6. Tentacles | Lyra
Fang and Angler tugged her down the hall and away from Drystan. But before they could turn the corner, she glanced behind them.
Drystan held out the trident, her father’s trident, and an acolyte took it from him.
She didn’t have long to ponder the meaning behind that before she was being deposited into her room.
The guards unshackled her wrists, and she rubbed the bruises left behind as they slammed her door shut.
Lyra was alone, utterly and completely alone.
She didn’t mind one bit.
The journey had taken its toll both on her body and her mind. She could feel its ill effects swelling within her like a rising tide, but she forced them down.
That wasn’t something worth focusing on, not with this encroaching darkness enveloping her mind.
It was exhaustion, but also something akin to a bad omen.
Her room blurred, and she rubbed at her eyes, hoping to bring her vision into focus, to no avail.
Exhaustion had gripped her firmly and tugged her beneath the surface of consciousness.
Lyra woke in her room. It was exactly as she had left it. Tentacles covered in luminescent jelly dangled from the cavernous ceiling and danced lazily in the ever-moving water. It cast the room in a shifting glow, and shadows danced along the walls like specters in a ballroom.
The temperature of the water was chilly; not cold, but not inviting either. A few starfish clung to the coral wall beside the round window on the far side of her room.
She pulled herself from the large shell and swam in a slow, tight circle, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
Something whispered in the back of her mind.
There was a change, but she saw nothing out of place.
Lyra came to a halt in front of the door. Its tall, looming presence was the first sign of her imprisonment here.
Her father had the colossal metal door installed the first time she’d tried to run away.
It was bewitched not to rust, a fact she’d learned when she tried to speed up the deterioration process by clawing away the top coating.
Lyra pressed her ear against the scratches she had gouged and listened. All she heard was the water.
The ebb and flow of the constant current and something … in the distance.
It sounded like Wilder’s voice.
She knew she was imagining things, that her mind had conjured him up because of the emotional state of her heart.
But it didn’t stop her from imagining it was him.
“I will come for you.”
Lyra clutched her chest and was surprised when she felt nothing. Her necklace was gone.
She let the water push her away from the door, and when her back met the wall, she slumped to the silt floor.
The small window above her let in a fraction of the rays from the sun above the surface. It was warm there in the small flickers of light.
She curled her lavender-and-green tail around herself, and silt plumed around her like a cloud. Her room had been untouched in her absence—and uncleaned, it appeared.
The water here smelled insipid as if it were lacking in the salt of the rest of the palace. She waved away the cloud and coughed from dust.
Heartache gnawed at her raw edges, and she could have sworn she heard Wilder still calling, promising to come for her.
She pushed those thoughts far down, tucking them away in the deepest parts of her.
There were bigger things she had to tackle now, and she couldn’t think straight if she allowed him to haunt her.
Wilder would not let his feelings for her dissuade him into inaction.
No. He would have a plan in place and would be on his way to making it happen at this very moment.
Knowing him, he would have already set sail. With the wind at his back, propelled by his magic, he would be on the path to finding her. She nodded as that thought filled her with a steady calmness, strengthening her resolve.
Wilder would save her, but first she had to uphold the bargain she had made with his father. Or she wouldn’t be alive for him to find.
Lyra reached inwards for her magic. But the thread of gold around her heart was still dull, not pulsing with power as it had on the beach. Her chest was hollow.
Complete and utter emptiness.
Bleak and heavy, it dragged her down like an anchor until she hit the bottom.
Flashes of Wilder surging through the waves coming after her played on repeat. His strong legs propelled him through the surf.
A shock of black hair shining iridescently under the deluge of saltwater that soaked him with each wave he pushed through. But it was his face that held her mind.
The fury and heartache that had shone through his eyes.
She shook her head as if to free herself from the anguish. He had told her then that he would find her.
Lyra trusted his words.
This next part she would have to do on her own. But when she tried to think of what she should do now, her mind went blank.
Without her magic, she couldn’t do anything.
Fuck, even with her magic she couldn’t do anything.
She didn’t know how to break the tithe, didn’t know what words she needed to say to unbraid the weave that bound the humans and the merfolk together in their bargain.
The door flew open, and Lyra recoiled as Drystan swam inside, his presence leeching what little warmth was left in her chambers.
