Chapter 30
When the lights go out
JUDE
I stare at the eyes fixed on me, and I know exactly what I am to them.
Bait.
Lorien doesn’t say it outright, but he doesn’t have to.
The war council had debated it for days, speaking around me like I wasn’t even in the room, like my presence was as incidental as the currents that swayed their ceremonial robes.
I was useful. A lure. Something to be dangled in the dark waters until the kelpie king rose to take the bait.
It’s not like I had a better plan. It’s not like Lorien feels the same. But that doesn’t make this bite any less.
Last night, I found solace in him. In the heat of his body, in the rough press of his hands against my skin, in the way he claimed me, not as a tool, not as something fragile, but as his.
He whispered it against my throat, against my lips.
I will not let them take you.
I will not let them touch you.
You are mine and you are loved.
And I believed him.
Because as much as I hate this plan, as much as I hate being used, Lorien won’t let me die.
But now, in the cold reality of this morning, I wonder if he can keep that promise.
The knife cuts into my skin, slicing through me as if I’m nothing. Its sting is sharp, precise, but it’s not the blade that makes me shudder. It’s the pearl, a gleaming silver ball, no larger than my thumbnail, and it’s pressed into the incision just beneath my collarbone.
The mage’s hands are steady, her expression unreadable as she works.
Her robes drift weightlessly around her, the deep blues and silvers marking her as one of Lorien’s personal spellcasters.
She chants under her breath, words flowing like the tides, magic weaving through the water in glimmering threads.
The pearl pulses, cold against my burning skin.
I bite the inside of my cheek as the wound seals around it, the magic stitching me back together with an unnatural precision. A rush of pressure spreads through my chest, expanding in my lungs like a second heartbeat.
The mage pulls back, tilting her head as she observes me.
“The enchantment will hold,” she says as her hands invite me to sink into the water of the pool. “The pearl will allow you to breathe as the mer do. It will keep your body from collapsing under the weight of the deep.”
I exhale slowly, testing it. The cold of the ritual pool creeps into my bones, a glacial pressure that weighs heavier than the ocean itself.
The water isn’t just around me. It’s in me, filling my lungs in slow, dragging waves.
My instincts scream at me to cough, to panic, to breathe properly, but I don’t. I can’t.
The sensation is strange, like breathing on land but thicker, heavier, as if the ocean is filling me instead of air.
It’s unnatural. Too smooth. Too effortless.
As though my body has stopped being mine, as if something else is moving my lungs for me, pulling in the water and whispering, this is how you survive now.
A sharp flicker of pain cuts through my temple. A phantom memory returns, one of drowning hands and crushing darkness, and a tide that does not care if it carries you to shore or to the grave. I clench my fingers into fists, forcing the ghosts back into the depths of my mind.
“Will it make him stronger?” Lorien’s voice cuts through the water, sharp and demanding.
The mage does not look at him. “It will give him time.”
Lorien’s expression darkens.
Everyone knows this is a desperate solution.
The pearl will let me breathe under the water, and it will stop me from choking on seawater and sinking into an abyss. But it won’t make me belong. It won’t make me at home here.
Nothing will.
Nothing except Lorien.
He hasn’t touched me since we left his chamber this morning. He hasn’t even looked at me like he did last night, like I was something more than a tool, more than a duty he had to carry. I don’t know what changed between then and now, but the space between us feels wider, and the water is colder.
Lorien moves past me without a word, stepping closer to the entrance to the ocean, where the magic that holds the capital together fades, giving way to the raw, endless depths beyond.
The water stirs as the current shifts around him, responding to his presence.
He is certain. He’s unshaken in his belief that this is the only way forward. That this plan, this trap, will work.
We are not alone.
A small army of warriors accompanies us, armed with tridents carved from enchanted bone and obsidian, their movements controlled and effortless. They keep their distance from me, but I can feel their eyes, feel their distrust like a hook sinking beneath my skin. I don’t belong with them.
But I am necessary.
“Lorien…”
“You doubt me?” he asks.
I shake my head. Lying.
I doubt him. I doubt this plan, this impossible balance we’re meant to strike. I’m bait, but not too tempting. A trap, but not too obvious. Lorien acts like it’s a game of strategy, but I can’t stop thinking about how easily this could go wrong. About what will happen when it does.
He turns from me and glides into the water.
I follow.
The ocean swallows us whole.
I follow, my movements slower, heavier, every kick of my legs a reminder that I was never meant to be here.
Lorien cuts through the currents like he was made for them.
He was. His golden skin gleams faintly under the fractured light filtering from above, his golden eyes fixed ahead, sharp and unreadable.
He belongs to this place in a way I never will.
I adjust my movements, focusing on efficiency rather than grace, pushing deeper, following the others as they slip into the gloom. We are descending quickly, leaving behind the safety of the capital and all its illusions of control.
Time stretches.
I don’t know how long we swim.
The deeper we go, the more I feel the pressure of the ocean settling over me, thick as a living thing. The light above fades into streaks of silver, slipping further and further from reach. The warriors swim in formation, silent and watchful, their weapons glowing faintly in the gloom.
Something stirs in the water around us.
Not movement.
Not a current.
A feeling.
It presses against my skin, creeping along my spine. A shiver ripples through me, but I keep my expression neutral, my breathing steady.
Then I hear it.
“You are ours.”
A whisper. Low and curling, wrapping around me like a net pulling tight.
I go still.
“You do not belong to them. You belong to us.”
