10. 10
ten
Sarah
“Orion—” I gasp. His name softly brushes past my lips, letting the scenery captivate me entirely. It stops me cold.
Every word I’ve spoken to him has been dipped in defiance. But actually using his name? It feels different. Like my tongue has been yearning to say it from the beginning, as it falls naturally from my mouth.
I stiffen in his arms. “Damn it. That’s not what I meant to say.”
But I had. And God help me, I want to take it back. Having his name on my tongue makes me feel like he has some weird control over me now. Like he has won a competition we never knew we were having. That one breath of his name has cracked me open from the inside out.
“What did you mean to say then, Snapdragon?” he questions, edging me more into discomfort, as if he knows I was trying to avoid using his name.
He gently removes me from his arms, and I exhale some of my breath to maintain an even level with him in the mild current as I float just ahead of him.
“This—it’s beautiful. Seeing this is beyond anything I could’ve ever dreamed of.” I speak the truth in my statement. Hopefully, he is unaware of my efforts to change the subject.
The palace sparkles with life in the distance. I glance at Orion from over my shoulder, as he peers down at me sending a shiver down my spine.
“I appreciate that. When this kingdom was built by my father, he commanded it by himself for many years. When he united with my mother, she helped him rule this kingdom before she died, and it’s an honor to share their legacy and what they did for those we protect.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, unsure of how else to respond.
Conversations about death dredge up old memories I’d rather forget. The stretch of silence adds pressure wholly separate from the depths of the ocean. All words evade me, but he saves me by changing the subject himself.
“It’s getting late.” His words come out faster than I expect.
“Shall we head up to the dining hall and eat? I’m sure my general is already there.
” The distance melts away between us and the glowing castle ahead.
I manage to stay right near Orion’s tail as we swim, which I am proud of, given his pace.
Coral-forged gates rise at the palace perimeters, their twin spirals shaped in a distinctly hippocrepiform pattern, curling like sea vines.
Two creatures dressed like soldiers flank the entrance, their backs straight, tridents in hand, armor glinting with subtle lighting that comes from within the palace as they bow their heads when Orion swims past them.
Their eyes never land on me, as if I don’t exist.
We pass through the gates and through a large archway that expands into a grand foyer.
Above me, the ceiling is lined with a golden hue, pasting the corridor in enough light to guide our path ahead.
The pressure of the deep grows tighter. The familiar weight settles over my shoulders like something meant to hold me in place.
My gaze flicks from the arched ceilings to the armored figures flanking the hall in the distance, my movements slowing.
“They’re everywhere,” I murmur under my breath.
“They’re Pearlguards,” he says, keeping his pace steady ahead of me.
The Pearlguards remain in disciplined pairs, weapons at their sides, as Orion continues.
“Their armor, lighter than most, is built for speed and visibility. Each warrior bears an insignia across their belt, identifying their rank. They’re our standard patrol force.
Each rank is tasked with its own duties and responsibilities.
Pearlguards, being the lowest rank and identified with a shell insignia, patrol villages and guard minimal security areas throughout the palace. ”
I nod slowly, absorbing every detail, knowing he doesn’t have to tell me any of this, but still grateful for the learning opportunity. “And those?” I ask, tipping my chin toward the warriors ahead.
Stationed at the inner archway like statues carved from sea-stone, two more figures remain motionless. “Coralblade Sentinels.”
Their armor shimmers faintly, and a coral emblem is inscribed across their belt, catching the corridor’s light.
Each one of them carries spears engraved with coral emblems as well.
“You will only see them near high-security or restricted areas,” he states, giving me a slight grin.
“Higher ranks are also trained not to flinch and ensure no one gets by unseen.”
“So . . . who gives them their orders?” I ask, curiosity creeping in before anything else.
“Deepwatch Captains,” he replies. “They lead specialized divisions. Handling coastal defenses, border gates, outposts, and special direct orders from their superiors. One passed us earlier by the lower reef. They bear twin silver fin crests across their belts with the unmistakable deep blue sash. Rank is hard to fake in Virellan.”
I raise my brows at him, mildly impressed. “And above them?”
“The Tidewarden is the final rank in that sector. He is in charge of the entire group of warriors. But he answers to my General directly, unless I instruct otherwise,” he says, appearing to be done with the consistent questioning, as he tenses his jaw.
I deadlock my eyes with his, needing to know more. “And who’s the Tidewarden?”
He narrows his eyes at me, giving me a reluctant response. “The plan is to have you relinquish my father’s magic before anyone knows you’re here. But if you must know, Lord Zevrin is the Tidewarden.”
We swim through the grand foyer and into a long corridor ahead.
Above us, veins of light weave through the ceiling, casting everything in bright light as it reflects against the ocean water.
“What’s in the ceiling, lighting up this space?
” I ask, my interest in how all this works, taking me over, unable to stay silent.
“Marilume,” he clips.
Entryways line each side of the corridor, branching into different rooms of the palace. The dining room lies halfway down on the left, its entrance guarded by two more Pearlguards.
My eyes drift to the far end of the corridor before turning into the dining room. A spiral passage curves upward toward another area. My curiosity wants to know more but I know that isn’t possible at this moment as Orion clears his throat at me, waving his hand at the entrance to the dining room.
Orion enters after me, the ambient glow of marilume casting watery shadows across the curved walls.
A long table, carved from what appears to be shellstone, is rimmed with dark obsidian rock.
Orion takes his place at the head of the table.
I hesitate only a moment before choosing a spot to the right of him a few seats down—close, but not too close.
My fingers brush the edge of the table as I sit, finding it hard to remain seated without the proper gear to weigh me down.
