20. Barnacle
Lyra watched Wilder prowl back and forth in front of the cave.
The pouring rain slid down his face and soaked his tunic, highlighting the outline of his muscled physique.
His boots thundered with each step. And if it wasn’t such a menacing sight, she might have laughed at his obvious discomfort, but then she remembered he was on her side, protecting her from whatever was out there.
Lyra could look at the snarling mass of muscle in front of her and smile.
So she did.
“What?” Maelys asked, looking from her to Wilder.
“It’s kind of funny,” Lyra replied, a bright twinkle in her emerald eyes.
“How so?” Maelys cocked her head to the side, and her wet braid slid over her shoulder.
“Well, it’s nice and dry in here. And he’s out there in the cold rain to protect me, the person he hates, from unforeseen danger.” Lyra pointed from Wilder to herself and grinned.
“Oh, that’s diabolical,” Maelys replied, but a smile tugged her lips up.
Ridge shoulder-bumped Maelys, and her smile dropped away. Battle lines had been drawn. Wilder must have told them not to speak to her or be nice. That was fine—just fine. It’s not like she had a choice in being here.
It’s not like this was her grand idea to leave everything she’d ever known and be whisked away to an enemy kingdom.
If she could grow her tail back, she would be gone immediately. Lyra paused at that thought. Would she? Her father would no doubt be furious with her for being captured. And Drystan, well, he had made it perfectly clear how he felt about her staying topside.
But everything she had read about the elves told her going back to Atlantis was the lesser of two evils.
Yet, she didn’t know if that was the truth anymore.
These elves hadn’t displayed the violence she had read about, and she was stuck here.
She couldn’t grow her tail back. Lyra decided she would not be miserable because of choices that were not her own.
No, she was going to win them over. But she didn’t know how.
Merfolk weren’t known for their social skills.
Marina and Seraphina had grown on her much the same way a barnacle did to a ship.
Was that what she needed to do? Entrench herself so deeply in their lives that the only way they could be rid of her was to scrape her off?
Lyra frowned to herself.
She had never tried to make friends. If anything, her violent tendencies drove everyone else away except for Marina and Seraphina.
But that wouldn’t help her survive now—and she didn’t know where that left her.
Lyra hated this journey. It was making her confront things she never had the time to analyze before.
Otto cleared his throat and called to Wilder. “The rain will be stopping soon, and we need to move. Quickly.”
“I can take them,” Wilder growled back.
“You can. But they will take her,” Otto nodded to Lyra.
“I would like to see them try.”
Otto stood, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have seen it, and we fail. Unless we move.”
Wilder heaved a breath, squeezing his eyes shut, he tipped his head back to the sky. Lyra watched as the rain pelted his face and ran down his high cheekbones. She couldn’t stop herself from watching.
“Fine. Let’s move.”
He grabbed Lyra by the arm and tugged her behind him, keeping himself between her and whatever dangers lay before them.
It surprised her how much she liked that.
Even with the blisters on her feet and legs barking in protest—it felt delightful.
To be protected. She had never been protected before.
Even if he was doing it out of a sense of duty, it was still nice.
They reached the Three Sisters Swamp sooner than they had planned. Having only stopped a handful of times to see to their needs or let the horses rest and graze. The elves and Lyra had feasted on bread and fruits that Ridge and Otto never failed to pull from their packs.
Lyra was starting to believe those bags were bewitched to never be empty. She marveled at the ethereal magic of this place. Trees rose out of the murky water, but their branches sagged as if they longed to return to the soil beneath the surface.
They didn’t slow their pace even as they pushed themselves and their horses to the brink of death. Whatever was after them was dangerous enough that Wilder would put their lives at risk to get her to their borders.
A strip of raised ground no more than two horses wide cut through the marshy land.
Mud kicked up as they galloped along. The wind tore at Lyra’s hair, and the tangled and matted strands flapped like a wave behind her and right into Wilder’s face.
Her cheeks were rosy, not from the temperature but from the wind’s burn.
Anytime she blinked or moved her mouth, she could feel the rawness of her skin.
It was tiresome, all this unnecessary pain that land dwellers were accustomed to.
“Once we’re through the Three Sisters, it’s a straight shot through the Valewood. Then you’ll be safe,” Wilder murmured in her ear.
Lyra couldn’t help the shiver that his voice so close to her body elicited.
But she wanted to laugh at his word choice. Safe. She wouldn’t be safe anywhere. Had never been. She didn’t think that was going to change now.
A ripple in the water beside them drew her attention as she watched it rise and then fall. Her knowledge of swamps and the manner of creatures that dwelled within them was abysmal.
“Why is it called the ‘Three Sisters’?”
“It’s named for the original three,” he replied with a dull sort of enthusiasm.
“I figured as much. But who are they?”
Wilder slowed their horse a fraction so that he didn’t have to yell over the wind, and Lyra was grateful the sting against her flesh abated.
“You’ve never been told about the three sisters? About where you came from?”
Lyra shook her head. She didn’t hold her breath on him replying, but when he cleared his throat, she tried to quell the excitement that built.
“Long ago, this world was ruled by three sisters: Mab, Tiandra, and Aradia. They were sisters by blood, but each a different creature. Mab was an elf, Tiandra a mermaid, and Aradia was human. They were the original balance.”
It wasn’t surprising she was never taught this story. Females being rulers was not a thing that would be allowed to be learned or discussed in Atlantis. But how Wilder spoke of balance intrigued her. It was as if it were common knowledge.
“Balance?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
Lyra could feel Wilder’s gaze on the side of her face as she looked out at the murky water.
“The universe demands balance. For every poison a cure, for every ruler an equal, for every power an opposite.”
Her face hurt as she scrunched her nose in confusion. That couldn’t be true.
There was no balance in Atlantis. And there was no equal to her power … she could feel it stir when she thought of it.
A vibration in the golden thread that called to her.
Lyra curled in upon herself as if she could hide. And when she didn’t ask another question, Wilder prodded their horse along and increased their speed.