I don’t know if it’s inside my head or pressing against my skull from the outside. The voice is layered, not one voice, but many overlapping in a distorted, eerie melody.
“Come deeper. Come home.”
A sharp, sudden pain blooms beneath my collarbone.
I press a hand over the pearl, over the wound that sealed around it, and my pulse stumbles. The magic hums against my palm, cold and restless. It knows.
I glance at Lorien.
He feels the shift. His body tenses, his grip on his trident tightening, but his expression stays composed. He doesn’t hear them.
“Come home.”
The kelpies are close.
The warriors shift, drawing into tighter formation. The water grows colder, the pressure thickens. The light barely reaches this deep. It shouldn’t be this dark, but the shadows press in, and I swear I see something move inside them.
The first figure emerges from the abyss, slow and deliberate.
Then another.
And another.
Kelpies.
Their bodies are sleek, black as the deep, their movements liquid smooth. Their eyes gleam void-dark, swallowing every flicker of light. These aren’t the mindless monsters conjured to attack the mer cities and their inhabitants.
These are the ones that think.
That hunt.
The warriors don’t move. They hold their ground, waiting for the first strike.
But the kelpies don’t attack.
Not yet.
A shape moves at the edge of the darkness, larger than the others, deliberate in its approach. It’s slow, almost lazy, as though there’s no need for urgency. No need to rush.
The kelpies know we’re here.
They were waiting.
The warriors tense as she steps into the dim light, and my pulse stumbles.
The kelpie queen.
She is not monstrous, not the half-feral creatures I’ve seen before.
She is beautiful in a way that unsettles me.
Her body is sleek, as dark as polished onyx, and her long limbs move like water itself.
A twisted crown of black coral grows from her brow, curling and jagged, unnatural and yet right on her head.
Her hair drifts around her, ink spilling into ink.
Her eyes lock onto me.
“You brought him to us.”
Her voice is soft. Amused. But there is something else there, something deeper, a thread of possession woven beneath her words.
“And you thought you could use him against me?” She tilts her head, looking at Lorien. “That’s adorable.”
Lorien doesn’t flinch.
“This is your only chance,” he says coldly. “End your hunt. Leave our waters or be slaughtered.”
The kelpie queen laughs. The sound vibrates through the water, wrong, like something unraveling.
“You still don’t understand, do you?” Her gaze flicks to me, through me. “He is not yours to use. He was never yours at all.”
I open my mouth, but she lifts a hand.
And suddenly, I can’t breathe.
The pearl—my only lifeline—goes dead.
Pressure crushes my ribs, squeezing the air, or whatever replaces it, out of my lungs.
The pearl inside my chest has gone dead, its magic snuffed out like a candle in the dark.
I try to breathe, but nothing happens. No water rushing in, no instinctive pull of the ocean into my lungs.
Just an unbearable, suffocating stillness.
My throat seizes. My pulse pounds, frantic and useless.
I clutch at my chest, fingers digging into my skin as if I can force the pearl to work again, as if I can claw out the silence it’s left behind. My body spasms, muscles locking up as the instinct to fight, to survive, takes hold. But it’s not enough.
The world tilts. The shadows lengthen.
I can’t—I can’t—
Lorien moves fast.
His trident slashes through the water, a streak of gleaming gold aimed straight at the kelpie queen’s heart.
She moves at the last second, fluid and effortless, her body twisting to the side with unnatural grace. The blade misses her by a breath. Amusement flickers across her sharp features, but it’s brief. It’s gone the moment the first warrior lunges, and the water explodes into violence.
The kelpies move.
No hesitation. No warning. Just a sudden, ripping force as they collide with the mer warriors, teeth bared, claws flashing.
The water erupts into chaos.
A kelpie slams into one of Lorien’s warriors, jaws snapping shut around the mer’s shoulder.
A sickening crunch vibrates through the depths, followed by a burst of blood clouding the water like spilled ink.
Another warrior spears a kelpie through the throat, but the creature doesn’t die.
It thrashes, snarls, tearing itself free even as its dark blood curls into the currents.
A blur of movement, and then another.
Shapes twist and strike, all teeth and claw and flashing weapons, bodies colliding in a brutal, frenzied dance.
A kelpie surges toward me.
I twist, barely avoiding the rows of jagged teeth lunging for my throat.
My limbs are sluggish, my vision swimming, the pressure of the deep still crushing me, killing me.
Every movement is too slow, too heavy, like trying to run through a dream with something chasing me, something I know will catch me.
My lungs burn.
Darkness creeps at the edges of my sight.
Another kelpie comes from the side, fast. I don’t have time to react before something yanks me backward. I feel Lorien’s hand, rough and unrelenting, pulling me against him as a blade slices through the space where I’d just been.
I hear the kelpie queen laugh, rich and knowing, as if she’s already won.
“You cannot fight what you are.”
The ocean presses in.
The magic inside me stirs, writhing beneath my skin, restless and unfocused. It wants to answer, but I don’t know how to call it.
Another crushing wave of pressure slams into me.
I twist, barely avoiding the rows of jagged teeth snapping for my throat. My limbs are sluggish, my vision fractures.
I choke, my body convulsing, and I try again.
I reach for my magic.
Come on.
Please.
I don’t know how to use it. I don’t know how to make it listen.
Nothing happens.
And I am out of time.
I know it. Lorien knows it. And she knows it.
The kelpie slams into me, and the world goes dark.