17. Power | Lyra
Drystan’s promise rang in her ears as they made their way into the throne room.
Off.
The collar would come off.
He didn’t speak to her the entire way there. It was a relief, partially. But the hallways felt more ominous than they ever had before.
It took Lyra a moment to figure out why.
There was not a hint of life in the halls.
Barnacles and sea fans had been scraped off the coral. Fish didn’t dart past the openings, and the tentacles that usually lit the space and twirled along the current remained frozen.
Fear tightened the spaces between her ribs, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.
Casting her eyes to the side, Drystan appeared tense. His shoulders were rigid, and a muscle in his jaw feathered.
Singing echoed down the hall, and the luminescence overhead flickered.
He met her gaze and pressed a finger to his lips when her eyes widened.
Lyra pulled against his grip, and he reluctantly let go. She pointed to her ears.
“It’s the call to worship,” he muttered.
The water grew colder, and goosebumps erupted down her arms.
Lyra pointed to her chest and then to her ears again. There was an otherworldliness to the sound.
Drystan nodded. “Siren magic.”
The singing swelled louder.
Lyra couldn’t remember the last time she had heard mermaids sing, and with magic, no less.
It was a summoning, a cresting wave of power, and it was entrancing.
They breached the colossal granite pillars of the throne room. She raked her eyes across the mosaic floor.
Ennosidas stared up at her with those piercing green eyes. His black hair reminded her of Wilder.
But they couldn’t be any less alike.
Had Tiandra once been there?
Or had this palace been constructed after Ennosidas lorded over the sea?
She looked up at the dais they were approaching.
The absence there made her hesitate. Drystan’s hand kept her moving forward, but the slight tug of her hand had him slowing.
Her father’s throne was gone.
The glimmering stalagmite chair that he had lorded from was not where it had always been. The murky light filtering down from the open dome ceiling reflected off nothing.
Lyra looked at Drystan with a quirk of her brow, but he shook his head just once.
The dais wasn’t completely empty, though.
There was a merman standing in the center, his arms stretched wide in welcome.
She had a sudden urge to flee.
He was commanding in every sense of the word. Nearly as tall and broad as Drystan, his shoulder-length black hair had a single streak of silver.
A scar marred the skin just above his upper lip. This must be the new Tidal Master.
“Aegir,” Drystan greeted him as he swung an arm low around Lyra’s back.
When he tugged her closer to him, she didn’t fight it off. It felt strangely protective in a way, but she knew he had meant it as a gesture of pride in a “look what I caught” kind of way.
Aegir clasped his hands in front of his chest and eyed Lyra. His blue-green eyes were so light they bordered on gray. There was a heavy assessment in his stare.
It made her uncomfortable, as if he could see beneath her white gown.
“So this is our lost Princess, home at last.”
Drystan chuckled. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hip, a warning.
“She is very pleased to be back home. Lyra, I’d like to introduce you to our Holy Tide Master, Aegir.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Aegir replied, his attention fixed on the frown tugging her lips down.
She hated him.
The arrogance in his eyes, the self-importance that wafted from him in waves, and the sneer that tugged up his scarred lips.
Lyra looked away from him and towards the crowd that kept growing.
Mermaids lined the foot of the dais, hands connected as they continued singing an ancient song.
A siren’s song, a lure to mortals from the inky depths; it was ethereal. The dome of the room caught and guided the melody around every crevice in the room.
The crowd was a sea of white, like the foam on a wave. An entire room leached of color.
Memories from the last time she was here came flooding back. She had instigated a small rebellion.
A hairstyle left undone.
That wouldn’t be possible now.
There wasn’t a single child in the room, Lyra realized.
Drystan dug his fingertips in further and cleared his throat.
“Apologies, Aegir. Her time in the mortal world has left her devoid of decorum.”
Lyra didn’t bother with a response, but Aegir did.
“Do not apologize, Sire. A silent mermaid is an obedient one.”
Lyra couldn’t help the flaring of her nostrils. They spoke as if she wasn’t even there, as if she were a problem to be solved.
Aegir had cast his eyes around the crowd and was smiling triumphantly.
She loathed him for that.
But the demeanor of the crowd ensnared her, too. There were more than a handful of glares turned her way.
“I wanted to thank you for the accommodations,” Aegir muttered to Drystan. His voice lowered enough that no one nearby could hear them.
“But of course,” Drystan’s reply was a purr. “We’ll delay you no longer. Commence the ceremony.”