“What are you doing on the floor?” he asked, his mouth twisting faintly as he studied her prone position against the wall.
“I was—” Lyra stopped herself from automatically responding. “Resting.”
Drystan looked pointedly from her to the giant shell in the middle of the room that was her bed.
“Resting,” he repeated with a tilt of his head.
Drystan placed his hands on narrow hips and, had he been human, she imagined he would be spreading his legs into a defensive position.
But he was not human. He was a merman, and the reason she had been confined to her room like a scolded child.
“What do you want?” Lyra spat, launching upright and putting distance between them as she floated towards her vanity.
“The council is gathered,” he answered without a hint of emotion. “You will address them shortly to finalize the preparations for our wedding.”
Lyra glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. The diamonds on her kylix scraped against her arms.
“I’m not sure what good I would do for those plans, seeing as I will contribute nothing of benefit to the conversation.”
Drystan pinched the bridge of his nose, his lips thinning into a razor-sharp line.
A thrill of success went through her at his obvious annoyance.
It was short-lived.
He came closer, gripping her by the arm and pulling her towards him.
“You will do as you are told.”
Lyra gave no hint of an impending assault as she struck him with enough force to turn his head.
It was a power only the merfolk had, to be able to strike underwater despite the drag.
He moved his head back and worked his jaw side-to-side, a look of astonishment raising his brows.
“You never cease to amaze me. Even with so little safety afforded to you, you didn’t hesitate to attack the only one willing to protect your life.”
The words were clipped as each one was uttered between his clenched teeth.
That was the second time he had mentioned her safety being in jeopardy.
Lyra’s brow buckled with confusion. “Protect me from what?”
The fury in his eyes washed away like the surf against the shore, leaving a withering stare behind.
“The lengths I traveled to secure our positions have not yet been accomplished. We balance on the precipice of utter ruin, and if you are not compliant,” he shook his head, lowering his voice before his heavy gaze locked with hers again. “We stand to lose more than just the throne.”
Lyra blinked, weighing the veracity in his words.
Unfortunately, she found him to be telling the truth. Whatever he was afraid of, whatever he was warning her of, it was serious.
“What has happened?” she asked almost pleadingly.
She would need to understand the scope of danger he had roped her into so that she would be able to formulate an escape.
After she broke the tithe, only half of her bargain will have been completed.
Lyra would then need to make it back to shore—to Badenvaria, to undo the remaining part of the tithe.
Drystan watched her carefully, as if he were capable of peering into her mind, before sighing wearily.
He seemed to be unraveling before her very eyes. Lines marched across his forehead and tugged down the edges of his eyes.
“I’ll have the servants come and prepare you.” He tugged a lock of her unbound hair. She might have been mistaken, but it appeared his eyes softened. “Wouldn’t want you looking anything but your best.”
“Servants?” Lyra asked.
Since when had she ever had servants?
Drystan wrapped a hand around her arm, holding her in place.
“Things are different now. Those misplaced or punished serve the crown.”
Lyra didn’t have a chance to question him before he was pulling open the door.
Two mermaids stood at her threshold waiting expectantly.
“One hour,” Drystan ordered them. “I want her presentable, but not in those garish ceremonial robes.”
One of the mermaids, with silver streaked through her black hair, lowered her chin. A netted bag was clutched in her hand, and it waved back and forth with the hovering of her navy tail.
A nearly identical-looking female was just behind her, but her hair was almost entirely silver.
Drystan swam past them, and Lyra stared after him.
There was so much he wasn’t telling her, so much about their kingdom had changed, and she wasn’t afraid to admit that it frightened her.
The mermaids bent at the waist as they bowed to Lyra, their chests nearly grazing the floor.
A flicker of a memory constricted Lyra’s throat.
There would be no easy given smiles or bubbling laughter from them. No fluttering about the room or gossiping.
It was as if all the color had been leached from the world. She felt the stirrings of anger and resentment—she wanted to go back—she wanted to go home.
“I have no intention of allowing you to ready me for this meeting. You may leave.”
Lyra sucked in her lower lip to keep the quivering at bay.
Fear clouded both of their brown eyes, and the one with the silver-streaked hair trembled.