Chapter 6 #3
Pelagius' faded eyes met those that were glacial, polar blue, and something shifted behind those calcified features.
Understanding.
But Syrathis was the first to break the silence.
His barbels shivered, retracting to curl against his jaw as though the information they'd tasted was bitter.
"A Siren created with two strains of venom may present…
considerable complications." Each word arrived measured, deliberate, stripped of the scholarly excitement that had colored his observations just moments ago.
"Your body carries the suggestion of active traits from both the Korrides and Asterion bloodlines.
The transformation itself was initiated by Korrides' venom, yes—but the Thalassari strain introduced during the Spiral has not remained passive.
It has become you, girl," he murmured, and his voice quieted.
Blind eyes tracking toward her when he added, "It has been woven into the child's gestational environment. "
Pelagius picked up the thread without missing a beat, words low and grave.
"Regardless of which sovereign sired the…
offspring, the child is developing inside a body marked by competing venom.
The clash between them? Could produce an environment unsuitable for life.
Organ formation, gill differentiation, neural patterning—all of it occurs in early gestation. "
Kore's knuckles whitened where they were anchored on Nyxarion's wrist. The sunset scales along her ribs flickered. Gold drowning in indigo, before surging back. "Could?" she repeated, voice a quiet, horrified little hum.
“Could,” Vorthane replied. Flat and unyielding. Harsh. "We cannot predict the future. Cannot know anything without continued observation. But the risk to the unborn spawn is… significant. You present with variables beyond anything in our records."
But it was Syrathis who struck her with the poisoned barb that would fester and spread… before handing Thalos everything he craved.
"In humans,” he rasped, reedy and thin, “Pelagorn venom is a transformative agent.
During gestation," he murmured, barbles shivering with every syllable, "the spawn requires steady dosing of the sire's toxin to continue developing.
" He paused, then. Open disgust rippling across his ancient features before he added, "Historically, Sirens were created by one male.
But in you? Displaying two lineages, and serviced by one?
" With a click of his teeth, lip curled, Syrathis sneered.
Shrugging.
Silver eyes narrowed on the ancient, and Nyxarion went dangerously still. The kind of stillness that preceded earthquakes.
Scales flat, utterly still, Thalos let the silence following Syrathis' damnation do its work. Let the fear settle into Kore's bones, into the spaces between her ribs where the child's light pulsed.
Setting his hook as deep as it might go before he began to reel his prey in.
And then, "Surely the scholars of Caelith Mare can do better than that," Thalos drawled, chastising his elders. Chromatophores shivering with a pulse of silver-white light when every eye shifted to him. "Surely there is a way to save the child? To spare it from undue suffering."
Kore's breath hitched. The sound was small, human, and utterly, perfectly devastating.
Fingers touching the pouch at his hip, where Cymareth usually hung, Thalos let his fins spread.
A slow, beautiful sweep that let him drift closer toward the Abyssari king and his pregnant bride.
"If she were mine," he murmured, slipping closer, fingers spread as if in supplication, "I would be breeding her regularly, as Nyxarion does.
Injecting her with venom to ensure the child develops… properly."
Careful.
So careful.
Each word placed with delicate precision.
Tugging the pouch free from his hip, Thalos let the heavy bag dangle from his fingertip.
"A gift," he murmured, extending it to Kore.
Watching her face for a hint that she'd caught the scent of what lay inside.
"Sun clams. A delicacy," he added, but didn't tell her to whom. Didn’t mention the significance.
Spines shuddering, Nyxarion's gills flushed with shocked rage.
But Kore reached.
Opened the pouch with delicate little fingers.
And her breath caught.
The scent of what lay inside made her pupils bloom. Yawning wide and inky dark. Fingers trembling, she plucked a lustrious shell from the bag, inspecting it. Lips parted as she drew the water over her palate. Tasting it.
"What… What is this?"
Eyes gleaming, Thalos reached. Plucking it from her fingers, only to slip a claw between the shells. Cracking it for her.
She snatched it back.
Gulping the soft meat down with a scattered little groan. Her colors rippling with helpless pleasure.
Perfection.
Thalos' teeth flashed, even as he flicked his tail and retreated once more. Watching Nyxarion's spines as Kore tried to open another clam. "To ensure the child develops properly," he said, voice a careful, measured drone, "perhaps she needs regular dosing from both strains of venom?"
For a moment, there was only the sounds of Kore struggling with the clams. Her flimsy Siren claws not sharp enough to separate the shells.
But every male present in that chamber knew the significance.
Knew just what Thalos had proven with little but a bag full of mollusks that only grew where Thalassari lived. Only craved by pregnant Virelii of his court.
"My gift," he said, and his eyes shone, flashing with the intensity of a predator watching prey flail. "To ensure whatever Asterion architecture that exists within the child continues to develop, rather than wither."
The offer hung in the water between them.
Generous.
Reasonable.
And laced with the quiet poison of indentured dependency.
On him.
Nyxarion moved.
The massive tail uncoiled a single loop from around Kore, and the Abyssari king leaned forward until the silver of his eyes burned inches from Thalos's face.
Every bioluminescent line beneath his obsidian scales blazed electric blue, and the snarl that left his throat was edged with the promise of a savage death. "Manipulative, spineless cur."
Thalos’ smile didn't waver.