He tugged Lyra away from Aegir, and they took their positions behind the Tidal Master.
Was that how Drystan had achieved victory?
He gave Aegir the right to live in the palace, and in return, Aegir backed his coup?
Why couldn’t her father have done that?
“Very good,” Drystan growled low in her ear. “Keep this up, and you’ll have your voice back in no time.”
Lyra rolled her eyes.
“Listen to me, you’re not going to like any part of this ceremony.” The words sounded unfamiliar to her. He sounded like he were in pain. “But don that classic bored mask you always wear and we will survive it together.”
Lyra searched for any familiar faces. She spied her sisters and their husbands, Marina and her father, and what looked like her father’s new wife.
Seraphina floated alongside Ondine, and there were a few familiar-looking nobles dotting the crowd as well.
They all appeared the same, yet changed in a way she couldn’t pinpoint.
Mermaids in white gowns, bodies entirely covered and hair pulled back tight.
The mermen all wore robes in varying shades of blue, and carefully blank faces. The entire scene was bizarre.
She could count on one hand the number of religious ceremonies she had attended during her father’s rule.
Near the end of his reign, they had grown in frequency as if his growing years had him grasping for solace. But their kingdom had never looked so soulless.
This was a muted mockery of their traditions.
Where were the jewels? The heirlooms passed down for generations? The house colors that denoted territories?
Lyra locked eyes with Nerida, and her sister brushed a fingertip over her lips.
It had the hair on the back of Lyra’s neck standing on end.
Was she hinting to Lyra to be quiet?
Or was she merely observing her lack of voice?
The scent of the water shifted and took on a spicier quality. The light that sifted through the center of the room dimmed, but it didn’t diminish the ominous glow from all the white gowns.
“We are gathered to celebrate the high tide,” Aegir’s voice thundered, amplified by the dome. “A gift from Ennosidas, God of the Sea and the Tides!”
The singing mermaids drew to a close. The final note resonated through the room like a whimper.
“It is our duty to worship his almighty power so that he may grant us another day of life.”
Lyra bit her lip to keep from reacting. Her tongue felt as if it had burst into flames.
That was not how that worked at all.
Drystan elbowed her. His warnings were growing tiresome, and she looked to the crowd to find anyone, someone, who mirrored her own dismay.
But found no one.
Wilder would have found it absurd.
That thought burned her throat.
“Unfortunately, there are some who do not share our beliefs,” Aegir continued, but his voice took on a disconcerting edge. Lyra stared holes into the back of his head. “In fact, I ask you to bear witness to her punishment.”
Aegir snapped his fingers.
Rattling chains swirled around the room before Lyra saw where they came from. Two guards flanking a mermaid. Her white dress was almost gray and in tatters, with bruised flesh visible through the torn holes.
A twisted and snarled halo of hair surrounded her face. The chain swung beside her, draped from her shackled wrists. She couldn’t be older than sixteen.
Lyra’s frown deepened as she took in the abused state of the mermaid.
As she was escorted through venomous words and disgusted snarls, fury simmered low in Lyra’s gut as she watched the horrendous actions play out in front of her.
Not one person cast sympathy in her direction.
She opened her mouth and then clamped it shut when the burning lanced down her throat.
“Remember what I said,” Drystan murmured. “Don’t react.”
Lyra whipped her head to his, but his eyes stayed on the scene unfolding before them.
“Ennosidas has been furious with us,” Aegir announced. His words were met with nods and murmurs of agreement. “It is because of the actions of those like her—that we all suffer!”
The guards halted the procession at the foot of the dais. They wore deep navy robes, the fabric appearing stiff, or maybe that was just their demeanor.
A golden rope fastened their robes closed around their waists, while a brown trident was embroidered over their chests. They were dressed like acolytes, but bore weapons in their hands.
Golden spears with intricately carved shafts.
The choir of mermaids fled the stairs, leaving only the acolytes and their prisoner.
“Sienna,” Aegir tutted, and the mermaid bowed her head. “You voiced your disapproval of frequent ceremonies in the presence of true believers.”
Lyra crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t fathom why such words could garner such a punishment, especially if it was only disapproval and not a call for violence.
“I meant no—” Sienna began.
The acolyte beside her shoved the hilt of his golden spear into her gut.
She cried out and bent at the waist. Her prone position roughly pulled the chain that was attached to her arms.
“Silence!” Aegir boomed. “You were not given permission to speak in my presence.”