Chapter 9 #3
Angry, fearful cheers erupt from the gathered citizens, the sound a violent, churning wave of rage and terror.
"To accomplish this," Soryn says, raising a gauntleted hand for silence, "we need immediate strength. We need every able-bodied mer to take up a spear and defend the city walls."
He unrolls a heavy kelp scroll.
"The following citizens are hereby conscripted into the Reef Vanguard, effective immediately."
He begins reading names.
My mind detached from the panic around me, I listen. I know exactly how the military draft works. They will call the heavy laborers first. They will call the builders and the stone-shapers to form the rigid shield walls. They will call the mers with broad shoulders and protective scales.
Then, they will call the bait.
I may be an artisan in times of peace. I may wear expensive silk and play the part of the vain, decorative Vael for the high court.
But the Council keeps detailed, ruthless records.
They know I am a decorated Vanguard fighter.
I have survived four brutal border skirmishes for one simple, agonizing reason. My color.
I am a Red Prince. I am the bright, bleeding target they paint on the dark water to keep the real soldiers alive.
"Taren Strom," Soryn calls loudly.
Taren emerges from the crowd, looking pale but rigidly resolved.
"Corin Krell. Oren Vane."
The long list of names goes on.
Then, Elder Soryn pauses. He looks down at the bottom of the heavy scroll, then looks out at the crowd. His cold eyes find my face instantly in the sea of panicked bodies.
"Vaelis Valerion," he says.
The surname rings out across the plaza like a descending gavel.
The crowd immediately surrounding me goes silent. People turn to look at me, their expressions a mix of deep pity and immense relief that it's not them. They part like a school of frightened fish, leaving me exposed in the center of the square.
I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, accepting the heavy, inevitable weight of the draft.
"Come forward to the Vanguard, Vaelis," Soryn commands.
I push through the panicked crowd, my spine rigid. The water parts for me. I stop at the base of the high dais, the stone cold beneath my bare feet.
"The front lines again, Elder?" I ask, my voice cutting through the plaza's tremor like a shard of glass. "I was hoping my restoration work might buy me a peaceful season."
Soryn looks down at me from the dais. His ancient eyes sweep over my long crimson hair, over the bright red fins that, even without the ceremonial pearl dust, catch the filtered light in a blazing, violent display. He sees a weapon. Not a mer.
"You are a Red Prince," Soryn says flatly, offering no apology. "The enemy inherently fears the color red. It is the universal color of highly toxic coral. We desperately need you on the front lines of the shelf to break their ranks."
Kael's heavy voice emerges perfectly in my memory. It makes you a signal. It says: I am here. I am dangerous. I am burning.
"I understand my duty," I say quietly. The words are a bitter taste in my mouth.
I retreat, dissolving back into the shifting mass of bodies.
A frantic hand grabs my bare arm from behind, a tight, desperate grip. I turn around.
It's Mira.
She looks pale. The color has drained from her face. Her eyes are wide, pools of pure terror.
"Don't go," she whispers, pulling me backward, her voice a strained hiss against the crowd's roar. "I'll talk to the captain. I'll get you a medical exemption for your grief. You can't go back to the shelf."
My eyes drop to her hand gripping my arm. I look at the dark patrol sash across her chest, the woven kelp fibers stark against her pale skin. The faint, ghostly scent of the Hush-Urchin venom still clings to it, a rotting perfume of betrayal.
"You did this," I say. My voice is devoid of emotion.
Mira flinches, her fingers tightening like a vise. "What? No, Vaelis, the High Elders drew the list... I had nothing to do with this."
"You poisoned him," I say, the words a slow, deliberate drop of acid. I get closer to her, my golden eyes locked onto hers, pinning her in place. "You snuck into my quarters. You laced the fruit I picked. You made me hand him a weapon, and you let me think he abandoned me."
All the blood drains from what little color was left in Mira's face. Her mouth opens and closes, a useless, gasping fish.
Her exposed secret breaks her.
"I did it to save your life," she chokes out, tears spilling down her cheeks, mixing with the salt water. "He was vibrating your mind! He was a monster!"
"You made me a murderer," I hiss, ripping my arm out of her grip with a violent twist. "You are the only monster in this ocean."
I turn my back on her for the final time.
Elder Soryn's amplified voice cuts through the chaos, commanding the formation.
The water churns with the movement of bodies as we are herded into designated squads.
I swim up to the raised dais, my movements stiff and mechanical, and take my assigned place in the line of doomed recruits.
I lock my spine rigid, flex my broad shoulders, and let the harsh plaza lights catch every blazing flash of red on my body—a signal in the bright water.
I look out at the large crowd. They're cheering again. Their faces are masks of fierce patriotism and blind terror. They are cheering for the brave soldiers, for the glorious defense of their shallow paradise.
They're cheering for the bait.
I look at my own trembling hands. The water around them feels suffocating. I accept this violent fate. I welcome the draft with open arms. It will take me directly back to the crushing dark of the continental shelf. It will take me exactly where I desperately need to be.
Because if I am a brightly burning target in the dark, Kael might spot me.
And if the deep claims me in the coming war, I can only hope it is his teeth finding me first. At least then, my very last breath will be spent begging him for forgiveness.