21. Scout | Lyra
“You know about Tiandra?” Lyra asked, gaping at her sister.
“Her voice was our command. Until … Ennosidas.” Their god’s name rasped from Nerida’s lips like a serpent’s hiss. “It’s strange how we had an entire history before he lorded over the seven seas. So strange how life was and was not before him.”
“What happened?” Lyra asked, locking her muscles in place to keep from trembling.
Nerida grasped Lyra’s wayward hair betwixt two fingers. “It depends on who you ask, dear sister. But history is only ever recorded by the victors.”
Lyra watched as Nerida studied her hair. Something akin to longing flashed across her sister’s eyes.
Lyra couldn’t remember a time Nerida had worn her hair down. Or the last time she had seen her smile.
What was life like for the princess of Naguni?
The territory was known for its scholars and large libraries. It was even rumored to be the center of knowledge for the entire kingdom. If there ever was a person who loved reading more than Lyra, it was Nerida.
“What are you saying? That our recorded history is lies?”
Nerida’s eyes flashed with challenge. “What would the losers have to say about our history? What did they lose?”
“I don’t even know who the losers are, Nerida,” Lyra growled, growing annoyed with the riddles.
Nerida opened her mouth to respond before slamming it shut.
Lyra’s door was thrown open, and Fang appeared.
“We have orders from the King that Nerida is to leave your room—at once.”
Nerida eyed them curiously before tilting her head.
“Very well. I will see you tomorrow,” she said to Nerida as she readied to leave.
“No,” Fang said. “No visitors. King’s orders.”
Lyra frowned. They had left on decent terms, despite the blasphemy he claimed she had spewed. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Did he say why?” she snarled.
Fang shook his head, but glanced over his shoulder. Lyra didn’t see anyone in the hall, not even Angler.
“A scout is on his way with urgent news,” he whispered. “The King fears for your safety.”
Nerida rolled her eyes. “I’ll see what I can find out,” she said under her breath as she passed Lyra and entered the hallway.
Lyra remained locked in her room the rest of the day.
The luminescent tentacles flared to life in the evening, and she rolled onto her side. This room was a prison.
Evening turned to night, and a plate of food was placed on the floor beside her bed.
She didn’t move to retrieve it. She just lay there, pondering the brief victory she had with Nerida.
Nerida knew about her magic and wanted to help her. There should be a lot more happiness surrounding those thoughts, but it was as if it could not permeate the melancholy she was sinking into.
It didn’t matter if Nerida could help if no one was allowed to speak to her.
How long would he keep her?
Sleep slowly dragged her deeper into the depths. But it was a fitful sleep, full of red-glowing eyes and piercing collars.
The following morning she was yanked from slumber as her bedroom door slammed into the wall.
Drystan loomed in the threshold. His face was twisted with such fury that he looked murderous.
“What did you do?” he seethed.
She sucked in a breath.
His shoulders rose and fell as he heaved deep breaths. “A bargain? With elves?”
Shock had her mouth dropping open. How did he know?
The gold in his eyes was molten as he clenched his hands into fists.
Lyra could see it all over his face that he wanted to wrap those hands around her throat and squeeze. He approached her slowly, like a predator stalking prey, and Lyra backed deeper into the open shell of her bed.
She raised her chin with what little fight she had left, and he snarled.
“Don’t even think of lying to me!” His voice was a whip slicing through the water.
He reached her then, squeezing her by the shoulders and ripping her up from the bed.
Lyra threw pleading eyes around her room, but no one was there to save her.
A fog loomed at the back of her mind, a gentle tug on her lips to remain quiet.
Drystan swam with speed to the council room. Lyra tugged against his hold, but he didn’t ease his grip. She glanced behind her to see Fang and Angler hurrying to keep up.
They struggled to retain neutral expressions, but the looks they kept sharing spoke enough about their worry.
“You’re hurting me,” Lyra said, trying to pry his fingers from her arm. She felt the blood pulse under her skin where he squeezed.
Drystan’s teeth were clenched so tightly she was surprised his teeth weren’t breaking. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t kill you myself.”
Lyra blanched. She didn’t know if she wanted to know the reason for his fury, but she knew she didn’t have a choice in the matter.
“What is it that you think I’ve done?” she asked, more steadily than she thought possible.
