1. Tidal Tithe
Lyra drummed her long nails against the driftwood chair, staring out at the sea of merfolk in the throne room, waiting for her father to begin the Tidal Tithe ceremony.
Other than drinking the vial to gain legs, the speech was pretty pointless, with a few nonsense rules and reminders about the dangers of the surface world.
She switched to tugging on the charm at the end of her silver necklace. The tiny shell was made of a single sapphire and shimmered as she pulled it back and forth between the diamond-encrusted clam shells that cupped her breasts.
Tonight was the night Lyra had looked forward to her entire miserable existence. It was a sip of true freedom. Her only opportunity before her wedding tomorrow.
Her dark red hair was pinned up painfully in coils against her scalp, yet she left the bottom half unbound.
Having loose hair was a burden, a tangled mass of indecency in the water, but that seemed no worse than the headache that was those godsforsaken pins.
And it was the message it sent that was the most important to her, anyway.
It caused more than a few stares, but that was the curse of being not only a mermaid, but the king’s daughter.
“Drystan is most displeased that you have accepted none of his attempts to plan the wedding together.”
It had taken years to train her body not to react, not to flinch at the savagery in her father’s voice.
Lyra met his gaze with something other than loathing. That attempt at small talk was most unusual for him.
“Wedding planning really isn’t my thing, and given I actually had a choice this time—I declined.”
King Auris sat upon his silver throne, composed of glimmering stalagmites that had been sharpened over a millennium.
His long white hair and beard were the same shade as the tumultuous waves during storm season.
A crown of narwhal horns rested upon his brow, and the turquoise shade of his eyes was the exact shade of the sea in which he was born centuries ago, before humans polluted the oceans.
They bore into her. He snorted, and a few crabs that had crawled up the stairs of the dais scuttled away.
“Your sisters all enjoyed planning their weddings. And marrying a handsome prince is usually most princesses’ ‘thing’.”
She ground her teeth, and the sharp points clacked together.
Her father’s path to ruling the seven seas was wrought with cruelty and manipulation. He had bartered each of Lyra’s six sisters into strategic marriages. But Lyra was his favorite, and he had arranged her marriage to the most volatile of territories beneath his control—Ithicais.
King Auris had planned this marriage since her infancy. From the moment he looked upon the fire-hued hair of his last child and gleaned the power that danced within her veins.
It was ironic that such a powerful king had sired only daughters. But that was the intended consequence. Only a powerful ruler would have spawned male offspring to carry his mantle.
Fate cursed a weak ruler, dooming him to father only daughters who would become pawns in the game of power.
And such a game was already afoot.
Drystan was a handsome prince. But his depravity corrupted any semblance of attractiveness. He was attractive by their societal standards. A strong chin, brawny muscles, and golden hair were common for that territory. Yet it was the wickedness within him that seeped into the deadness of his eyes.
It was a small boon that she would get to kill him. This one order that would secure the territory, thus tightening her father’s control, and it would get her out from under his thumb. It wasn’t true independence—but it was close.
But that was a conversation that would require a much emptier throne room.
Her face slipped back into its usual mask of boredom as she tried to stifle the undercurrent of something that was now thrumming through her veins.
It was an emotion she couldn’t quite place.
It was not fear. She had tasted her fair share of fear.
That was sour. And it was not excitement either. That was sharp.
No, this was a joining of the two.
“You are to return immediately after the tithe. Your wedding is tomorrow, and you must not be late.” King Auris stared at Lyra for any hint of disobedience. Apparently, he wasn’t finished speaking to her after all. “And steer clear of the elves, Lyra. I mean it.”
She snorted this time, unable to grasp the warning in his tone. “There hasn’t been an elf sighting in our hunting grounds for centuries.”
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the golden trident.
It had once belonged to Ennosidas, the god of the sea.
The muscles of his shapely forearm and bicep rippled with the movement.
The trident was merely a prop now. Mermen didn’t have magic—not anymore.
But it was still a fearsome sight to behold.
“Our scouts have heard whispers that the elves have been spotted. The war between their courts has spilled across borders.”