My eyes flick across the room as if I am still trying to decipher whether this is a dream or reality.
A servant sets a cracked-open shell in front of me, heat visibly curling from the roasted meat inside.
Someone’s stuffed the center with a creamy mash and brushed a deep red glaze over the top.
The smell hits instantly when I lean in, warm and smoky, edged with a sweetness that makes my mouth water despite myself.
Orion notices me studying it. “Tidefire shells,” he informs. “Crabs roasted inside their own shells. The mash is brine root. It is better than it looks.”
Across the room, a female figure stands with her back to us, facing the archways that overlook the kingdom’s depths.
Her posture is rigid, arms clasped behind her back.
She has a silver tail that swings carefully through the current, her body considerably smaller compared to Orion’s.
But the unimpressed huff that escapes her mouth tells me she is not happy I’m here.
“Status report, Nyx,” Orion orders.
“Evening, Orion,” she replies without turning. “I see the land-dweller has adjusted well.” The word land-dweller drips from her tongue like venom.
“Nyx,” Orion warns, his face tightening. “Let’s not start this right now.”
Her head tilts slightly, just enough for me to see her jaw tense. “No signs of movement. A squad of Pearlguards will arrive before the next tide. I have assigned two to remain vigilant outside her door, given she most likely cannot be trusted.”
“I am too tired for this,” Orion mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“The land-dweller and I have been traveling for hours. I have endured questions and complaints for the majority of the journey. I have no desire to exchange one source of aggravation for another. I would like to enjoy what remains of the sea day in peace. If you cannot give me that, excuse yourself.”
His general does not argue. She turns and glides out without a single glance back. The silence that follows feels heavier than her presence.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, but stay quiet. I watch him from the corner of my eye. “She doesn’t like me,” I say finally, soft but matter-of-fact.
“She does not like anyone she does not trust.”
“Comforting,” I mutter. I continue to poke at the dish in front of me with a fork made from a metal I am unfamiliar with. “So, when do I relinquish these powers? I would like to return home and have my life back.”
“At the start of the new sea day,” he states dryly, as if there is no room for argument. “I am in desperate need of a rest after swimming that far with you in my arms.”
“So you expect me to sleep here?”
“I will have the guards make up a room.”
I tilt my head to the side, eyes moving up to his. “Right.” I continue fiddling with the utensils, halfway through an eye roll before his commanding voice pulls my attention back, and he calls out to a guard.
They enter the room, but say nothing. An army of few words.
“Have a room made up for her. And use the crystals for the windows, please.”
The guard calmly nods at Orion and bows before exiting.
He returns to his meal, spearing a piece of crab from the plate. He brings it to his mouth slowly, placing the food inside, licking his lips carefully. “I can feel your stares, Snapdragon.”
I quickly look away, focusing on eating some of my own meal, deciding to finally try and place a bite in my mouth. My first attempt was unsuccessful as most of the filling tumbled back into the shell.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, but the irritation in my tone doesn’t waver. My second attempt is slower and more successful. As I chew, I lift my brows and widen my eyes. “Oh. That’s actually . . . really good. Different, but good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I expected fishy sludge. Or slime. Or, I don’t know, something from a bad sushi bar?”
He blinks at me. “A what?”
“Let’s just say it’s a place on land where they pretend they know how to prepare raw sea creatures,” I say, laughing lightly.
His eyes widen at my statement. “And humans pay for this?”
“More than we should.” I take another bite. “Though to be fair, we don’t usually eat food served out of still-smoldering crab shells.”
“That is the best part,” he says, his eyes brightening a bit from excitement. “The shells retain the heat, keeping it warm until the last bite.”
“How does cooking even work down here?” I ask, suddenly aware the food is actually scorching hot.
“The palace kitchens use heated stone slabs,” he explains. “Volcanic stone that holds heat for hours. Most of our meals are placed inside a shell while they cook so the heat doesn’t char the meat.”
I nod, chewing carefully. “That’s actually smart. I’ll give you that.”
He doesn’t respond after that, and neither do I, but something about his silence feels different.
I need to get rid of these powers and return home as soon as possible.
The meal ends not long after Orion rises from his chair, gesturing for me to follow. "I'll escort you to your quarters."
The corridor is quiet as we move upward along the spiral platform I noticed earlier. I trail slowly behind him. The marilume veins covering the ceiling dim, probably marking the night hours, their glow now a soft, pale yellow that casts slow-moving shadows through the dark blue water.
Neither of us speaks. The water around us hums with a faint tension, though his movements remain fluid.
At the top of the spiral, the passage levels out into a short corridor. Only two doors are marked along the walls, each directly across from the other.
I slow down as Orion stops at the doors on the left, resting a hand on the shellstone frame. “This is yours,” he says. “It is close. In case anything happens.”
I look at him, his expression unreadable. “Close? To where?” I ask curiously.
He ignores my question and motions me forward to the door.
“Nyxalene will bring you clothing,” he adds, gesturing vaguely at my attire.
“You will not keep wearing . . . that.” He starts to drift away, then pauses.
“And forget about swimming off, there are guards posted throughout the palace. Some in the corridors, others in the open water. If you try to leave, Nyx will know. And then, I will.”
I raise my eyebrows slightly, refusing to enter the room. Not yet. “So, I’m a prisoner here?” I stare him down. Two guards appear, floating in front of Orion.
“You two are to remain posted by her doors at all times until relieved by shift change.”
They bow their heads and post themselves on either side of my door.
Orion gives one last glance once they are in position, then turns and glides back down the corridor, disappearing along the spiral.