere I looked, I saw motion: naiad gliding through the currents beside us, markets suspended in bubbles of air, the faint thrum of music that felt like a heartbeat vibrating up from my feet.
Rydian walked beside me, quiet but watchful.
The naiad looked at him the way people look at approaching storms—fascinated, wary, waiting for lightning.
It made me wonder what had happened during Rydian’s first visit here.
Then again, if he’d wanted me to know, he would have already told me about it.
Maybe I’d corner Slade later and force it out of him.
At the top of a steep staircase, the corridor widened into a great hall that felt both impossibly grand and ancient. The walls breathed light, ripples of blue moving through them like slow currents.
At the far end sat King Patamoi.
He was larger than any fae I’d met—broad-shouldered, skin the color of pale bronze, hair white as salt.
No crown. He didn’t need one. The current itself circled him, ribbons of water that moved like living serpents, coiling and uncoiling around his throne.
His head. His biceps. Like the water itself was a living, breathing army of sentinels constantly on guard.
At Cerynth’s direction, the others halted several yards behind us. Keres and Slade, especially, looking more than fine with that. Rydian, Amanti, and I stepped forward, the object of Patamoi’s scrutiny.
When he looked at us, I understood why even Amanti’s shoulders squared. His eyes were the river itself—clear, endless, old, sharp as a tooth ready to rip out our throats.
“Amanti of the Aine,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud but filled the room, echoing off the cavern’s walls. “You owe me a life debt.”
Surprise jolted me. A life debt? She’d failed to mention that particular detail. I could only hope Patamoi wouldn’t demand flesh for flesh.
“I do,” she said evenly. “I’ve come to pay it.”
He studied her for a long moment, then shifted his gaze to me. The water around his arms flexed tighter. “And you are Aurelia, the daughter of Tyrion & Celeste. Summer’s flame. The one who burned a king.”
I held his stare. “I burned an enemy who sought to steal my power and use me for his own gain.”
“Hmm,” Patamoi hummed. “And now you stand before me with my enemy at your side.”
I tensed.
His enemy? I slanted a glance at Rydian. “Maybe you should have waited with the horses,” I whispered.
He winked, which only irritated me.
Patamoi seemed impatient, so I bit my tongue and faced the river king. “Whatever is between you and my companion is in the past. I’ve come to speak of the future.”
“You’ve come to ask for something,” Patamoi said with a disdainful sniff.
I pretended not to notice. “An alliance just as my father, Tyrion, proposed to you before. A united and formidable army against the threat of Heliconia.”
Patamoi leaned forward slightly. The water curled closer to him, like an animal guarding its master. “My kingdom does not involve itself in land wars. The river follows its own tide.”
“Heliconia’s taken Concordia and uses it to build an army that will destroy everything in its path. Winter is spreading south into Autumn already. She’ll come for your rivers next. Either invade them or freeze them into a block of ice.”
Some of the naiad in the room gasped. A few murmurs went up.
I kept my gaze on Patamoi.
Something flickered in his expression—an almost-smile that wasn’t kind. “You speak like your father, spreading fear and panic.”
“Maybe you should’ve listened to him,” I said before I could stop myself.
The room went so quiet I could hear the low hum of the currents shifting.
Patamoi’s eyes narrowed. “Your father came to me once, asking for an alliance. He left with empty hands and an enemy at his back that called itself his friend.”
“What enemy?” I asked, suddenly unsure. I’d never heard of anyone else—
He glared at Rydian again.
“The dark fae of the Great War have long been liars who care only of their own kingdom.”
I blinked at that, ignoring the way Patamoi spat the words in Rydian’s direction. Had Tyrion managed to ally with the Midnight fae after all?
“The Summer fae were fools to think they could be trusted,” Patamoi finished. “Nevertheless, your father made his choice, and I, in turn, made mine. As it seems you have also made yours.”
Rydian tried to pull his arm out of mine, but I held tight, keeping my gaze fastened on the river king.
“What can I do to earn your trust?” I asked.
“There is only one way to ally with us,” he said, still glaring at the prince beside me. “Renounce the Midnight Court. Only then will I consider your request.”
“You’re serious?”
“I do not joke about such matters.”
Rydian’s entire body tightened, and I knew he was fighting for control to keep quiet. What the seven Hels had happened when he’d come here before?
“Neither do I,” I said, my mind racing to catch up to what was going on beneath the surface.