Lyra didn’t even try to hide her rolling eyes.
The scouts were unreliable at best. Males that gave up their fins to live out their lives as spies on land. No one in their right mind would do that, and she couldn’t find it in her to trust their word. But that information was surprising to her.
King Auris didn’t care about the elves or their wars. He had only ever cared about controlling her.
The small bit of fight she had left in her rose to the surface. “And what exactly are you afraid of me doing?”
King Auris slid his eyes across his daughter’s face before returning them to the crowd of merfolk.
“An elf harnessing your magic could turn the tide of their war. If you were to be caught, you would be enslaved and used in ways beyond your worst nightmares.” His words were bitter, utterly uncaring of his youngest daughter. But they were not a lie.
Lyra had been wrong in her earlier assumption. This wasn’t about controlling her; it was about controlling her magic. If he could cut it out of her and use it himself—he would. And had tried long ago.
Her nostrils flared as she remembered the pain.
“The sea witch was wrong,” Lyra replied with quiet menace.
The memories from that day, the horror and the sea witch’s dark, swampy cave in Ithicais still gnawed on her mind from time to time.
Trials and prophecies.
Blood and death.
Her power would bring nothing but pain and destruction. And it had already brought death.
But even as she said the words, she felt that the lie was obvious.
Her magic had come, and she was terrified of it.
She could feel it even now, a thread of pure gold around her heart, waiting to be plucked. She recoiled from it.
It had happened only once.
An accident.
She was so young she hardly remembered how it had happened or what she had said, but that male had died. And it was of her doing.
Her father turned back to the gentry, and Lyra looked around.
She tried to look past the creatures and at the room itself.
The mosaic tile floor depicted waves, coral reefs, and Ennosidas.
A merman of infinite power, with hair as black as night and eyes of emerald green, he gripped the golden trident in one hand while the other was outstretched at his side.
As a child, she had lain on the floor, pretending to hold the trident herself while dreaming of the sky.
The memory elicited a tightness in her ribs as she looked up to the towering pillars of stunning white granite that held up the open-domed roof that caught and guided the murky light around the room.
Lyra wondered briefly what the day had looked like above the water. She had still never seen the sky—not the sun, nor the moon, nor stars.
It was the one rule she hadn’t broken.
The water in the hall was warm, kindling something inside her—a flicker she imagined was fire. She’d read about fire. Read about everything related to life above the sea, how to survive it, and the vileness of men.
Well, men—and the elves.
Far more nefarious than the humans were the elves.
Murderous creatures who defiled, pillaged, and conquered. They had been at war between themselves for centuries, and she was grateful. Utterly grateful that they hadn’t ever turned their sights on conquering her home.
The thought of them sent a shiver gliding down her spine. Tales of cruelty that surpassed even her father. At least under his rule, their kingdom had seen peace. But if the scouts were right—tonight became even more treacherous.
She pulled her eyes away from the faint light and turned to the gazes that raked across her skin.
The high-ranking men and their families were always positioned closer to the dais, while the lower-ranking members were pushed to the back.
It was easy to pinpoint who was high-ranking. They had the most children.
A family of four hovered at the foot of the dais.
A father and three daughters. The oldest daughter stood dutifully at her father’s side.
Chin lowered, eyes averted, silent. The middle daughter still held a quizzical eye as her gaze darted around.
But when her attention clashed with Lyra’s, she lowered her eyes at once.
The youngest daughter, however, was studying Lyra with a curious expression.
Her hair was pinned up so tightly that it pulled at the delicate skin around her eyes.
She was so small, no more than eight, but had already mastered the correct chin level to appear superior to her older sisters.
Her eyes narrowed in on Lyra’s unbound hair, and she tilted her head.
Lyra ran her fingers through her hair and met the girl’s stare head-on. The child’s eyes widened at the indecency. Lyra smiled with all her teeth. The girl looked up to her father, who was locked in conversation, and then back to Lyra as she ripped the lower half of her hair from the tight updo.
It was satisfying to see that small act of rebellion and to know she had caused it.