Chapter 57 #2
“You cursed him,” I said, the fury breaking loose at last. “The chains that bind him to the sea. The hunger in his veins. That was you.”
Meris’s mouth tightened, restraint pulling it thin. “It was a mercy.”
I shook, salt stinging my eyes. “You damned him. You made him a monster.”
“He made himself one,” she snapped—light flaring like a storm surge. But the edge of her voice cracked on something softer. “Do not be deceived, Nerina,” she said, her eyes darkened. “He was not cursed by chance.”
Her glow shifted. “The night of the Convergence—before I found you—”
She exhaled slowly. “Alaric and his men plundered the Sanctuary of Milos,” Meris said. “They cut down its guardians. Stole relics consecrated to the ocean. Spilled blood into sacred waters. He desecrated what was meant to be eternal.”
Her light swelled, tidal and terrible. “And he sought more,” she said. “He dared to strike deeper—into the Trench itself—hungry for what no mortal was meant to touch.”
I saw it—Alaric at the abyss’s edge, staring into something ancient and endless.
“I met him there,” Meris said. “I stripped him of the shore. Tied him to the sea he tried to conquer.
"I gave him exactly what he was seeking.”
My pulse roared.
“I watched you,” Meris said.
My pulse skipped. “Watched me?”
“You and the pirate,” she clarified.
Her mouth curved—not a smile. Something sharper. Knowing. “I knew he wouldn’t harm you.” She inclined her head. “Alaric Dreyses is many things. Reckless. Cursed. Dangerous to anyone who threatens what he loves.”
Her focus flicked back to me.
“His curse binds him to the sea. To its children. He cannot raise his hand against them—not truly. Not without it tearing him apart.”
Cold prickled along my spine.
Her voice broke. “I didn’t see it at first. Not until I watched you together—the way he moved, the way the curse pulled him toward you.”
“The night of the Convergence,” Meris said, and now her voice wavered, “your power was wild. It flooded the sea—uncontained, touching everything. When I cast the curse, I believed I was anchoring him to the ocean alone.”
She finally looked up, regret shining in her eyes. “But the ocean was carrying you. Your magic was already woven through its tides. And so, the spell must have tangled.”
My mark flared.
“His chains did not bind only the sea,” Meris whispered. “They bound him to you.”
To me. Light ripped through the gardens in fractured bursts. Every memory slammed into me—the way he always stepped between me and danger, vows snarled like oaths carved into bone, the fire in his eyes when they locked onto mine. I wanted it to be choice. I wanted it to be him.
My voice splintered. “You’re telling me every time he reaches for me—every time he tries to protect me—it wasn’t his will.”
I swallowed hard. “It was your curse. My magic. He was compelled.”
Meris’s light dimmed. Grief etched lines into her face. “He is bound to guard, Nerina. To protect—even at the cost of himself. That is the fate I gave him. He would protect you,” Meris whispered, “Even from himself. Even from me.”
“Then tell me,” I whispered, shaking. “If the curse vanished tomorrow—if it never existed at all—would he still choose me?”
Fury and sorrow collided until I could barely breathe. My mark pulsed—violent, starlight bleeding through the water like lightning through ink.
Meris tilted her head slightly, as if weighing something old and familiar. “I believe,” she said softly, “that he already has.” Her eyes glistened. “That is why I did not call you back. Because for the first time… I knew you were not alone.” She didn’t look away.
Something shattered in me. My mark brightened—casting deep shadows across Meris’s face.
She didn’t move. And that only made me angrier.
I wanted to burn what was left of Thalassia down and make her watch.
The scream ripped out of me before I could stop it—raw, primal, shaking the sea like a breaking wave.
Light exploded from the crescent on my forehead—not pulses now, but blinding arcs.
Ribbons of starlight tore cracks through the water.
The ocean shuddered. The stones trembled.
Creatures fled in silver streaks. It wasn’t controlled.
It wasn’t elegant. It was everything I had swallowed for years erupting in one furious, radiant scream. The tide recoiled like a struck chord.
Shadows stirred above—one, two, more—and my heart lurched as my mark flared like a beacon in the dark.
A voice rose—smooth, cold, and unmistakably pleased.
“Ah,” Calder said. “There you are.” He drifted forward, robes whispering over the sand, Tidekeeper sigils gleaming like a mockery of starlight.
His smile was thin, practiced—meant to look merciful.
“Do you have any idea,” he continued mildly, “how much trouble you’ve caused? ”
My stomach dropped. The arches filled with armored figures—Sentinels in a perfect semicircle, tridents angled inward. A cage. Closing.
“Nerina of Thalassia,” Calder intoned, voice carrying effortlessly through the chamber, “by authority of the Council and under the ancient law of the Tides, you stand accused of treason.”
The word rang.
“For the deliberate destruction of the Veil,” he went on, pacing slowly, “a sacred ward sustained for generations—shattered by your recklessness.”
Lies.
“I didn’t—”
He raised a finger.
“For consorting with surface-born pirates,” he said, “inviting violence and corruption into protected waters.”
Another finger.
“For leading poachers directly to Thalassia—creatures who now stalk our reefs, butcher our kin, and harvest what they please.”
My chest constricted. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Calder asked pleasantly. “You vanish. You return with a cursed pirate in tow. And suddenly our borders are breached.”
He turned to the chamber. “She fled her duties,” he proclaimed, “abandoned her sacred role, and returned bearing chaos.”
My gaze snapped to Meris. “You know this isn’t true.”
Calder followed my look—and smiled.
“The Sea Mother grieves,” he said solemnly. “But even she cannot deny the consequences of her… indulgence.”