He obviously knew there was a bargain, but did he know the terms?
And with whom she made it?
The water was claws ripping at her hair and skin as he propelled them swiftly towards the council chambers.
“You don’t get to ask any more questions!” he thundered as he yanked them to a halt.
His eyes glowed as they scoured her face, his nostrils flaring wide. “Tell me you didn’t. Tell me the scout is mistaken.”
Lyra pulled herself violently from his hold and kept her eyes trained on his face. “I can’t refute any information without you telling me what the fuck is going on. You yanked me from my room without the decency of letting me dress and then threatened to kill me!”
She looked pointedly at the nightclothes she still wore. The gossamer gown fluttered just above her waist and was just thick enough not to be sheer.
Her hair floated wildly around her, with snarls and tangles still visible from her restless sleep.
His eyes slid closed, as if regretting the brashness of his actions, and she found herself finally taking a breath now that she was released from the ferocity of his attention.
Drystan opened his mouth and then slammed it shut as he inhaled sharply through his nose.
“Did you—” he began before opening his eyes. They glowed just as violently as they had before.
It made her throat tighten. She felt fear, real fear that he would hurt her.
“Make a bargain with the High King?”
Fuck.
Lyra held perfectly still, not even so much as narrowing her gaze. She knew this day would come, but still dreaded it all the same.
Would they execute her now?
Aegir would be pleased with that, having finally made an example of her.
Drystan reared back and then slammed his fist into the wall beside her head.
He roared with fury.
The sound was so abrupt and loud that she flinched.
Tiny pieces of coral broke off from the wall and fluttered to the floor. Large, pulsing veins bulged on his forehead and neck as his chest vibrated.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he heaved.
Heat radiated off him, carried by the ever-present current.
Lyra slid her attention from his face to his bare torso that nearly grazed hers. “I survived a position you thrust me into.”
Drystan reeled back as if she had struck him. “I can’t save you, not from this.”
The words were spoken with such tenderness. It was something she never thought him capable of.
“I’m not asking you to,” she bit out, rolling her eyes.
His words and emotions rattled around in her skull. It was so volatile, like a hurricane incarnate. There was no rhyme or reason to his madness.
He swung from side to side like a pendulum.
He gripped her chin and pulled her face back to his. “No one can save you from this.”
There was true fear for her written across his face.
Not just for what this would mean to his position, but because he actually feared for her life.
But Lyra didn’t want to be saved.
She didn’t need to be saved.
Drystan should be more concerned about the destruction of their world when the gods finally intervened.
“There is more you should know,” she said, so quietly she was worried he had not heard her.
He would need to know the bargain would claim her life if she did not complete it.
Drystan sighed. “I’m sure there is, but there’s no time now.”
She nodded, swallowing the words down.
There was a pulling sensation coming from her stomach.
A need she was shoving down as much as she could. She wanted to explain herself, to get them to understand as she had been forced to.
But there would be no way they would ever believe her.
Drystan resumed their swim to the council room without so much as a glance behind him that she followed.
When he arrived in front of the doors, he rolled his head from side to side, cracking his neck, and then squared his shoulders.
“I’ll do what I can for you,” he said at last, turning to look at her. “If you somehow leave this room with your head still on your shoulders, it will be a miracle.”
The words didn’t frighten her as much as they should.
A fluttering filled her chest, and she felt the gold thread of magic in her flare.
No—she would survive.
Or she would command it.
The muscles of his back bulged as he pulled the doors open, and silence enveloped them.
Lyra was frozen. She expected, at the very least, some yelling. Instead, she found varying displays of intrigue.
Had they not been informed?
Of course, there was anger written across Lir’s face, but that was no surprise. Just her presence seemed to anger him.
A merman similar in appearance to Drystan studied her with an aloof curiosity. Judging by the golden hair and emerald tail, he must have been Caius.
His hair wasn’t as neatly arranged as Drystan’s. It brushed the tops of his narrow shoulders. For all their similarities, their differences were staggering.
Where Drystan was proportional in build, Caius appeared strung out, as if his limbs were too long and his torso too thin. He looked like a worm.
Lyra pursed her lips to keep from laughing at that description. This would not be a time for humor, but that didn’t keep her from seeing any.
The entire council had been called, and one more unfamiliar face peered at her.