I waited for her to stop him. For the sea to rise at her command. For her crown to mean something. Meris’s hand lifted—just slightly. The water around her tightened, the ocean itself leaned toward her word. I thought she would choose me. Then her fingers curled.
Her hand lowered. And the current loosened again, like a throat swallowing down a scream.
She didn’t look at Calder. She looked at me—and let it happen.
“This is not punishment,” she said quietly.
“It is precaution.” I was only a storm to be contained.
My blood turned to ice. Calder lifted his staff. Its crystal flared bright and cruel.
“By the will of the Tidekeepers,” Calder declared, “you are to be taken into custody—your magic bound, your movements restricted until the Council decides your fate.”
Bindings snapped around my wrists. Cold.
Draining. I gasped as my magic recoiled, torn from me.
The light under my skin stuttered. Calder leaned close, lowering his voice so only I could hear.
“Do you know how long it took,” Calder said softly, “to teach you to sing away your own power?” The corner of his mouth lifted.
“You should have stayed obedient,” he murmured.
“You were so much more useful that way.”
Rage flooded me—hot, blinding.
As the sentinels seized my arms, I twisted toward Meris. Her eyes glistened—
—but she did not move.
Calder straightened, satisfied. “Take her.”
“Stop.” The word rang out—urgent and desperate. Maleia surged forward, voice breaking as she reached for Meris. “You can’t let them do this.”
A Tidekeeper moved to block her, but she twisted past him, eyes wild, fixed on Meris alone.
“She’s done nothing wrong,” Maleia cried. “You know that.”
The chamber murmured, uneasy.
“Please, Mother,” Maleia whispered, pride shattering. “You can stop this.”
For one heartbeat—just one—I saw it. Conflict in Meris’s face. Grief. Guilt.
Calder scoffed softly, placing his hand over his heart. “How touching.”
Meris closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were calm. Distant. “This is not your place, Maleia,” she said gently. “Stand down.”
Maleia’s face crumpled. “You’re choosing them,” she said, disbelief choking her voice. “You’re choosing the Council over your own daughter.”
A Sentinel seized Maleia’s arm and hauled her back as she fought. “Nerina!” she cried. “I’m sorry—”
Her voice dissolved into sobs as she was dragged away. The bindings snapped tighter around my wrists.
I didn’t look away from Meris.
Calder stepped closer—unhurried. Mocking gentle. “This,” he said softly, gesturing to the bands at my wrists, “is what happens when one forgets her place.”
He circled me, voice smooth as a lullaby. “You always believed you were different,” he went on. “Special. Untouched by the limits that govern the rest of us.”
My jaw clenched.
“You questioned tradition,” Calder continued. “Defied the Choir. Went beyond the currents you were told not to cross.”
He stopped in front of me, eyes bright with something ugly and pleased. “You thought yourself better than us.”
“That’s not—”
He looked to Meris for a moment. “Arrogance,” he murmured, “has always been the most dangerous sin.”
The words burrowed deep.
“You shattered the Veil,” Calder said, voice carrying now, “because you believed yourself strong enough to survive the consequences.”
He leaned in—just enough for me alone to hear. “If you had stayed,” he whispered, “if you had obeyed… Thalassia would still be hidden. Our people would still be safe.”
Something inside me cracked.
“This, whatever comes next,” Calder finished, straightening, “is your fault.”
They dragged me down. Away from Meris’s silence.
Past the gleaming gardens and carved halls of Thalassia.
Past statues of the Sea Court, their faces blurred by shadow.
Down into the place I should have known they would take me.
The chamber beneath the old meeting hall.
Where the Celestial Choir had always been held.
The moment I crossed the threshold; memories crashed over me like a breaking tide—the marble floor’s chill. the hollow echo of songs. The sting in my throat as I sang at the altar, believing it sacred. The wrongness in the hum beneath my skin.
Now I know why.
In the center of the chamber sat a cage of coral and rune-forged glass. The barrier slammed shut with a hiss. Wards flared across the seams, locking me in with light I knew would not yield.
“This cage cannot hold me,” I spat, pressing my palms to the glass. My mark burned hot, silver spilling in jagged cracks down my arms.
Calder’s chuckle drifted back, soft and pleased. "It will hold. We’ve been waiting for this day for a very long time."
The crescent blazing on my brow reflected in his eyes. He went quiet. “For you to start questioning who you are,” he murmured, “and lose control.”
Then they turned away—robes trailing like smoke—leaving me alone with the hum of the wards and the slow suffocation of silence.
I pressed my forehead to the cold coral wall. The cell was too quiet. Only my breath echoed back, harsh and uneven, mixing with the constant thrum carved into the floor. “No,” I whispered, forcing myself upright. “You won’t cage me. Not again.”
I screamed and slammed my fists against the glass, summoning every shred of rage left in me.
Starlight burst from my mark in violent arcs—ribbons of silver and violet lashing at the barrier.
The cage shook. But it did not break. My light splintered.
Fizzled. Fell uselessly into the wards like rain into stone. Again.
Harder.
Again, again—until my knuckles split, until my tail whipped the water into storms, until my throat went raw from the force of it. The glass only pulsed back—calm, patient, unbroken.
At last, I slid down the wall, trembling, chest hollowed and raw. The scent of charred salt clung to me like smoke.
That was when I realized—
the hollow weight in at my side. The absence.
The shards.
My heart lurched. My last pieces of the Crescent. My hope.
I left them hidden in Maleia’s garden.
The wards hummed louder, as though mocking me.
“No…” My voice cracked. My hands shook against the coral. “No, no, no.”
I slumped against the wall, magic smothered, skin still stinging where silver had burned me. The silence pressed heavy—thick as silt. I let my eyes close.
Let the hum lull me into something dangerously close to surrender.